After My Prison Release, I Was Already Dying

As soon as his eyes landed on the words "late-stage gastric cancer," Phil’s grip on the medical record tightened.

In an instant, the scene from that night—the raging fire, the pool of blood, the white powder stained with red—came alive in his mind.

So the blood she coughed up that day…

It wasn’t an act.

It wasn’t a pathetic attempt to gain his sympathy.

She had been sick all along.

She had been dying all along.

He snapped the file shut, his mind replaying Officer Blake’s words from that day:

"She’s not in a position to answer right now."

So that’s what he meant.

Tricia was unconscious. Too sick to respond.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

"Stomach cancer? So what? She deserved it."

The moment he realized he was thinking about her again, anger surged through him.

With a scowl, he crumpled the medical record and shoved it into his pocket.

He needed a distraction.

“Come in,” he barked.

His assistant entered, standing stiffly in front of the desk.

“That business deal we discussed recently—what happened with the He family?”

The assistant quickly flipped through some notes.

“There was an incident, Mr. Knight. The deal was canceled.”

Phil frowned. “Canceled? I just attended his son’s wedding.”

The thought immediately brought back another memory—

Tricia, standing in the wedding hall.

Her expression distant, her voice mocking.

"I’m just here because someone paid me. You don’t have to worry—it has nothing to do with you. If you hate me so much, then leave. That way, someone as vicious and disgusting as me won’t ruin your mood."

"Or… could it be that you’re still obsessed with me? That’s why you keep running into me wherever you go?"

The way she had smirked when she said those words—it lingered in his mind like a curse.

He exhaled sharply.

He had made up his mind to cut ties completely.

So why did she keep showing up in his life?

The assistant’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“There was an incident at the wedding. I heard it involved a drug trafficking operation.”

Phil stiffened.

“We were lucky to leave early,” the assistant continued. “If we had stayed, we could have been caught up in it.”

A thought flashed in Phil’s mind, and his expression darkened.

So that’s why she was there.

She was buying drugs.

That must be why she couldn’t answer Officer Blake’s questions—not because she was sick, but because she was too drugged out to function.

His lips curled in disgust.

“Enough,” he said coldly. “I don’t want to hear another word about her.”

Dismissing his assistant, he forced himself to focus on work.

He worked late into the night, long after the last employees had left the office.

Only when a dull pain throbbed in his stomach did he realize he hadn’t eaten all day.

Instinctively, his mind drifted to her again.

Tricia…

Whenever he worked overtime, she would always prepare a meal for him, nagging endlessly.

"Brother Phil, you always skip meals. It’s bad for your health. I’ll be worried."

He pressed a hand to his stomach, shaking his head.

He needed to eat.

He got into his car, intending to find a quick meal.

But before he knew it, he had already driven to that small restaurant.

Their small restaurant.

He hesitated.

“No big deal,” he muttered to himself. “It’s the only place open this late. It has nothing to do with her.”

Convincing himself, he started the engine.

But before he could reach his destination, his exhaustion got the better of him.

For just a second, his mind drifted—

And then—

BANG!

He slammed the brakes.

The impact wasn’t too strong, but the figure in front of his car had already been thrown a meter away.

Heart pounding, he rushed out to check.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Officer Blake?"

The man grimaced. “Looks like my lower leg is broken.”

Phil exhaled sharply. Of all people…

Without another word, he helped Officer Blake into the car.

As he settled into the passenger seat, something fell from Phil’s coat pocket.

A single sheet of paper fluttered onto Officer Blake’s lap.

He picked it up, and his face darkened.

“You know,” he murmured.

Phil glanced at the report.

His expression was unreadable.

“So what if I do?” His voice was eerily calm. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t feel sorry for her.”

His fingers curled around the steering wheel.

“A murderer like her deserves to have stomach cancer.”

A heavy silence filled the car.

Then, Officer Blake laughed bitterly.

“I don’t believe Tricia is a murderer.”

Phil’s gaze snapped to him.

“What did you say?”

Officer Blake met his eyes.

“You and Tricia—how close were you?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Officer Blake sighed. “I just don’t think she’s capable of murder.”

Phil scoffed.

“She was at a drug deal, wasn’t she? What kind of person does that make her?”

Officer Blake’s expression suddenly hardened.

Then, without hesitation, he said—

“She wasn’t taking drugs.

She was a hero in drug enforcement.”