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墨書 Inktalez
He stood there with his head lowered, his suit draped over the T-Shaped Iron Frame behind him, maintaining his posture.
His arms stretched out like a scarecrow at either end of the frame, and the spot where his ring used to be on his left ring finger was bare, revealing a ring of skin that appeared particularly pale from long exposure to the sun.
It was clear that the ring was gone.
I had never been fond of that ring.
Once, an error in a company report led to the loss of a potential major client, and everyone shifted the blame onto me.
I was not good with words and felt utterly isolated, standing alone in front of my boss's desk, waiting for the reprimand. He exploded in anger, and after venting, he slammed a document right into my face.
In that moment, the sunlight reflecting off that ring was blindingly sharp, piercing my eyes and my heart deeply.
At that time, I thought about quitting right then and there. Later, I secretly resolved to do something before I left—something to make him uncomfortable and relieve this pent-up frustration.
In countless daydreams, I had "killed" my boss a thousand times.
But now, as I faced his corpse, the ring had somehow ended up in my bag. A wave of intense pain surged through my head as I hurriedly concealed the ring back in my Bag.
At that moment, an image flashed into my mind like lightning.
The background of the image was orange-yellow, with glaring light surrounding it in a hazy blur, and at its center lay a hand sprawled on the floor.
At the other end of the hand, it seemed to be connected to a body, but I could only vaguely see that the body was dressed in a black suit, with a ring adorning the hand. Then, a pair of slender female hands entered the frame, reaching for the ring, attempting to pull it off. However, the ring was tightly fitted, and no matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't budge.
Suddenly, I felt as if the ground was shaking; it appeared in the scene that the floor was moving backward. The bathroom door slowly creaked open in the frame, revealing a small bar of soap on the sink.
The hands dipped into the water, picked up the soap, and lathered some onto her hands. Then she returned to that hand and applied the soap to the ring finger, finally managing to remove the ring.
This scene flickered in my mind like a montage from a movie, flashing repeatedly before me.
I clutched my head in agony and slowly crouched down.
I couldn't help but ask myself: Am I the woman in the scene who took off the ring?
Soon after, the police arrived at the scene.
They ordered everyone not to leave until necessary investigations were completed.
There were over a hundred people present—employees from our company attending the celebration along with guests—and this crowd kept the police busy.
Both front and back doors were manned by guards; no one could escape this building.
I tightly held my handbag, my heart racing with anxiety.
How did that ring end up in my handbag? Could someone be framing me on purpose?
I struggled to recall the events leading up to my arrival at the company this morning.
The handbag I tightly held was filled with items I might need at any moment, and I had been carrying it over my shoulder.
However, there was a period when I left the zipper open for easy access to my belongings.
Could it be that during that time, someone took the opportunity to slip the ring into my handbag?
As I blended into the crowd, my hand stealthily slipped into the bag, first feeling for the ring, then brushing against the Wine Bottle.
I knew very well that if there had been any fingerprints left by the criminal on the ring, they would have been wiped clean by the time I touched it for the first time.
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