Divorced, Dead... And Put On Trial

Moments later, louder voices of doubt erupted across the city square.

"This can't be! How could Winnie Grant be a cop!"

"It has to be fake! Someone like her doesn't deserve to wear that uniform!"

Tyler Lowell's expression was dark as he ordered the technicians to verify immediately whether the memory source had been tampered with.

Sylvia Grant, my younger sister, walked to his side and gently took his arm.

She spoke up in a voice that was soft and laced with careful hesitation. "Tyler, this must be some trap she laid before she died. She was always good at pretending, wasn't she?

"Why don't we stop watching? I'm worried… I'm worried you might waver…"

Tyler pulled Sylvia into his arms. He let out a scoff, with disgust clear in his eyes.

"I've seen Winnie's tricks plenty of times. Even if she dressed up as a saint, she still can't wash away my comrades' blood that stains her hands!"

He looked down at Sylvia and softened his tone, saying, "Silly, you're the only one I love now. Nothing else can shake me."

Sylvia finally relaxed and leaned into Tyler's embrace.

Someone in the crowd recognized Sylvia and started murmuring, "Isn't that the youngest daughter of the Grant family?"

"It's her! She even turned her own father in. I heard she donated all her inheritance to the anti-drug fund. She's so kind!"

"Exactly. And look at her sister. The moment their father fell, she ran straight to the drug lord, Lucas Hayes."

"One made the right sacrifice, while the other stubbornly refused to change. Why couldn't Winnie learn from her sister?"

The technicians finished their verification and nodded at Tyler.

The memory source was unaltered.

Tyler's pupils contracted sharply before he took a deep breath and pressed play.

My soul floated in mid-air, watching the hatred in Tyler's eyes as he looked at me. Those eyes that were once filled with so much tenderness now held only cold disgust.

Even though I was already dead, my soul still felt a tearing pain.

The screen cut to a dark alley late at night.

A young Tyler had just fought off several thugs to stop a robbery. He had a cut on the corner of his lip as he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

I came running up with a medical kit and kneeled beside him.

The dim streetlight stretched our shadows long on the ground.

I sat on the steps, clumsily dabbing at Tyler's wounds with a cotton swab. The sting of the antiseptic made him hiss.

As I applied the ointment, I muttered under my breath, "Why do you have to play the hero? Doesn't it hurt?"

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and looked at me seriously, saying, "As long as you come for me, it won't hurt."

My ears burned, and I looked away. "Smooth talker," I said.

Tyler laughed and pulled me into his arms. "If you don't want me to get hurt, then don't let go. Stay with me from now on."

My eyes reddened. I didn't say anything and just stood on my toes, brushing my lips against his.

The screen froze on our smiling faces.

Meanwhile, in reality, Tyler's fists were clenched tight. A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes.

Sylvia noticed his distracted gaze and immediately spoke up. Her tone was sympathetic.

"Tyler, look how innocent Winnie seemed back then. It's too bad she couldn't resist the temptation of money in the end.

"Maybe… Maybe she got close to you just to gather information."

The hesitance in Tyler's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by deeper disgust. He looked at Sylvia and said gently, "You're right.

"If it weren't for her betrayal, I wouldn't have known who was truly worth cherishing."

He held Sylvia's hand tightly, as if declaring to the world—and to the memory playing on the screen—that he had already found true happiness.