"No, you’d better not ask."

Melody Thorne closed her eyes for a moment, if you’re acting, you have to see it through. "Wipe it off."

"Okay."

When Harold Chapman and the others went in, they found Melody Thorne covered in snow, shackled to the wall, eyes blank, and her complexion extremely poor. If he hadn’t known the context, Harold would have thought his subordinates had secretly done something to her.

"Hurry up and look," Melody Thorne urged. "What kind of blood is this? I’m about to pass out; it’s disgusting."

Harold Chapman "..."

Outside, someone took photos of them through the glass window, so it wasn’t clear, only showing a woman with disheveled hair and covered in blood.

Melody Thorne changed out of those clothes, using body wash to scrub off the blood for half an hour.

"Ma’am," Harold Chapman handed her the photos, "should we release them now?"

Melody Thorne picked up the photos. Judging from the angle, they were secretly taken by someone with ulterior motives when Harold was interrogating her. He was anything but gentle during the interrogation and even resorted to torture.

"Send them out," Melody Thorne tossed them on the table. "Just say there’s a fan of Sheryl Lancaster here who was so upset over her death and, fearing I’m Jared Quinn’s woman, didn’t dare lay a hand on me during the interrogation, so they secretly took a look and snapped these. Add some grandiose comments from yourself underneath."

"Alright," Harold Chapman handed them to a soldier behind him. "Send them out as she said."

"Yes."

Melody Thorne looked around disdainfully and sat on the iron bed. This time she truly experienced the inside of a prison.

"Young lady, you can switch rooms now," Harold Chapman said. "I’ve had the best room here prepared, and Jared should be here soon."

"Switching for what? This is fine," Melody Thorne snorted. She took this opportunity to see how many people around her still believed in her after the incident.

"Unless those who wronged me apologize, I’m not leaving," Melody Thorne propped her chin with her hand, already calculating her next move.

"Is Jared Quinn angry?" Melody Thorne suddenly thought of a crucial question.

Harold Chapman "...Jared always has a bad temper."

He put it rather tactfully.

Melody Thorne "..."

Forget it, doesn’t matter. If a man is angry, just coax him a little.

"You go out first," Melody Thorne took out her phone, opened her social media account, and continued chatting wildly with that male reporter.

Say what you will, but back when she pursued Jared Quinn, she had a way with men.

After only two or three chats, the other party already invited her for coffee.

What an idiot.

Melody Thorne agreed to meet the man, but now the key issue was, she got all those photos from that rascal Leon Rivers. How to make him go?

The sound of leather shoes came from outside, footsteps heavy. The person carried an aura of coldness, and his presence could be felt even without seeing him.

Melody Thorne decisively turned off her phone, then lay on the iron bed pretending to sleep. The bed was hard and cold, but a thick mattress made it soft to sleep on.

Jared Quinn stood outside the white room, holding a cigarette between his slender fingers. Ever since he got here, his sharp eyebrows were tightly knit, and the chill he emanated showed no signs of diminishing.