I yanked the drip from my hand, ignoring the sharp sting, and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. The cold floor t my bare feet as I stumbled toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavier, my mind reeling as the image of the mark burned into my thoughts.
Once inside, I flicked on the harsh fluorescent light and leaned toward the mirror. I pulled the hospital gown down further, just enough to see the mark clearly above the edge of my collarbone.
A half-moon.
Thick, dark, and so precise it seed impossible.
I ran my fingers over it, feeling its slight rise against my skin. My breath ca in shallow gasps.
What is this? How did it get there?
So many thoughts collided in my head, each one more frantic than the last. Was this connected to the pain I’d felt before passing out? To the strange visions of my mother?
I gripped the sink, my knuckles white.
And then, my phone rang.
The shrill sound cut through the silence, dragging back to reality. My teeth clenched as I reached for it, the light from the screen glaring against the dim room.
Gabriel.
"For the love of God," I muttered, swiping to answer.
"What?" I barked into the phone.
There was a mont of silence on the other end before Gabriel’s voice ca through, tense and sharp. "Where are you?"
I frowned, my grip tightening on the phone. "Why do you care?"
"You need to tell now," he snapped, his voice rising. "The police are here. They’re looking for you."
My stomach dropped. "The police?"
"They’re saying you were involved in the death of Lola Wright."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. My head swam, and I stumbled back, catching myself against the sink.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, my voice cracking.
"I’m telling you what they told !" Gabriel hissed. "They showed up at my office asking questions about you, Kiara. About Lola. What the hell did you do?"
"I didn’t do anything!" I shot back, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Why would they think I was involved?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Gabriel snapped. "Look, just—just figure this out, alright? I don’t need this shit tied to too."
"Of course," I spat bitterly. "Because it’s all about you, isn’t it?"
"Damn right, it is," he said, his voice cold. "Clean this ss up, Kiara. Whatever you’re mixed up in, you’d better fix it before it gets worse."
Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my hands shaking.
Involved in Lola’s death?
I felt sick, the edges of my vision blurring as panic clawed at . My legs wobbled beneath as I forced myself to sit on the edge of the sink.
"Lola was dead?"
The thought twisted in my mind, bringing with it a suffocating heaviness. I had just spoken to her. The words, her trembling voice, her tears—they felt so fresh, so real.
I couldn’t stay here. Not with this mark on my shoulder, not with Gabriel’s venomous words echoing in my head.
I pushed myself off the sink, changed into the spare clothes I’d found in the drawer, and checked myself in the mirror. My face was pale, the circles under my eyes deeper than before.
Grabbing my phone and wallet, I marched out of the hospital room.
---
The ride to the police station felt like an eternity. My thoughts spiraled, bouncing between questions I didn’t have answers to. Could it be Jessica? Could she really have done sothing to Lola? And if so, why involve ?
I stepped into the cold, sterile environnt of the station, the receptionist raising an eyebrow at as I approached.
"I’m here to speak about Lola Wright," I said firmly, my voice steady despite the storm inside .
The receptionist hesitated, glanced at a sheet of paper on her desk, and nodded. "Right. They’re waiting for you. Down the hall, second door on the left."
I followed her directions, my heart hamring in my chest.
---
The room was bare, save for a table and two chairs. A middle-aged officer with a salt-and-pepper beard sat on one side, a younger officer leaning against the wall.
"Ms. Williams," the older officer greeted, motioning for to sit. "You ca in voluntarily?"
"I heard you were looking for ," I said, sitting down. "Figured it was better to co here than wait for you to find ."
The younger officer, arms crossed, tilted his head. "You were the last person seen with Lola Wright before her death."
I tensed. "I didn’t do anything to her."
"Then explain this," the older officer said, sliding a folder toward . Inside were photos of a warehouse, my figure unmistakable as I entered, and later left.
"We found her there," he continued. "The cause of death hasn’t been determined yet, but she had several injuries consistent with blunt force trauma."
I swallowed hard, the mory of her bruised and battered face flashing in my mind.
"And you were seen leaving the scene shortly after."
I pulled out my phone, unlocking it with trembling fingers. "I have proof. I didn’t hurt her. I fainted, and soone called the ambulance."
The older officer raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. "Proof?"
"Yes," I said, opening the folder containing the security footage from the warehouse. I slid the phone across the table. "There’s a cara in the warehouse. It captured everything."
The younger officer moved forward, taking the phone and playing the video. The room filled with the faint hum of voices—mine and Lola’s—as the events unfolded on the small screen.
The older officer leaned closer, his frown deepening as the footage played.
"She’s confessing," the younger officer muttered, his voice tinged with surprise.
The video showed Lola revealing everything: the threats, the nudes, Jessica’s involvent, and her fear for her son. It ended with collapsing and the passerby finding .
The room was silent for a mont.
"Jessica Wilde," the younger officer said, almost to himself.
My head snapped up. "Yes. Jessica Wilde. You know her?"
The older officer exchanged a glance with his partner. "We’ve had an anonymous tip about her before. Told us to look into her apartnt."
I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. "And did you?"
"We did," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But nothing substantial ca up. She’s clean on paper."
I lowered my eyes, gripping the edge of the table. So they had taken note of the tip after all, but Jessica’s ticulous façade had protected her once again.
"But this," the older officer said, gesturing to the phone, "this is sothing."
"What happens now?" I asked, my voice quieter.
"We’ll look into her," he said firmly. "If what Lola said is true, there’s a larger operation at play."
My stomach churned. Larger operation? How deep did Jessica’s web go?
The younger officer handed back my phone, his gaze softer than before. "For now, you’re not under arrest. But don’t leave town and you would need to visit our center to drop your records."
I nodded, slipping the phone into my pocket.
As I stood to leave, the older officer’s voice stopped . "Ms. Williams."
I turned back.
"Why did you co in? Most people wouldn’t voluntarily walk into a police station when they’re being implicated."
I hesitated, eting his gaze. "Because I am Innocent."
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