The Case
Milk Pansa didn’t believe in surprises.
In her world, everything followed a pattern. People had predictable personalities, cases unfolded in logical steps, and no problem was too complex for her to solve.
As one of the most sought-after lawyers in the city, she had spent years refining the skill of reading people at first sight.
So when Freen, her best friend and secretary, burst into her office looking like she had seen a ghost, Milk barely raised an eyebrow.
“We have a problem,” Freen announced, shutting the door behind her.
Milk continued typing on her laptop. “We always do.”
“This is different.” Freen hesitated before sliding her phone across the desk. “You need to see this.”
Milk glanced at the screen. A video was paused at a frame showing a dark street at night. A classic car—her classic car—sped past the camera. The grainy footage wasn’t clear, but the license plate was unmistakable.
Milk pressed play.
The car rushed forward. A girl walked onto the road. The impact wasn't visible, but the unmistakable sound of a crash echoed through the speaker. The video ended abruptly.
Milk's breath caught in her throat.
“This...this isn't real.”
“It is,” Freen said grimly.
“The plaintiff sent it this morning. They're threatening to release it unless you settle.”
Milk clenched her jaw. Settle? As if I were guilty?
She straightened, forcing her lawyer instincts to take over. “What do we know?”
Freen pulled up another file. “The victim is a 20 years old girl named Mim Limpatiyakorn. She's in a coma.”
Milk's stomach tightened.
“And they think I did it?”
“They don't care if it was you. They care that it was your car.”
A cold wave of realization hit her. There was just one problem.
“I wasn't driving that night.”
Freen nodded. “AJ borrowed the car.”
Milk shot to her feet. “Where is he?”
AJ Pansa had the distinct ability to look guilty even when he wasn't.
When Milk stormed into his apartment, he was on the couch, strumming his guitar and humming along to a song that didn't exist. His lazy, carefree personality instantly evaporated when he saw her face.
“Oh, no. What did I do?”
Milk crossed her arms. “Where was my car the night of your birthday party?”
AJ blinked. "I... borrowed it. But I swear I brought it back.”
“Did you hit someone?”
His expression turned horrified. “Of course not! I didn't even drive it that much.”
Freen sighed. “Then explain the video of your sister's car running someone over.”
AJ's eyes widened. “What?! No way. I parked it outside the party, and the next morning, it was back in the driveway.”
Milk narrowed her eyes. “Did you lock it?”
AJ hesitated.
Milk groaned. “AJ.”
“Okay, okay! I don't remember! But listen, if it was stolen, wouldn't I have noticed something off?”
Freen exchanged a look with Milk.
“Not if whoever took it returned it before you woke up.”
AJ frowned. “But why steal a car just to bring it back?”
Milk didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear—she wasn't the one at fault. Yet.
While Milk was trying to clear her name, someone else was trying to uncover the truth.
Love had spent the last two weeks combing through security footage, questioning locals, and scanning license plates. She had already narrowed down the list of possible suspects. She was so close to finding the car that had hit her sister.
She worked tirelessly between jobs, waitressing in the mornings, helping at Becky's vegetable shop in the afternoons, and running deliveries in the evenings. But today, her only focus was Mim.
She sat at her sister's bedside in the hospital, holding her small, fragile hand.
“I'll find who did this,” she whispered.
“I swear, Mim. They won't get away with it.”
A knock at the door made her straighten. Her mother walked in, looking exhausted.
“Love, you should rest.”
“I can't,” Love said firmly.
“Not until I know who's responsible.”
Her mother sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you're angry, but you can't do everything alone.”
Love clenched her fists. Watch me.
Because whoever owned that car...whoever was behind that wheel...
She was going to find them.
And they would pay.