Ghost Exorciser: The Oust Fake Heiress Strikes-Chapter 397: Confrontation

Days passed.

Three long, restless days filled with sleepless nights and suffocating tension.

When the investigator finally returned with the report, Garrison stood still as he listened, his expression gradually turning rigid.

Every word felt heavier than the last. Everything he believed about Cassandra was wrong.

"She stole designs," the investigator stated plainly. "Not only that, she was also responsible for leaking the confidential documents."

For a moment, Garrison simply stood there, unmoving.

"...No," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "That’s not possible."

He demanded a reinvestigation. Then another. But every result came back the same. The truth didn’t change. It only became clearer.

His hands slowly clenched into fists. ’So... it was all a lie...?’

A hollow feeling spread through his chest.

"She... was with me just for the documents..." he murmured faintly, his voice breaking.

A bitter realization settled in. ’She might have never loved me... not even once.’

The thought struck like a blade. Regret flooded him, heavy and suffocating.

Only now did he understand... What it meant to play with someone’s feelings. What it meant... to lose.

Suddenly, another face appeared in his mind.

Lana.

The memory of how he had treated her surfaced, sharp and unavoidable.

He had toyed with her feelings once. And now... Someone had done the same to him. His breath hitched.

But almost immediately, he shook his head, rejecting the thought.

"No... why am I even thinking about her...?" he muttered bitterly. "She doesn’t deserve that much credit... she was just pretending... that’s all..."

Yet his heart ached. Too deeply to ignore.

........

Meanwhile, somewhere far away, Mr. Crow closed its eyes slowly, its feathers rustling faintly.

It could feel it. The curse had taken effect.

Cassandra, who had tried to destroy Lana, had met her end.

Garrison, who had taken Lana’s love for granted, now tasted betrayal himself.

A quiet satisfaction lingered. Balance had been restored.

Unaware of everything, Lana continued with her life, focusing on her university matters.

That was...until she saw him. Standing near the university gate. Garrison.

She stopped for a brief second, surprise flickering across her face. ’What is he doing here...?’

For a moment, she considered ignoring him entirely.

But before she could turn away... he stepped forward and blocked her path.

Lana let out a soft sigh, irritation creeping into her expression. "What do you want?" she asked flatly.

Garrison stared at her, his eyes filled with something unstable. "It’s all your fault," he said.

Lana blinked, stunned. Then...she almost laughed.

"That’s ridiculous," she replied, her tone cold. "I haven’t done anything to you."

For a moment, she simply looked at him, disbelief evident in her eyes.

Then she turned away. "You’re being brainless," she muttered, walking toward the car waiting nearby.

But Garrison stepped in front of her again.

"Why are you running?" he demanded. "Do you feel guilty? Cassandra is dead! Don’t you have any shame?"

Lana’s brows furrowed. "She is dead?"

"If you have even a shred of decency," he continued, his voice rising, "come with me and pay respects at her funeral!"

Lana looked at him calmly, her gaze steady. "Why should I?" she asked.

Her composure only fueled his anger.

"You’re so selfish!" he snapped, pointing at her.

Lana chuckled faintly. "Say something new," she replied dismissively, stepping past him again.

But this time...he grabbed her arm. Something inside her snapped.

Her hand moved before she even realized it...

SLAP.

The sound rang sharply in the air.

Garrison froze, his head snapping to the side, his cheek reddening instantly.

"You!" he began, pointing at her in shock.

But before he could finish... Another slap landed.

Then a kick. Then another strike. Lana’s restraint shattered completely.

All the frustration she had suppressed, all the humiliation, all the pain... exploded.

She struck him again and again, her movements sharp and unrelenting.

"I told you!" she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. "I have nothing to do with you!"

Garrison fell to the ground, groaning in pain, trying to shield himself as she continued.

Students began to gather, whispers spreading quickly.

"What’s happening?"

"Did you see that? He blocked her first..."

"He deserved it..."

Someone spoke up, "I heard Cassandra died... and he’s blaming Lana."

"That’s insane," another replied. "Cassandra was exposed as a plagiarist. How is that Lana’s fault?"

More murmurs followed.

"She ruined her own reputation."

"And Garrison? He’s acting like a victim now?"

Some even scoffed.

"Wasn’t their relationship just transactional anyway? Mistress and sugar daddy?"

"If he truly loved her, why treat her as a mistress in the first place?"

Disdainful gazes turned toward Garrison.

One student even picked up a small stone and threw it toward him.

It hit near his side.

Lana finally stepped back, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Garrison lay there, curled slightly, pain etched across his face, not just physical but something deeper.

Lana walked away without looking back.

As she passed the stand, her gaze flickered toward it for a brief moment, her lips curling faintly.

’Self-righteous bastards... all of them,’ she thought, a trace of disdain lingering in her chest like a bitter aftertaste. Without another pause, she turned and exited.

The murmurs around her gradually died down. The surrounding students exchanged glances, their curiosity fading as quickly as it had sparked.

Garrison lay there, unmoving, watching helplessly as the crowd dispersed.

From what he had seen from his memories, it should have been Lana who was accused of being a plagiarist in the previous life. Yet in this life, the blame had fallen on Cassandra.

He frowned slightly, his fingers curling unconsciously.

On closer thought, there was something even stranger.

In this life, although Lana had not taken that role, Yale had been accused of plagiarism instead.

Different people, different circumstances... yet the pattern remained eerily similar.

"The only constant... is Cassandra..." he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

Another realization struck him, sharper than the last. In his memories, Lana had repeatedly insisted,

’What if Cassandra can read my mind?’