Chapter 3

Actually, I'd noticed something was wrong days before.

I'd been picking lint off the lapel of Vincent's suit when my nail snagged on something stiff. I held it to the light.

A dried contact lens. Icy blue.

Celeste's signature color. She'd just launched that shade as part of her latest rebrand.

I didn't want to believe it. Vincent's devotion to me was something our friends joked about.

He was controlled, measured—I'd seen him lose his temper twice, both times over someone disrespecting me.

And Celeste? A trainwreck. Vincent was exactly the kind of quiet, old-fashioned man she'd ignore.

The two of them together seemed impossible.

Then reality hit me like a closed fist.

I unlocked his phone while he slept.

At first glance, everything looked normal. Just a countdown timer in his notes.

But instinct drove me deeper, until I found a hidden encrypted folder.

What I found shattered something permanent.

Hundreds of videos. Hardcore. Brutal. And photos—girls bound and beaten, faces sliced open, eyes vacant with despair.

Every single one had heterochromia. Rare enough to be a pattern. Deliberate enough to be an obsession.

I had to set the phone down and breathe through my mouth.

I looked at him sleeping next to me—that composed, respectable face—and could not make it fit what I'd just seen.

Then I found the private account he used for Celeste.

[Come straight to my place tomorrow. Just thinking about you and I'm already wet.]

[Ready to try something new? I'll work out every ounce of frustration Willow's ever given you.]

The message came with a photo. Shameless. Half-dressed. Shot in her bathroom mirror.

Vincent hadn't turned her down. He'd sent back an emoji so filthy I had to look away.

Tears hit the screen before I felt them coming. The rage that followed burned out everything else.

My best friend. The woman who called me her person. Couldn't wait to climb into my husband's bed.

That was why I was here tonight.

The plan was simple: plant a hidden camera, walk out, upload the footage. Let her three million followers watch everything she'd built collapse.

But I'd barely reached the bedroom when the front door unlocked.

No time to run. I shoved myself into the closet, pulled out my phone, and stopped breathing.

I thought I was about to record a betrayal.

I never imagined he'd cut her throat.

Why? The question wouldn't stop. Why kill Celeste? And Marcus—her fiancé—he knew about the affair. He'd been in on it. What the hell was any of this?

I pressed my hands over my eyes and tried to think.

One thing cut through: Call 911. Right now.

My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone. The case was slick with blood.

"911, what's your emergency?"

The dispatcher's voice was calm and even. I pulled in a breath—

Beep.

The door lock chirped in the hallway.

My lungs stopped.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

I killed the call. The screen went dark.

The bedroom door opened.

"Hey, baby. Still up?" Vincent walked in, easy as someone home from a long shift. "Who were you calling?"

"No one." Even I could hear the waver.

He'd changed into a fresh button-down. Light colored. Clean. His expression was soft, completely open.

Nothing about him suggested he'd just spent an hour taking apart a human body.

Then his eyes dropped. A small crease formed between his brows.

"Baby, why is there blood on your dress?"

He started toward me.

I locked my knees and held my ground.

"I caught my dress on some bushes by the parking garage."

He stopped in front of me. Looked at me for a long moment. Something shifted in his expression—slow, almost imperceptible—and his eyes changed.

Two seconds of silence.

"So." His voice was quiet. "You were the one who slipped out just now."

My legs almost went out from under me.

Vincent stepped forward and caught my arm. Firm. Deliberate.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to scare you."

His face was open. Apologetic. Genuinely wounded.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. Ever."

I shoved him back and put distance between us.

"Why did you kill her? Why?!"

He looked at me like the answer was obvious.

"She knew exactly what she was doing. Looked you in the face every single day while she was doing it behind your back. That's not a friend. That's a parasite."

I couldn't find words.

"That's it? That's your reason?"

He nodded like it was simple, then reached for me again.

I stepped back sharply. His hand dropped.

"She used you. Took advantage of how good you are. I won't let anyone treat you like that." A small shrug. "So she had to go."

I stared at that face. The face I'd loved for two years. Something in my chest went very quiet and very cold.

"Don't." My voice cracked. "Don't pretend this was for me. If it was for me—why did you sleep with her?!"

He went quiet.

His eyes dropped. Moved away from mine.

"I'm sorry. But you have to trust me. Everything I do is to protect you. All of it."

Something clicked. "What about Marcus?"

"Gone."

"You're insane." I gripped my phone and started to dial. "I'm calling the police—"

The phone was gone before I finished the sentence. Vincent's entire demeanor changed—warmth gone, something cold moving behind his eyes.

Every muscle in my body locked. I was certain that was it.

But the look lasted half a second.

His face reset. He cupped my face in both hands, thumbs against my jaw, eyes searching mine with something that looked disturbingly like devotion.

"Listen to me. Tonight was a bad dream. That's all. I'll handle everything." He held my gaze. "And then it's just us. The way it's always been. Okay?"

Every instinct I had was screaming the same thing: Agree. Right now. It's the only way out of this room.

I was trembling too hard to do much. But I nodded.

Something in Vincent's face relaxed. He pulled me into him, then reached into his pocket.

A necklace.

He draped it around my neck, fingers working the clasp at my nape.

"Tomorrow's our anniversary. I had this made for you. Was going to wait, but—" He smiled against my hair. "It felt like the right moment."

I looked down.

The pendant held a single gemstone. Pale blue-green, catching the light with an almost liquid quality.

Identical to the contacts Celeste had been wearing tonight.

The chill that moved through me had nothing to do with the temperature.

I held very still. From the corner of my eye, I clocked the whiskey decanter on the bar cart. Heavy base.

"Baby." His lips were at my ear. "Anyone who tries to hurt you—I will not let them walk away. Not a single one."

He finally let go. His eyes settled back into that warmth I'd trusted for two years.

"Go clean up. You've got that woman's blood all over your dress."

I nodded obediently.

The moment he turned toward the bar cart—

I grabbed the decanter with both hands and swung it across his face as hard as I could.

The sound was dense and awful.

Blood exploded from his temple. He went sideways into the wall with a cry, one hand flying to his head, the other clutching air. He slid down, staring at me through a mask of red.

I didn't stay to watch him fall.

I yanked the door open and ran.

Behind me, Vincent didn't follow. He stayed where he was, hand pressed to the wound, blood streaming between his fingers.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet. Almost sad.

"Why do you always make this harder than it needs to be?"