Chapter 64

She slapped the table instinctively, causing the coffee cup to wobble and nearly spill its contents.

"Do you remember what they were wearing that day?" Willie asked suddenly.

The waiter’s eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard, but he quickly regained his composure and stiffened his neck. "Yeah, I remember."

"Emily was dressed all in black and wore a hat. Camila had on a red dress and a necklace."

Fiona, standing nearby, felt her heart sink. The police had mentioned that Emily was found wearing black.

But Camila's outfit that day couldn't be confirmed since she was currently in police custody, making it impossible to verify. The waiter's statement conveniently fell into the "unverifiable" gap.

Willie suddenly seemed to relax, shoving his hands back into his pockets and speaking in a casual tone, as if discussing the weather. "Alright, seems like you remember. We won't bother you anymore."

With that, he turned and walked towards the café's exit, his steps decisive and without hesitation.

Fiona was completely baffled. She quickly followed him, lowering her voice urgently. "Do you really think he wasn't lying? Even if he sounded confident, something just feels off."

"He was lying," Willie said flatly, his voice carrying an undeniable certainty.

Fiona abruptly stopped, nearly bumping into a nearby streetlamp. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me what I'm wearing today."

Fiona instinctively glanced at Willie, about to speak, but he continued, "Exactly. Even though I'm standing right in front of you, you have to look at me to describe what I'm wearing."

"That waiter didn't even think before describing the outfits of two strangers from that day. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"This isn't about having a good memory. His behavior defies normal logic."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the café's glass window, reflecting their images. "Unless someone coached him beforehand, and he memorized it perfectly."

"Right."

Fiona finally understood. "So, what do we do now?"

There were at least 36 hours before Camila could be released.

Willie took a deep breath, his fingers lightly clenching in his pockets as he quickly formulated a plan.

"Fiona, go back to the office. Handle the contract termination and keep the employees' emotions in check. We can't let the media catch wind of this. If things blow up, it will be even worse for Camila."

His eyes darkened. "I'll head to the police station. Even if I can't see Camila, I need to get the latest updates from the officers."

—

Camila sat in the holding cell, glancing at the clock on the wall. The hour hand had just passed two in the afternoon.

It had been less than half a day since she was brought in, but time seemed to crawl, each minute feeling like an eternity.

"Hey, you new here?"

A rough voice suddenly broke the silence. A woman squatting in the corner slowly stood up, a gray stain on her jeans.

She walked over to Camila, nudging her ankle with her toe, not hard but clearly provocative. "Why aren't you talking? Are you mute?"

Camila didn't move, just glanced at her with eyes as cold as ice.

"How could she be mute? Can't you tell?" A girl standing on the far right suddenly spoke up. She had a high ponytail, the ends a bit frizzy.

She stared at Camila's face for a long time before raising her voice. "She's Camila, the supermodel. I've seen her in fashion magazines."

At this, the other two in the cell came over, their eyes full of curiosity.

"No wonder she looks familiar. She looks stunning on TV with all that makeup, but she's even prettier without it. Her skin is flawless."

"Wow, this is big news. When I get out, I'm going to expose this."

"Hahaha, you think you're getting out? With what you did, you'll be in here for at least fifteen years."

They started chattering among themselves. Camila gave them a slight smile but said nothing. Speaking now would only bring more trouble.

But the woman who had kicked her ankle clearly wasn't done. She looked Camila up and down, her tone full of mockery.

"So what if you're a supermodel? You're still stuck in here with me."

Her words were harsh. Camila looked up at her. "What do you want to say? I'm in a bad mood right now, so I suggest you don't mess with me."

"Mess with you?" The woman laughed sharply, as if hearing a joke.

"You think you're still that adored model out there? In here, I can mess with you however I want." She reached out to grab Camila's hair.

But Camila leaned back slightly, just enough to avoid her hand.

The woman missed, her face darkening instantly. She spat, "Bitch, you look like a slut. Did you get caught selling yourself? I can't stand women like you."

She raised her hand again, this time aiming for Camila's face.

Camila's eyes turned cold. She grabbed the woman's wrist, not hard, but enough to make her gasp.

Before the woman could react, Camila flung her hand away, stepped aside, and slapped her hard across the face.

The woman, stunned, widened her eyes. "You dare hit me?"

"You started it."

Camila calmly shook her hand, the sensation of the slap still lingering. Her tone was as indifferent as if discussing something trivial. "I told you not to mess with me. Otherwise, it won't just be a slap."

The woman, thoroughly enraged, glanced at the others, seeking support or courage.

But they just shrank back, none daring to step forward.

The woman gritted her teeth and lunged at Camila, her nails aiming to scratch her face.

Camila's eyes sharpened. She stepped back, hooking the woman's ankle with her foot. The woman lost her balance and fell.

Before she could get up, Camila stepped forward, crouched down, and slapped her face four or five times.

"I told you not to mess with me. Don't you understand?"

"This is your own doing."

"Don't think I'll let you bully me just because we're in here."

The woman's cheeks quickly turned red, the handprints clear as day.

Camila stood up, and in front of everyone, slapped herself. Her eyes reddened instantly, tears dripping onto her collar, leaving a small wet mark.