As I go about my daily routine, the weight of my past sins hangs heavy on my conscience. Each task, each interaction, is tinged with the lingering shadows of what I've done. Despite my efforts to push them aside, they persist, haunting my thoughts like unwelcome ghosts.

Navigating the office feels like walking through a minefield, especially with Jessica's persistent attempts to engage me. I maintain a polite distance, but her presence serves as a constant reminder of the secrets I carry.

Jasmine's jest from yesterday lingers in my mind like a cryptic message. "Kill them." Was it merely a playful quip, or did it hold a deeper meaning? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, stirring up doubts and fears I'd rather keep buried.

The closure of the cases involving Daniel and Alex offers some reprieve, but it's a fragile comfort. The lack of evidence against me is a stroke of luck, but I know it won't last forever. The fear of being exposed gnaws at me, a constant reminder of the precariousness of my situation.

As I continue to navigate this precarious balance between past and present, guilt and fear, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep up the facade before it all comes crashing down.

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Am I crazy?

Probably, yes.

As I scrutinize the information about Jasmine's parents, a wave of conflicting emotions washes over me. On one hand, their outward appearances betray no signs of the cruelty they allegedly inflicted upon Jasmine. Her father's innocent face and her mother's stern countenance seem incongruous with the horrors she endured.

Yet, I can't shake the nagging suspicion that appearances can be deceiving. The facade of innocence often conceals the darkest secrets. Jasmine's reluctance to confront her past speaks volumes, a silent testament to the scars that still haunt her.

As I delve deeper into the details, a sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. What am I hoping to achieve by uncovering these painful truths? Am I seeking justice for Jasmine, or am I simply fueling my own vengeful desires?

Caught between the desire to protect Jasmine and the fear of what I might uncover, I grapple with the weight of my own actions. In the end, I can't help but wonder: what the hell am I doing right now?

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As I stand before Jasmine's parents' house, a surge of adrenaline courses through my veins. Clad in my undercover uniform, I assume the guise of a worker tasked with repairing their broken pipe in the kitchen. It's a guise born out of necessity, a means to infiltrate their home without raising suspicion.

The facade of normalcy I've adopted belies the turmoil roiling beneath the surface. My heart pounds in my chest as I steel myself for what lies ahead. Memories of Jasmine's harrowing experiences echo in my mind, fueling my determination to confront her tormentors and uncover the truth.

With each step closer to the front door, my resolve strengthens. I remind myself of the purpose driving me forward: to protect Jasmine, to seek justice for the injustices she endured. Yet, beneath the facade of righteous intent, lurks a darker truth—a desire for retribution, a thirst for vengeance.

As I raise my hand to knock on the door, I steel myself for the confrontation that awaits. The journey ahead is fraught with uncertainty, but I press forward, driven by a relentless determination to confront the demons of Jasmine's past.

I approach the entrance, my eyes scan the perimeter, noting the presence of several CCTV cameras strategically positioned around the property. However, I find a small measure of solace in the knowledge that I've already taken preemptive action. Prior to my arrival, I clandestinely hacked into the CCTV system, ensuring it would malfunction and provide me with the cover I need to carry out my mission undetected.

Despite the assurance provided by my digital subterfuge, a nagging sense of apprehension gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. I remain acutely aware of the risks inherent in my clandestine endeavor. With each passing moment, the weight of responsibility presses down upon me, reminding me of the stakes at hand.

With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I proceed with caution, mindful of the delicate balance between stealth and vigilance. The facade of normalcy I've adopted belies the tumultuous thoughts swirling within, as I prepare to confront the shadows of Jasmine's past and unearth the truth hidden within her family's abode.

The maid who greets me at the door extends a hesitant invitation. "Mr. Lim and Madam Lim are hosting a small gathering in the backyard. Follow me, and I'll show you the pipe that needs fixing. It's located near the backyard. I hope you can take care of it." Her expression betrays a hint of concern, adding an air of mystery to the task at hand.

I offer a nod of acknowledgment and a reassuring smile in response to the maid's guidance. As we traverse the grand corridors of the mansion, my gaze sweeps across the opulent surroundings, taking in the elegant yet somber atmosphere that permeates the halls.

Despite the lavish decor and luxurious furnishings, there is an undeniable sense of emptiness that hangs in the air, casting a pall over the otherwise impeccable facade. It's as if the grandeur of the estate masks a deeper, more profound void that lingers just beneath the surface.

With each step, I am reminded of the weight of my purpose here, the gravity of the secrets that lie concealed within these walls. As we draw nearer to the backyard, I brace myself for the revelations that await me, steeling my resolve to uncover the truth hidden amidst the shadows of Jasmine's familial home.

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I observe them silently from my vantage point, my presence concealed behind the guise of a diligent worker. The task of fixing the pipe is completed with ease, a task that requires little effort on my part, given my familiarity with such repairs.

As I watch Mr. and Madam Lim, they appear content, their smiles masking the true nature of their characters. It's unsettling to witness their facade of normalcy, knowing the darkness that lurks beneath the surface.

My gaze lingers on Madam Lim, or Lily, as she reaches for a glass of wine. An unsettling premonition whispers in the recesses of my mind, prompting me to anticipate her actions. "She will take the third glass," I murmur to myself, a prediction that proves to be accurate as Lily reaches for her third glass of wine.

The significance of this ritual eludes me, yet I can't shake the feeling that there is a deeper meaning behind her actions. Perhaps it's a superstition or a belief instilled by her shaman, guiding her choices with an unseen hand.

As I continue to observe, I can't help but wonder what other secrets lie hidden within the walls of this elegant yet enigmatic mansion, waiting to be unearthed by the probing gaze of truth.

As Lily consumes the wine with a sense of predetermined certainty, I steel myself for the unfolding drama, anticipating the climax of this macabre performance.

Suddenly, as if scripted by fate, Lily's demeanor shifts from one of composure to one of distress. The glass slips from her grasp, shattering against the floor in a symphony of broken shards. All eyes converge upon her, the tension palpable in the air.

In a desperate attempt to regain her composure, Lily clutches at the tablecloth, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. But her efforts are in vain as she loses her footing, teetering on the edge of catastrophe.

With a gasp of horror, she plummets from the precipice, her descent halted only by the unforgiving ground below. Jackson rushes to her side, his expression a mask of fear and concern as he cradles her fallen form in his arms.

As chaos unfolds around me, I stand at the center, a silent orchestrator of destruction. Jackson's cries for help are drowned out by the frenzied screams of the panicked crowd, each shriek a symphony of terror that resonates within me. With calculated precision, I weave through the throng, my steps measured and deliberate, my mask of concern firmly in place.

"What's happening?" I inquire, my voice a mere whisper amidst the cacophony. "I don't know, but we need to help them!" someone shouts, their desperation palpable in the air.

Feigning urgency, I rush to the aid of the fallen, my heart pounding with exhilaration as I revel in their suffering. "Let me help you!" I cry out, my words a hollow echo of false concern. Inwardly, I laugh, the thrill of deception coursing through my veins like a drug.

And as the chaos reaches its crescendo, I stand amidst the wreckage, a silent witness to my own handiwork. Today, I have danced upon the precipice of darkness, embracing the shadows that lurk within me. For in this moment, I have become the harbinger of fate, the arbiter of justice in a world gone mad.