CHAPTER 237

**WINTER** 

"So,” she said, folding the paper with careful precision. 

“This paints a very different picture than what you’re trying to sell us. A girl retracts her accusations, begs for her abuser back, arranges a place for him… and then, conveniently, he ends up tied to a chair, tortured, and dead. In the very house where you happened to arrive.”

She leaned back in her chair, hands on her hips, her voice razor-sharp.

“So tell me… do you see how that looks?”

For a beat, no one breathed. 

Then Zion let out a sharp, incredulous laugh—cold and dangerous, nothing like humour.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, his voice low but vibrating with rage. 

He leaned forward, his hands braced on the table, every line of his body taut with fury. 

“You really think she did this? That she lured him out, tied him to a chair, tortured him? Her?” His voice climbed, sharp as shattered glass. 

“You’re out of your goddamn mind if you believe that.”

His eyes burned, flicking between Roxy Anne and the others like he wanted to tear the walls down brick by brick. 

“What kind of sick fuck logic is that? You take a scared girl who survived him once, twist it around, and now you’re trying to paint her as some killer? Fuck that.”

“Sick fuck logic? No, Mr. Royal. That’s called evidence.” Her eyes cut to me, sharp as glass. 

“An email sent from her account. Her words, her plea, his reply with an address. That’s not logic—it’s fact.” she echoed evenly. 

“Her account, her words, her invitation. Not mine. Not the department’s. Hers.”

Zion snatched up the paper, his hand trembling with rage as his eyes scanned the lines. Then he crumpled it in his fist, the sound sharp in the dead silence.

“Evidence?” His voice was a low snarl now, dangerous. 

“Fuck your evidence.” Zion’s voice cracked with fury, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

“It’s a fucking lie. A setup. You think just because it came from her address it means she sat here typing it with a smile? Bullshit. And you know it. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

He jabbed a finger toward me, his jaw clenching so hard a vein pulsed in his temple. 

“She’s the one who survived him. She’s the one he destroyed. And you think she’d suddenly turn around and—” 

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, his rage both terrifying and grounding—because he believed me. Because he wasn’t hesitating even for a second.

I reached across the table, brushing my fingers over his hand, giving it a light squeeze. 

Zion’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he let out a long, frustrated sigh before sliding into his chair, his dark eyes still flicking between the others like a coiled storm.

I turned my gaze to the detectives—Martin and Muiz—feeling the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on me.

“I didn’t do this.”

I swallowed twice, my throat dry, chest tight, words catching in my throat.

“Someone is trying to set me up. I would never hurt Ethan—or anyone. You have to believe me.”

My gaze snapped to Detective Martin first, then Muiz, desperate, pleading. They only stared back with those maddeningly blank, watchful eyes that made me feel like I was already guilty.

I turned to the people who mattered—Harry, Ro, Clark—my voice breaking.

“That email—I didn’t send it. I swear, I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry shot back instantly, his jaw tight, eyes flashing.

“Winter wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s the last person in the world who’d hurt anyone, let alone someone who—” 

His voice tightened, raw with frustration.

“—someone who tried to ruin her life, who tried to own her, fuck that. She had some kind of ‘relationship’ with that fucking bastard? Please. She survived him. She didn’t go crawling back to him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t plot his death.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ro added, leaning forward, his tone sharp and protective. 

“Winter’s the kind of person who’d help you up if you tripped over your own shadow, not tie you to a chair and—God forbid—do what you’re suggesting.”

Clark let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head.

“Wow. Guess an email printout’s all it takes these days to be guilty. Who needs forensics when the police already solved it with half a brain cell, huh? You think just because someone hit ‘send’ on an email from their house that it’s her? That she—”

He let the words hang, a sharp edge of disbelief cutting through the room, before leaning back with a sardonic smirk. 

“Yeah, that makes total sense. Ignore all evidence, logic, and human behaviour. Brilliant work, detectives. Really top-notch.”

Even in the crushing weight of it all, my chest ached with gratitude—because at least they believed me.

"Yes, yes, I’m sure she’s all sunshine and light and stardust,” Roxy Anne said, rolling her eyes. 

“Do you know how many men think they know a woman? Like, really think they understand her?” 

She waved a hand toward me, 

“But they only understand jackshit.” Her smile was almost cruel, the kind that cut deeper than a slap. 

“The emails were sent from your computer, Winter. And notice I said emails—as in plural.” 

Emails?

My heart hitched, a sharp twist of panic I couldn’t disguise, not from her, not from anyone.

“I’ve got all kinds of techs who can figure stuff out for me. They say the notes were definitely sent from your computer, from your email address.” 

My mind raced, searching for a way to explain, to deny, to breathe again.

Zion’s hand closed around my knee, squeezing just enough to anchor me. 

My hands are tightening into fists in my lap. The heat burned my ears. 

“Emails? I haven’t even sent him a ‘hi’ text… let alone emails. There has to be a reason—maybe someone accessed them… I don’t know.”

My voice wavered, but I forced myself to look Roxy Anne in the eye. 

“You have to check everything again. There has to be another explanation. I—I don’t know how this happened, but it wasn’t me. I’m telling you the truth.”

“For fuck sake,” Zion’s voice dropped to a low growl as he glared at the detective. 

“Winter isn’t the threat. She’s the one that bastard tried to—” He clenched his fists. 

“There’s a stalker after her. And yeah, I get that you have your techs, Roxy Anne, but you need to get people who actually know what they’re doing. Give my guys access—they can prove Winter didn’t send any emails to Ethan. The real killer did. He lured Ethan here, then…”

“Tortured him first,” Roxy Anne interjected.

“Tortured, then murdered,” Zion finished through gritted teeth.

I swallowed hard, my stomach tightening as my mind involuntarily flashed to Ethan’s bloodied body.

“Ethan Wilde was stabbed nineteen times,” Roxy Anne said, her gaze sliding over Zion and the other boys. 

“That’s… a whole lot of rage.” She paused. 

“Know anyone who might be carrying that kind of hatred? That kind of anger?”

My chest tightened. 

Wait. 

Was she implying… that Zion—or one of the guys—did this?

“And there’s something else,” Roxy Anne continued, her gaze fixed on me. 

“We found a few strands of your hair in the box with the mutated cat.”

My heart stuttered. 

No… that can’t be right. 

“My… hair?” I whispered. 

“That… that’s impossible. I’ve never been near that box.”

Roxy Anne didn’t look convinced. 

“The lab confirmed it. It’s a match.”

Don’t pass out. Don’t. Don’t.

I forced my eyes open, but the room spun around me. I felt icy pinpricks racing across my face, goosebumps erupting under my skin. 

Why couldn’t I just wake up from this nightmare? 

Why did it feel so real, so inescapable?

My mind kept returning to the hair in the box. 

My hair. 

Evidence pointing straight at me. 

How could someone do this—frame me so perfectly? Every thought tightened the panic in my chest, making it hard to breathe, making my hands shake.

I turned back to Roxy Anne, my voice barely more than a whisper at first, trembling as I forced the words out.

“I… I don’t know how my hair ended up in that box,” I said, my hands clenching at my sides. 

“And I didn’t send Ethan any emails.” My voice wavered, but I pushed harder, trying to sound stronger than I felt.

“I swear,” I added, my chest tightening with the memory, 

“I barely ever talked to him… not even before… before that night.”

My stomach lurched at the memory, bile burning the back of my throat. 

“Someone is setting me up.”

Roxy’s brow creased, her eyes sharp as a blade.

“Why?”

The word hit me like a slap. 

Why?

“I have no idea!” My voice rose without my meaning it to, but I couldn’t stop it. 

“I don’t know! All I know is Ethan is dead, some jerk is terrorising me, and now I’m sitting here being treated like I murdered someone!” My chest heaved with uneven breaths.

Roxy’s lips pressed into a thin line, her tone cool, almost cutting. 

“Denial doesn’t change evidence. Emails don’t just send themselves, Winter. You can scream and cry all you want, but facts are facts.”

Zion’s chair scraped sharply against the floor as he stood, towering, his fury filling the room like smoke.

“You’re fucking reaching,” he snarled, his glare pinned on Roxy. His voice was a low, lethal growl that only got louder as he spoke. 

“She didn’t fucking send that email! And you’re sitting here pretending like some printout is proof? Are you seriously telling me that because some asshole can send an email from our house that she did it? Fuck that! That’s not just wrong—it’s insane!”

Roxy’s jaw tightened, but Zion didn’t pause. 

He jabbed a finger toward her, veins pulsing along his temple. 

“She’s the one who survived him! She’s the one he tried to destroy! And you’re sitting here twisting it into…what? That she suddenly turned into a killer? Fucking ridiculous!”

Zion slammed his hand onto the table, rattling the papers. 

“Jesus Christ. Just because some email came from our home iPhone doesn’t mean it was Winter!” His fist slammed down on the table, making the papers jump. 

“Do you get that? The stalker already got onto our grounds, left a mutilated cat outside our doorstep—” his voice broke with rage, vibrating with it, 

“—so don’t tell me sending a fucking email would’ve been hard for him. He probably sat in the same goddamn spot where he dropped the cat and fired it off!”

“Zion, sit down—” Martin started, but Zion snapped his head toward him, eyes blazing.

“Don’t fucking tell me to sit down when you’re all standing here treating her like she’s guilty of something she didn’t even do!” he barked, his voice echoing off the walls. 

His arm wrapped tighter around my shoulders, pulling me into his side as if shielding me from them. 

“She’s shaking, she’s terrified, and you’re still pushing like wolves circling blood. Fucking enough!”

“Zion—” Muiz tried, voice cautious, but Zion cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“No. No more of this shit. You want to talk about ‘evidence’? Then start using your heads. Whoever this sick bastard is, he got through security once—” he jabbed a finger at the table, his tone sharp as broken glass,

“—he can damn well send an email too. You think he wouldn’t? You think a guy who left a mutilated fucking cat outside our house is above typing a message?” His jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring. 

“For fuck’s sake, open your eyes. This is someone playing with us. Playing with her.”

I could feel the tremor running through his arm as he held me, like his rage was barely caged. He leaned his forehead against the top of my head for a second, muttering low, furious words just for me.

“Breathe, Snowflake. Don’t let them break you. I’ve got you.”

My eyes stung, tears threatening, but I nodded against him, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me anchored.

And then—

The door opened with a quiet groan, slicing through the tension.

A tall man stepped inside, the kind of presence that filled a room before he even spoke. His dark suit was sharp, perfectly pressed, his tie a severe line against his crisp white shirt. His gaze swept over the three of us, cool and assessing, before settling on me.

“Sorry, I couldn't get here sooner.” 

His voice was smooth, professional, carrying the weight of authority. He adjusted the silver watch on his wrist as if time itself answered to him. 

“I’m David Mercer. Your counsel.”

Counsel.

My lungs stuttered, relief hitting so hard it almost made me dizzy. For the first time since this nightmare started, there was someone else in the room—someone who might actually be on my side.