Chapter 4

Yolanda Vance's POV

Crash!

Expensive vases were shattered, custom sofas were slashed, bookshelves were pushed over, and books and scripts scattered all over the floor.

Watching this thuggish behavior, I trembled with rage. I rushed forward, grabbed Julian Foster's arm, and questioned him sharply. "Julian Foster, are you insane?! You're breaking and entering, and you brought people to wreck my home! I'm calling the police!"

Julian Foster violently flung my hand away, his eyes filled with disgust and anger, as if looking at a heinous criminal.

"You still have the nerve to call the police?" He let out a cold laugh, gritting his teeth. "Yolanda Vance, how did I never realize how vicious you are before? Ever since Anna saw you at the hospital, she went back and suddenly fell unconscious with a persistent high fever! The doctors couldn't find the cause. I brought in a medium, and the medium said that you cursed Anna!"

I was stunned, then let out an utterly absurd, cold laugh.

"A curse? Julian Foster, have you lost your mind, or did that woman suck your brains dry? You actually believe such superstitious nonsense?!" I pointed angrily at his nose. "She's unconscious? I think she's just addicted to acting! She doesn't want me to have an easy time, so she's messing with you, and you actually let yourself be ordered around by her like a dog!"

"Shut up!" Hit where it hurt, Julian Foster's face turned livid. "Yolanda Vance, acting is what you do best. Who knows if you're the one framing her here! Search the place! The medium said the cursed object is hidden in this house!"

The bodyguards ransacked the place, their movements growing even more violent.

Before long, a bodyguard emerged from the southeast corner of the bedroom, holding a red sandalwood box in his hands.

"Mr. Foster, we found this wooden box at the very bottom of the cabinet in the southeast corner."

The so-called "spiritualist" wearing a long robe, who was trailing behind Julian Foster, immediately jumped out and pointed at the wooden box, screaming, "Yes! That's it! This is the culprit causing Ms. Sterling's coma! There must be something cursed inside!"

The moment I saw the wooden box clearly, my face turned deathly pale, and my heart felt as though it were being viciously squeezed by an invisible hand.

That was my parents' cremation urn!

My parents had died in a car accident right when I first debuted. Since I had no other family and couldn't bear to bury them in a cold cemetery, I had someone make this red sandalwood box to keep their ashes in the quietest corner of my bedroom. It felt as though they were still here with me.

"Stop! Put it down!" I lunged forward like a madwoman, trying to snatch the wooden box back from the bodyguard. "That's mine! You're not allowed to touch it!"

Seeing how tense I was, Julian Foster became even more convinced by the spiritualist's words. He snatched the box from the bodyguard's hands and looked down at me coldly. "So nervous? It seems there really is something shameful hidden inside."

"Julian Foster, give it back to me!" My eyes were bloodshot, and my voice was shrill with despair. "That's not some cursed object! Those are my parents' ashes!"

His hand holding the wooden box froze, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes.

"Mr. Foster, don't let her fool you!" the spiritualist egged him on from the side. "Who keeps dead people's ashes in their bedroom? This is nothing more than a cover story for practicing black magic! Are you going to listen to this woman and watch Ms. Sterling die?"

I saw the shift in Julian's eyes. His expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before twisting into ruthless determination. He gripped the wooden box so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"No..." I saw the madness in his eyes, and my legs gave out, sending me to my knees right in front of him.

I threw away all my pride, choking on my tears. "Julian Foster, I beg of you. Those are the parents who raised me. You hate me, you want a divorce, you want me to give up the assets—I'll agree to all of it! Just don't touch them. If you dare touch them, I, Yolanda Vance, swear that I will hate you forever, and I will make sure you die a horrible death!"

Julian Foster's movements froze completely. Perhaps my gaze was too terrifying—a burning hatred ready to bring both of us down to ash—piercing his heart and making it shudder.