"That doesn't prove I'm dead," Emma Campbell said with a cold smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"I don't care whether you're alive or dead, and I don't want to deal with you. Please move aside and don't block our way," Yolanda Bardot said, not wanting to engage in idle talk with her. She had already experienced this woman's ruthlessness.
"Oh? Are you scared of me?"
Emma stepped forward, closing in on her and reaching out to catch a few large, cotton-like snowflakes in her hand. She crushed them in her palm and sneered, "I am here to help you clear your doubts."
"I don't need your help!" Yolanda said, not knowing what she was getting at but instinctively resisting.
"Don't you want to know why Ella looked so pale just now when she was serving the milk?"
Emma's words cooled Yolanda's rising temper, and she stared blankly, as if her soul had been sucked away, and asked, "Why?"
"Because she put—poison—in the milk!" Emma bit down hard on the word "poison."
