Bertha couldn't believe the nerve of her parents.
First, they had crashed her event unannounced and practically stole her ideas, presenting them without her permission.
Then, they had nearly gotten themselves killed in a reckless scene—if not for Zara—and now, they refused to give a statement that could prove her best friend's innocence and get her released from jail.
She had already swallowed her pride by coming to this mansion. The very idea that she needed their help made her stomach churn, but she knew she had to do it—for Zara.
She had pushed aside the fact that they had profited off her brilliance yet again, just like they always did when she was younger. It made her blood boil, but she forced herself to focus on what mattered: convincing them to tell the truth to the police, since they had been key witnesses.
But Roland and Hannah had declined every interview request from the police so far—and now, they were turning down their own daughter.
It wasn't the first time, but this time, Bertha was seething.
Like Zara, Bertha came from a filthy rich family. A grand mansion, sleek limousines and Ferraris, a pristine yard with a glistening water fountain.
And like Zara, she had terrible parents. The difference was, while Zara's family hated her openly, Bertha's used a mask of love and support to manipulate her into working harder—just so they could steal the spotlight once again.
Bertha had moved out because of it, but somehow, despite all the years away, she found herself back here.
"Bertha, you need to step away from all this," Hannah said, her voice annoyingly serene. "Come and stay with us for a while. Sip some tea. Calm your nerves. I always said that Zara girl was a bad influence."
"Mom, I can't believe you right now." Bertha banged the table and stood up. She'd tolerated a lot, but calling Zara a bad influence was the last straw.
"Calm down, sweetie. Your mom's just trying to protect you," Roland offered.
"Protect me? From what?" Bertha snapped. "From the one friend who's stood by me for years while all you two did was steal my ideas and profit off them?"
"We're sorry for that, honey."
Bertha had heard those words more times than she could count.
They were never sorry.
"We actually loved the designs for the grand finale," Hannah said with a smile. "We only intended to watch your show, but when we saw those pieces, we thought they were too good to waste. You have to realise how talented you are, sweetie."
Hannah cupped Bertha's cheeks with the gentleness of a loving mother.
But Bertha didn't fall for it this time.
In fact, the pet names and fake affection only made her angrier.
She slapped her mother's hand away.
"Don't you dare try to justify stealing from me with your fake concern."
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she stood her ground.
"You always do this. And the moment I need you for something real, you turn your backs on me."
Her parents exchanged glances, something shifting in their expressions.
Bertha decided to try one last time, appealing to whatever humanity they had left.
"Mom. Dad. That girl saved your lives. Do you understand what that means? I'm not asking you to do this for me. After this, I swear I'll never bother you again. I just want you to help Zara. You owe her that much."
She looked at them—and for the first time, she didn't see rehearsed smiles or empty affection.
She saw sadness.
"Look, Berthy-boo…" Roland began, his voice low. "Some things are just better left alone. We don't want you dragged into this drama. Please, just walk away from it while you still can. For your own sake."
He sounded sincere, his eyes full of remorse and a deeper sadness Bertha couldn't quite place.
She almost believed him.
She almost let it go.
But she remembered how often they had manipulated her with this same act—since she was a little girl, through high school, college, and even now.
Bertha refused to fall for it again.
She stood abruptly.
"Bertha—"
"Save it."
She raised a hand.
"Thanks for your 'kind words'. I'll see myself out."
She grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked out of the grand mansion.
As she stepped through the wrought-iron gates, Bertha pulled out her gold-case iPhone 16 Pro Max and dialed a number she never thought she would.
Zara might've tossed the business card out in defiance, but Bertha had picked it up and kept it—just in case.
She had prayed she would never need it.
But now, when even power and privilege couldn't save her best friend, she knew she needed help from the underground.
It was dangerous. Stupid, even.
Zara would never approve.
Bertha's instincts screamed *don't do it* as she dialed the final number.
Truecaller flashed the name almost instantly.
Kai Frost.