She was just playing a victim, and the real trap was finally set.

Maya remained slumped on the polished wooden steps of the grand staircase, her body curled defensively as if crushed beneath the suffocating tension in the room. One hand clutched her swollen abdomen with trembling intensity, while the other pressed her smartphone white-knuckled against her ear. Heavy tears spilled continuously down her flushed cheeks, painting a vivid portrait of absolute vulnerability, physical pain, and overwhelming remorse. Above her, the sharp echoes of feet stomping on the wooden floorboards faded slightly as Evelyn pulled Clara into a firm, protective embrace, whispering soothing words while casting cold, disgusted glares down at the pregnant woman below. Maya bowed her head low, her shoulders heaving with convulsive, breathy sobs, feeding their outrage with weak, fragmented apologies that whimpered into the silent air. To anyone standing in that sunlit foyer, she was a broken, helpless victim trapped at the mercy of a cruel family drama.

Yet, the moment Evelyn turned Clara around to guide her toward the upper hallway, the atmosphere froze. The frantic heaving of Maya’s chest stopped with unnatural precision. The violent trembling in her limbs vanished instantly, replaced by a eerie, rigid stillness. Slowly, almost rhythmically, Maya lifted her free hand to cover her lips—an act that appeared to be a desperate gesture to muffle her crying, but served as a mask to conceal her true expression. Behind her palm, the helpless terror on her face dissolved completely, wiped away like paint from a canvas. Her tear-streaked eyes widened, losing every trace of agony, only to fill with a razor-sharp, predatory focus. Her brows relaxed, and the corner of her lips twitched into a subtle, chilling smile of triumphant vengeance. Her posture straightened, no longer bearing the weight of a victim, but holding the quiet confidence of a master strategist whose trap had finally sprung.

Holding her breath to ensure not a single sob betrayed her composure, she brought the microphone inches from her lips. Her voice—previously thin, shivering, and broken—dropped into a steady, icy, and menacing whisper that cut through the silence like steel. Without a flicker of hesitation or regret in her sharp gaze, she spoke into the line: "Detective Ruiz... It's already happened. They fell for every single word. Send everyone here immediately."