142
Lia's POV
The cold metal cuffs dug into my wrists as the officers led me out of the house. I kept my head down, unable to meet the eyes of the house staff who peered through windows and doorways, their expressions ranging from shock to satisfaction. The last thing I saw before stepping out into the night was Alina’s smug grin, half-hidden in the shadows of the hallway.
My mind raced as the car bumped along the dark road toward the police station. The reality of the situation was setting in, twisting my stomach into knots. Finn, my husband of just a few days, was dead, and I was the prime suspect. The betrayal I felt wasn’t just from the accusations; it was from knowing who had orchestrated this. Alina and Dean. They had been behind this from the start, pulling strings in the dark while I blindly played into their hands.
We arrived at the station, and I was ushered into an interrogation room with walls so gray and lifeless they seemed to suck the air out of my lungs. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting an unforgiving glare. A police officer with a stern face sat down across from me, flipping through a thick file.
“Mrs. Cross,” he said, his voice void of any emotion. “Tell me again what happened the night Finn died.”
“I’ve told you everything I know,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was in my room when I heard the shot. By the time I got there, it was too late. Finn was already—” My throat closed up, but I forced myself to continue. “He was already gone.”
The officer leaned back, crossing his arms as he scrutinized me. “You were married for what, a week? And now your husband is dead. That’s quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
I clenched my jaw. “What are you implying? That I married him just to kill him?”
“You tell me, Mrs. Cross. We’ve seen strange things. And right now, you’re the only suspect we have. No one else had a motive or opportunity like you did.”
I shook my head, my vision blurring with tears I refused to shed. “I didn’t kill him. He was my husband. He—”
“Your husband of barely a week,” the officer interrupted coldly. “This isn’t the love story you’re making it out to be.”
A silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. I knew arguing wouldn’t help. They were convinced I was guilty. But this wasn’t just an interrogation; it was the first step in a well-planned setup. Dean and Alina had thought of everything, leaving me trapped with no way out.
As the hours dragged on, I answered their questions over and over, each word feeling more futile than the last. With every passing second, my hope dimmed. The only glimmer of light was the thought of Luca and Benedicta. They had to know what was happening. They had to find me and prove my innocence before it was too late.
---
Bianca's POV
I sat in the kitchen, fingers drumming nervously on the table as Jenny made tea. The silence in the house felt strange, almost peaceful without Lia’s presence, but it also felt hollow. After all the weeks of suspicion and tension, the weight had shifted. And now, Lia was the one under the spotlight.
“Can you believe it?” Jenny said as she sat across from me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Lia. Of all people.”
“I can,” I replied, keeping my voice calm despite the flutter of nerves in my chest. “She’s been acting strange for weeks. Sneaking around with that man, Dean. Who knows what else she’s been hiding.”
Jenny leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you really think she did it? Killed Finn?”
I stared at the steam rising from my cup, letting the question linger in the air. It was a question I hadn’t dared to answer, even in my own mind. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “But if she didn’t, she’s doing a terrible job of proving her innocence.”
Jenny nodded, her face a mix of relief and guilt. “At least we’re not the ones being questioned anymore. For weeks, I felt like every eye in this house was watching us, waiting for one of us to slip.”
I opened my mouth to agree when raised voices from the hallway caught our attention. We exchanged a glance and got up, moving toward the noise. Peering around the corner, we saw Alina standing close to a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an air of danger that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Who is that?” Jenny whispered, clutching my arm.
I shook my head, watching as Alina spoke in low, hurried tones to the man. There was something about their interaction—an urgency that hinted at secrets far deeper than we had imagined.
“We need to find out who he is,” Jenny said, a determined edge in her voice. “If we know who he is and why he’s here, maybe we can understand what’s really happening. And maybe we can make sure Lia never steps foot in this house again.”
I nodded, my heart thudding with a mix of fear and anticipation. Lia might have been taken away, but it was clear that her influence lingered. If this man was involved, then he was a piece of the puzzle that could unravel everything.
As we stepped back into the kitchen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm was far from over. Lia’s absence had given us a reprieve, but it hadn’t ended the game. And in this house, secrets had a way of rising to the surface, no matter how deeply they were buried.
Jenny and I exchanged a silent agreement: we had to be vigilant. If we wanted to keep our place secure, if we wanted to ensure Lia didn’t return to reclaim her spot and tear us down, we needed to be ready for whatever came next.
The tension in the house was palpable, and the silence that followed was more telling than any words spoken. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
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