Chapter 22 The Price of Survival
Elsa clenched her teeth, dragging her injured leg as she limped toward the woods beyond the estate wall.
If she could just get out–she’d be free.
A black Maserati skidded to a stop right in front of her.
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The window rolled down, revealing Lincoln’s cold profile under the silver glow of the moon. His jaw was tense, and his voice carried no warmth. “Get in.”
Elsa’s bloodied hands tightened into fists. She hesitated. Could she trust him?
But when she glanced back-
A swarm of bodyguards surged toward her.
No time to think.
She flung the door open and climbed in.
“Hold on.” His voice came just as the tires screeched and the car rocketed forward.
Heat blasted from the vents, but Elsa couldn’t stop trembling.
Lincoln glanced in the rearview mirror, then floored the accelerator.
“Why did you save me?” Elsa stared at his hands on the steering wheel–slender, precise, but radiating a chilling sharpness.
“Because you’re still useful,” he scoffed. “A dead pawn? Martin Corp would have to find a whole new face.”
“Not to mention, you’re still a Moore.”
Elsa let out a bitter laugh. “A fake one.”
“Fake or not, I know which version brings me the better return.”
Her nails dug deep into her palm. The pain kept her grounded.
Her knee was still bleeding, blood soaking through the fabric–enough to make anyone dizzy.
She bit her lower lip and tried to clean the wound.
The searing pain made her gasp.
Lincoln spoke without taking his eyes off the road. “Don’t touch it. I’ll have my private doctor take care of it.”
in the rearview mirror, Mr. Dawson’s villa had shrunk to a faint pinprick of light.
But the nausea still churned in her gut.
Thirty minutes later–
Her wound had been cleaned and bandaged.
She looked up and met Lincoln’s gaze. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank-”
Apiercing siren cut him off.
Three police cars blocked the estate’s gates and swarmed in.
Officers with drawn guns approached the villa.
Elsa barely had time to react before they surrounded her.
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Chapter 22 The Price of Survival
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She turned to look at Lincoln.
He leaned casually against a police cruiser, lighting a cigarette. The flame flickered, then he spoke, lips barely moving.
“Ms. Moore… good luck.”
In the courtroom.
As the neural playback device was strapped to her head, Elsa felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
Meanwhile, the livestream chat exploded in outrage.
“How dare she! Elsa’s unbelievable!”
“Mr. Martin must’ve been tricked by that vixen!”
“Ugh, look at her–typical fake innocent. Who knows how many people she’s fooled.”
“Elsa Moore, you stand accused of murdering Dong Hua. How do you plead?” the judge asked, banging the gavel.
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Elsa’s voice was hoarse. Her eyes scanned the courtroom gallery.
Lincoln sat in the front row in a crisp suit, tapping his fingers idly against his knee. His expression said it all–he was watching a performance.
The prosecutor held up a still from surveillance footage.
Elsa, mid–kick, striking Mr. Dawson.
Clear as day.
The next frame showed him curled on the ground.
But then… nothing. The footage cut off.
And forensic evidence had confirmed Elsa’s fingerprints at the scene.
The prosecutor turned to her, voice rising. “What happened after that? What did you do?”
In the next moment, the courtroom screen lit up with Elsa’s recorded memory.
The livestream chat went wild.
“Let’s gooo! This is the part I’ve been waiting for!”
“That kick was brutal! Elsa wasn’t playing around.”
But then….
The memory stopped the moment she got into Lincoln’s car.
And from that point on-
Mr. Dawson never appeared in the footage again.
12:26 PM
When Technology Proves the Wronged Heiress Innocent
