CHAPTER 240

**WINTER**

**Outside – Car Park**

The night air hit my lungs like ice, sharp and cutting, but the silence weighed the heaviest. 

After the claustrophobic heat of that room, the open dark felt almost unreal. 

The buzz of a streetlamp hummed above us, the shadows it cast stretching long and strange across the cracked asphalt.

No one moved at first. 

We just stood there in a loose circle, like we were afraid that if we walked away, we’d be dragged right back inside.

“I didn’t send those emails.”

The words fell out of me before I could stop them. My voice cracked, thin and fragile, and the shame of it burned my face. 

I shook my head, eyes darting from one to the next, desperate to find something solid in the storm of all this.

“I swear to you all—I didn’t.”

Zion moved before anyone else could answer, his hand cupping my face, rough and steady, forcing me to meet his eyes. His voice was immediate, hard but certain, leaving no space for doubt.

“I know, Snowflake. I fucking know. Don’t ever think I’d believe otherwise.”

“Of course we know,” Ro added, softer, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to knead the tension out of himself.

“Obviously,” Harry muttered, sharper, a scoff riding under his words like it offended him I even thought I had to say it out loud. His jaw was tight, and I could tell he was barely keeping his temper in check.

Clark, leaning against the hood of Mercer’s sleek car, let out a dry huff of air. He gave a casual shrug, his mouth twisting into a half-smirk. 

“Yeah, Winter, relax. The only one who thought you were guilty in there was Detective Roxy-I 've-Got-A-Chip-On-My-Shoulder. Pretty sure she’d arrest a goldfish if it looked at her funny.”

That actually pulled a choked laugh out of me, the tightness in my chest easing for the first time all night.

Then Mercer stepped forward. 

Always composed, his dark suit catching the glow of the streetlight, not a wrinkle out of place. His presence was grounding in a way I didn’t expect.

“Winter,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind, 

“There is nothing here that proves you did anything wrong. You are not a suspect—not now, not ever, unless real evidence appears.”

His voice was so firm it left no space for argument. I wanted to believe him, desperately.

“And it won’t,” he continued, his gaze pinning me in place, calm and cutting all at once, 

“Because this is a setup. Whoever is orchestrating this is sloppy—they want you rattled, cornered. We will dismantle every piece of it, methodically, and it will collapse. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat loosening just slightly. 

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good.”

His sharp nod carried more weight than it should have. 

“Stay calm. Do exactly as I say. Don’t let paranoia eat you alive, because that’s exactly what they’re aiming for. We’ll resolve this before any unnecessary accusations stick to you—or to anyone here.”

The others shifted restlessly around us. 

Harry kicked at the pavement, muttering under his breath about “fucking cops.” 

Ro paced a short line back and forth, hands jammed in his hoodie pocket. 

Clark still leaned against the car like he was the only one not ready to combust, but even his jaw was tight.

“Winter,” Mercer said, low and precise, his dark eyes locking onto mine. 

“You need to understand something. Right now, composure is your strongest weapon. Not anger, not fear. If you lose control, they’ll use it against you. Every slip, every word, every hesitation—you cannot afford it.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

“You are not guilty. You are not a suspect. You are a target of someone else’s manipulation. And I will dismantle that frame until there’s nothing left. But you need to do your part—trust me, stay calm, and do exactly as I say.”

“Okay.”

Beside me, Zion finally exhaled, a long, heavy sound like he’d been holding his breath for hours. 

Mercer clicked his car fob, the headlights flashing once. 

“Go home. All of you. Keep your phones on, and if anyone—even the police—tries to speak to you without me present, you don’t say a word. Understood?”

Everyone murmured some form of agreement, though Harry added a muttered, 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty to say off the record.”

Zion’s hand lingered on the small of my back as we started toward the cars, steadying me when my knees almost buckled. 

The adrenaline was fading, and exhaustion hit hard, dragging my limbs down with it.

When I glanced back once more at the glowing station windows, a chill ran through me. They thought this was a hoax. A cover-up. That I was hiding something worse.

But I wasn’t.

Which meant someone out there was doing this deliberately, carefully—putting pieces in place to make it look like me.

And they weren’t done.

Probably not even close.

.....

**Later – At Home**

The water had gone cold long before I forced myself out of the tub. I’d stayed under until my skin pruned, until the scent of lavender bubbles dulled the edge of my nerves. It helped—but only a little.

Now, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt, damp hair dripping down my back, I stood by my bedroom window staring out at the night. 

The glass fogged faintly where my breath hit it. 

Beyond the garden, the shadows were deep and quiet, too quiet.

The knock at my door made me flinch.

“Winter?” Harry’s voice, rough but careful.

“Yeah?”

The door opened just enough for him to lean in. 

His hoodie hung loose, and he looked tired, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

“He’s been drinking,” Harry said without preamble. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on him. I don’t want him getting wasted and doing anything he’ll regret later.”

My stomach tightened immediately. 

I didn’t need to ask who he was.

Harry tilted his head, waiting.

I slipped my feet into the slippers by the bed and followed him down the hall, the muffled hum of voices carrying faintly through the house. 

By the time we reached the patio doors, I could smell the sharp tang of alcohol mixed with the faint chlorine from the pool.

Outside, the night air wrapped around me, cooler than before. The pool lights glowed a soft blue, casting eerie reflections across the water.

Zion sat slouched on one of the loungers, elbows braced on his knees, a nearly-empty bottle dangling from his hand. At his feet, two others already lay discarded, the glass catching the light. 

His eyes burned in the dim glow, unfocused but still simmering with fury.

Clark sat nearby, arms folded, gaze steady but silent, like he was just waiting for Zion to burn himself out. 

Ro leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, a quiet observer, his usual smirk nowhere in sight.

Zion’s voice cut through the stillness, raw and edged with alcohol.

“We’ll find him,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His words slurred, but the venom in them was sharp enough to cut.

“Whoever the fuck’s doing this—we’ll find him, and I’ll end him with my own hands. No cops, no courts, no lectures. Just me. Him. And he won’t be breathing when I’m done.”

He dragged another long pull from the bottle, liquor spilling down his chin, then slammed it against the tiles so hard the glass rattled and cracked. 

His head lifted, eyes bloodshot, burning with a fury so deep it chilled me to the bone.

“For every tear Snowflake shed tonight—every fucking second she sat there terrified because of this sick bastard—he’s going to pay. Tenfold. I’ll rip him apart, piece by piece. He’ll wish he never crawled out of whatever hole he came from.”

His words tangled, fierce and unsteady, his breath thick with alcohol.

“I’ll carve his name into the dirt, make sure no one even remembers him when I’m finished. He touched her life—he ruined her peace—he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Clark shifted uneasily in his chair, like even he wasn’t sure if Zion was going to hurl the next bottle across the pool or shatter it in his hand. Ro leaned forward now, jaw tight, watching him as though he half-expected to have to hold him back.

My chest tightened. 

I’d never seen him like this—unravelled, furious, and a little lost beneath it all.

My gaze swept over him, taking in the bottle-green T-shirt clinging to his frame, the ripped jeans hanging loose on his long legs, and the mess of raven hair that looked like he’d dragged his hands through it one too many times. 

I stopped short, caught between concern and something far more dangerous, just watching as his tattooed arm lifted the bottle to his lips. 

His throat worked with each swallow, the movement hypnotic, even as my chest tightened.

I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to remember why I was here—why I needed to be here—and not get lost in how achingly good he looked. 

How was this man mine?

Shaking the thought away, I pushed forward, passing Clark and Ro, both slouched and glassy-eyed, shadows of themselves in the dim light. 

Harry lingered just behind me, quiet but watchful.

A note slipped into my mind: I was not getting up early tomorrow. No chance I was dealing with three hungover idiots at once.

When I reached Zion, I stopped right in front of him, close enough to catch the mix of whiskey and fire in his breath. 

Without a word, I plucked the bottle from his hand. He made a sound of protest, low and sharp, but I cut it off the only way I knew how—I kissed him.

His mouth crashed into mine like he’d been starving for it, his tongue sliding against mine, fierce and desperate. 

He melted into me, hands twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether to grab hold or let me lead.

When he finally drew back, his forehead brushed mine, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his voice gravel-rough.

“I fucking missed you.”

The words were slurred at the edges, but not lost—he wasn’t gone to the bottle. 

Tipsy, maybe, but every bit of him knew exactly what he was saying.

My eyes met his, and I watched his pupils dilate as he looked down at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

“I am now. Didn’t realise how all this shit would affect me… how much I’d freak out over losing you,” he muttered, voice low and tight, almost breaking. 

His hands gripped my shoulders as if letting go even for a second could mean disaster. 

“I can’t lose you, Snowflake—not to him, not to anyone… not after everything. I just… I can’t even imagine…” 

His words faltered, raw with panic and desperation, and he pulled me closer, forehead pressed to mine, as if by holding me he could somehow keep the world from touching me.

“I’ve been holding it in, trying to stay calm, but I can’t think straight when all I feel is the thought of losing you. And yeah… maybe I needed the bottle to stop shaking, to stop my mind from going completely insane.”

He drew me closer again, forehead pressed to mine. 

“I don’t care about the hangover. I don’t care about the booze. All I care about is that you’re safe.”

He tugged me into his arms, pressing his forehead against mine. His hands gripped me like he could never let go.

“I can’t lose you, Snowflake… not when I just found you,” he muttered, his voice raw with desperation. 

“Not to him, not to anyone….”

“I’m right here.”

He buried his face deeper against mine, inhaling sharply, as if holding me close could somehow shield me from the danger, from the threat still lurking out there.