These days, even rural yards are paved with concrete. If you walk across them with muddy feet, you'll definitely leave tracks behind.

It didn't take long for Emily Blair to spot the evidence nearby—a single, tiny footprint that stood out among the larger ones scattered around.

She and Elizabeth Wilson followed the child's prints to a modest family home. From inside, they could hear a boy's gleeful shrieks and a mother's voice, gentle but firm.

"Slow down, sweetheart! Don't fall!"

The boy only grew louder, his excitement bubbling over.

The house was typical for the countryside, its front door wide open. A barefoot boy of about seven or eight darted across the concrete, his clothes filthy and streaked with dirt. Tulip petals clung to his shirt, adding splashes of color to the grime.

Not far from the door, a patch of tulips lay flattened, their stems crushed, sticky sap oozing onto the ground.

Emily Blair didn't step inside. Instead, she took out her phone and snapped photos of the boy and the trampled flowers, recording a quick video for good measure.

Once she finished, she turned and walked away without a word.

She had no intention of defending Arianna George.

Even if Arianna had lashed out at her in ignorance, Emily didn't see any reason to forgive her. She hadn't done anything wrong—this mess was nothing but misfortune dumped on her head.

The truth, really, was simple to uncover.

But Arianna hadn't wanted to look for it. None of them had.

If they'd put even a little effort into investigating, they wouldn't have rushed over, desperate to pin the blame on her.

If Emily had stayed passive, like she had in her previous life, they'd have happily piled the accusations on, nailing her to the wall for something she didn't do.

This time, at least, she'd managed to turn the tables.

She walked back, unblocked Andrew Lane's number, sent him the photos and video, then promptly blocked him again.

When they returned, Elizabeth Wilson asked quietly, "What will you do now? About the competition..."

"I can't count on Arianna George," Emily replied, shaking her head. "I'll have to find another way."

"Let's just go home for now."

Her voice was soft, almost weary.

As Emily and Elizabeth left Ashley Miller's house, they ran right into the last group Emily wanted to see: Andrew Lane, Isabella Austin, and the others.

Isabella looked genuinely ill, her face chalk-pale as she leaned heavily on Andrew's arm. Without his support, she looked like she might collapse.

"I'm sorry, Emily,” Isabella murmured weakly. “I've been feeling awful, so the teachers came with me."

Emily didn't answer. Her expression was frosty as she brushed past them, not sparing a single glance.

It was as if they were invisible—simply not worth her notice.

She didn't see Andrew's eyes following her, his gaze fixed with a complicated intensity.

"Emily Blair." Arianna George called out suddenly.

Emily didn't break stride.

A flush of embarrassment crept across Arianna's face.

She'd been so upset over the ruined tulips that she'd lost her head. Now, thinking it over, she realized there were plenty of holes in the story, and no real proof Emily had done anything.

Honestly, the Emily Blair that Sophia Clark described was supposed to be a spiteful troublemaker, someone immoral who delighted in wrecking other people's lives.

But Arianna barely knew Emily-this was only the second time they'd met.

Yet looking at her now, with those clear, steady eyes, Arianna couldn't believe she was the kind of person Sophia claimed.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd acted rashly.

She'd jumped to conclusions, scolded Emily without reason.

She'd made a mistake. She owed Emily an apology.

But-

A thoughtful crease formed between Arianna's brows.

She hadn't always been this quick to judge, this quick to lose her temper. When had she become the kind of person who lashed out so carelessly, especially at someone younger and weaker?