fake smile episode 3

Part 5: Poison at the Station

Aryan confessed. Everything.

But he wasn't the mastermind. He was just a runner. The one ordered to get close to Jijah, stall for time, and gather intel.

"Who is the mastermind?" the police officer asked.

Aryan prepared to answer. His mouth opened.

"He’s… he’s the one who..."

Glug.

A strange sound erupted from his throat. He clutched his neck, eyes bulging. Within 30 seconds, he lay dead on the floor of the police station.

Poison.

Fast. Clean. It left no trace.

Jijah watched from behind the one-way mirror, her fists clenched tight.

She had expected this. The mastermind never let their pawns live once they were no longer useful.

But this time was different.

This time, the mastermind made a mistake.

Because before Aryan died, he had managed to whisper to Jijah in the police car:

"The mastermind... he calls you 'child.' Every single day."

Jijah’s breath hitched.

"Child."

Part 6: The Last Fake Smile

"He calls you child."

Those words echoed in Jijah’s head for three days. For three days, she didn’t eat. For three days, she sat in front of the mirror, repeating the names of everyone who had ever called her "child."

Mother.

Uncle.

Aunt.

Jammy.

Jammy.

Jammy never called her "child."

Jammy called her "Jijah." Always with that gentle tone that made her skin crawl.

But on the night her father died, Jijah remembered one thing.

Her father had screamed:

"JAMMY! What are you doing to my child?!"

My child.

Her father said "my child." But Jammy had replied in a voice so chillingly calm:

"She’s not your child anymore. She’s mine now."

Jijah covered her mouth. She finally understood.

The mastermind was Jammy.

The man who sat at their dinner table, fed her mother rice, and stroked her head when she was small.

The man who killed her father to take everything.

The Trap

Jijah didn’t run to the police. The police were already tainted.

Instead, she did exactly what Jammy had unconsciously taught her: she played the quiet game.

She sent an anonymous letter to Jammy. Handwritten, in red ink.

"I know. Meet me at the old house. Tonight. Midnight. Come alone. If you bring anyone, everyone will know what you did to my father."

Jammy came.

Alone. Arrogant. He thought Jijah was still the scared girl he knew.

The old house was dark, smelling of rotting wood. The stairs where her father died still bore the scratch marks that were never repaired.

Jammy smirked. "Finally, you’ve grown a brain. Yes, I killed him. He was a fool. He wanted to give half the company to you. You didn't deserve it."

Jijah didn't answer. She played a video.

Her father’s voice. Her mother’s voice. Aryan’s voice.

Everything was on that phone.

"I gave the poison to Aryan, too," Jammy laughed. "Easy. He was so terrified when you mentioned the 'traitor’s son.' Idiot."

Jijah nodded. "Good. You’ve confessed."

She pressed the "send" button.

A live stream went directly to ten journalists, three lawyers, and a shared folder with the anti-corruption police.

"Jijah... you’re insane!"

Jammy lunged for a knife.

But Jijah was already standing behind him.

Not because she was strong.

But because her mother was there.

Her mother held Jijah’s hand, her eyes hollow.

"Forgive me, Jijah. I was scared. He threatened to kill you too if I didn't follow him."

Jammy looked at the mother.

"Pathetic. He used you, too."

Jijah held up her phone.

"Jammy. Do you want to know why I laughed the night Aryan threatened me?"

She pressed play.

An audio recording. Jammy’s own voice from six months ago, speaking to a hitman:

"If the girl starts asking questions, make her fall down the stairs. Just like her father."

Jammy froze.

Jijah smiled. The same smile Jammy had given her for 18 years.

"That fake smile... I’m giving it back."

The back door burst open. The police swarmed in.

The recording was enough. There was nowhere for Jammy to run.

He screamed. He begged.

But Jijah had already turned her back.

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