Back home, Leon Sterling carried a few pears into the kitchen. He thought for a moment, then asked, "Want something to eat?"
"Yeah!" Hazel Sinclair flopped onto the sofa and replied lazily.
A thought occurred to her, and she asked, "You’re not doing the fast-food stall anymore?"
"Yeah, I stopped," Leon Sterling replied.
The fast-food stall had been a good way to make money, but it was exhausting. Now that the studio was up and running, Leon Sterling was focusing all his energy on work.
"Makes sense." Hazel Sinclair nodded. For Leon Sterling, the fast-food stall wasn’t a particularly fast way to earn money anyway. He could make tens of thousands just by writing code for a few days.
The stall was exhausting, difficult work for slow pay.
DING DONG! DING DONG!
Her phone chimed twice. It was a message. Puzzled, Hazel Sinclair opened it.
The screen was filled with vile messages.
[You bitch who seduces married men, you better hope I don’t get the chance, or I’ll fucking kill you!]
[Homewrecker, you cheap tramp!]
Just then, another message arrived.
[Drop dead, bitch! I’m going to kill you. I swear it.]
Reading the three messages, Hazel Sinclair’s cheerful mood instantly plummeted.
’Who on earth is sending me these messages?’
[Image]
[One day, you’ll end up in a cemetery just like in this picture. A loose woman like you deserves to be nothing more than a portrait on a wall.]
When she saw that they had sent a black-and-white photo of her, Hazel Sinclair clutched her phone, her grip so tight that the blood rushed to her fingertips.
’Who *is* this person?’
’System!’ Hazel Sinclair called out urgently in her mind. ’System—’
’Get out here, System!’
But no matter how she screamed for it, the system didn’t respond, throwing Hazel Sinclair into a panic.
’Damn system. It always goes flaky at the most crucial moments.’
Leon Sterling came out carrying bowls of noodles and set them on the dining table. His gaze fell on her. "Hazel, it’s ready."
"The pears stewed with rock sugar aren’t done yet. They need another ten or fifteen minutes."
When she didn’t respond, Leon Sterling looked up at her. He found Hazel Sinclair sitting there, deathly pale, her head bowed as she stared rigidly at her phone screen.
Seeing this, he frowned and walked over. "What’s wrong?"
Hazel Sinclair snapped out of it and quickly closed the chat window. She looked up at him. "It’s nothing. I just saw some scary pictures that freaked me out."
With that, she stood up and asked with a bright smile, "Is it ready?"
She walked to the table, looked at the two bowls of noodles, and immediately started praising him. "I could smell this from a mile away. Only you can make something that smells this good."
Sitting at the table, Hazel Sinclair picked up her chopsticks, stirred her noodles, and began to eat with her head lowered.
But her mind was racing, fixated on what had just happened. ’Who on earth sent me those messages?’
"Want some chili?" Leon Sterling asked, picking up a nearby jar.
"Yes," Hazel Sinclair nodded.
Leon Sterling added two spoonfuls of chili to her bowl. Hazel Sinclair took one bite and immediately started coughing from the spice.
"So spicy! So spicy!" Hazel Sinclair exclaimed, sticking her tongue out and fanning her mouth.
Leon Sterling looked at her, a little puzzled.
’She’s reacting like this to just two spoonfuls of chili?’
’But doesn’t she handle spicy food the best?’
"Is it that spicy?" Leon Sterling asked.
"Yeah, it’s incredibly spicy," Hazel Sinclair replied.
"But I thought you loved spicy food," Leon Sterling asked, confused.
Hearing this, Hazel Sinclair froze for a second. After a moment’s thought, she said, "Maybe this chili is just spicier than usual."
"Oh." Although Leon Sterling was still suspicious, he accepted her explanation.
After they finished their noodles, Leon Sterling collected the dishes and took them to the kitchen. He glanced at the pressure cooker—the pears stewed with rock sugar were ready.
After releasing the pressure, Leon Sterling ladled a large bowlful and placed it in front of Hazel Sinclair. "Take your time."
After a bit of tidying up, he said, "I need to get back to work. If you need anything, just message me on WeChat."
"I’ll probably be home late tonight," he added. "If you get hungry, have some snacks to tide you over."
Before heading out, Leon Sterling leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"I’m off."
As soon as the door closed, Hazel Sinclair grabbed her phone, opened her messages, and stared at the string of vile insults.
Staring at the horrific image, Hazel Sinclair clenched her fists.
With the system gone, her only option was to ask Jill Kensington, the regressor.
[Hazel Sinclair: Are you free?]
[Hazel Sinclair: I have something very important to ask you.]
It was a long time before a reply came back.
[Jill Kensington: What is it?]
After arranging to meet up, Hazel Sinclair was waiting for her ride when a middle-aged woman walked past and shoved a few pieces of paper into her hands.
Hazel Sinclair stared after the woman in confusion, but when she looked down at the papers, her expression changed instantly.
[You can’t escape. I’ll be watching you. Always watching!]
[Bitch!]
It was just a short sentence, but it sent a chill down Hazel Sinclair’s spine.
’Who on earth is targeting me?’
’Is it Vincent Hawthorne?’
’No, that’s impossible. Vincent Hawthorne is too busy with his company right now to have time to cause trouble for them.’
’Could it be those people who were arrested?’
’That’s not possible either. They’re still in the detention center; they haven’t been released yet. It can’t be them.’
’Then who is it?’
With a heart full of apprehension, Hazel Sinclair arrived at the coffee shop and asked the server for a private room—one with good soundproofing.
Jill Kensington pushed the door open and entered. Upon seeing her, she asked, "What did you want to see me about?"
Hazel Sinclair looked her in the eye and asked, "Do you know who was trying to kill me around this time in our past life?"
Her question immediately put Jill Kensington on high alert.
"What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about," Jill Kensington said, playing dumb.
The phone beside her wouldn’t stop vibrating. Hazel Sinclair opened it to see that yet another new number was sending her insulting messages.
She unlocked her phone, opened the chat, and handed it to her. "I’m being harassed."
At the same time, she passed over the papers. "And a woman shoved these at me while I was waiting for my ride."
Jill Kensington stared at the items, stunned.
’That person’s already making their move? So soon?’
’And what did she mean by that question earlier? Could it be... she was reborn, too?’
Jill Kensington swallowed nervously and asked cautiously, "You were reborn, too?"
Hazel Sinclair nodded without hesitation. "Yes. I was reborn."
’Dying suddenly and transmigrating into a book counts as being reborn, right?’
Hearing this, Jill Kensington collapsed onto the sofa. She covered her face with her hands as a wave of embarrassment washed over her entire body.
’What have I done? I actually told another regressor to divorce her husband.’
’So embarrassing.’
Hazel Sinclair, however, didn’t care about Jill’s embarrassment. She grabbed her hand and asked urgently, "Who killed me at this time in our last life?"
"Who was that rich businessman’s wife?"