Ethan's sudden arrival, in his disheveled state, though unexpected at that hour, was not surprising.
I hadn't trusted a word of what he'd said that morning in my house.
He placed the envelope before me sharply, as if throwing down a challenge.
I smiled faintly, my hands clasped together—contrary to what he expected, I didn't even open it.
A fleeting chuckle curved my lips.
"I didn't expect you to finally resort to the law... after everything you've done."
I could read the exhaustion written all over him, the kind that came from too many battles.
"I've never twisted the law for my own gain. I'm doing what I must—for truth and for justice."
"Even if the road to justice means wading through falsehood?"
My tone wasn't curious; it was a provocation. I wanted to see how far I could push him.
He exhaled, impatient, leaning forward as though trying to release the weight pressing on his chest. His words came in fragments, each one restrained by effort.
"When someone's accused of two murders... maybe a third on the way—you take every rough road there is."
I smiled slyly. Ethan had become my favorite puzzle.
His tapping foot, his clenched fists trembling with restraint, his uneven breathing—every detail screamed internal chaos.
"But I see it differently," I said slowly, savoring each word as I rested my chin on my clasped hands. My eyes stayed fixed on him. This time, I wouldn't let my dear detective win the round.
"And what do you see then, Freud of São Paulo?"
His irritated voice nearly made me laugh.
"I see a man hiding his failure behind my reports, hoping they'll excuse his incompetence. Isn't that right?"
His jaw tightened, his eyes flared with anger. I could tell his mind was flashing back to Liam's taunting, how similar our styles must have seemed.
"Careful, Camilla... you have no idea how close I am to the truth—if not for your filthy attempts to hide it, yours and Liam's."
I tapped my fingers against the table, my gaze fixed on the clock whose hands refused to stop moving.
"My filthy attempts? Hmm... maybe you're the one who doesn't realize how close the truth really is... closer than you think."
The air between us was heavy, the silence thick with tension. Their eyes locked, speaking louder than words ever could.
Her fingers moved slowly toward one of the desk drawers. He followed every motion until she pulled out a small metallic key, lifting it before her face.
"You want the truth? Then let's go."
---
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the night.
The cold breeze brushed against my skin; I closed my eyes, savoring the rare peace.
My feet carried me without aim through quiet streets.
The crunch of dry leaves beneath my shoes filled the silence. I hadn't worn my earphones—my thoughts were louder than any music.
Who am I? Why me?
Is this God's punishment? Why?
Fire burned in my chest, a lump in my throat that never left. I couldn't confess—to whom would I, anyway?
My wandering led me to a place I used to visit often. My steps slowed. The night's emptiness grew heavier.
I dropped to my knees, swallowed by darkness that matched my own. My eyes, hollow.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, though my expression stayed blank. I laid my head on her grave.
Yes—
I visit my beloved Lina's grave every night at nine, like a madman.
Aren't they all calling me insane?
I sobbed like a child in his mother's arms, only her arms were cold now—coldness crawling into my limbs as I broke down.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Lina. I didn't mean for it to happen. I loved her so much it hurts, but I can't forget you."
I apologized for betraying her. I'd promised I'd never look at anyone else, and yet here I was.
"I didn't cheat," I whispered through a dry throat. "It wasn't my will. I'll live and die for her. My love for her is a crime I can't stop committing. Lina... forgive me."
I ended with a long kiss on the tombstone, as if begging for forgiveness I knew I wouldn't get. Silence again. My trembling hands pressed against the cold marble.
---
I stood behind her, watching her back, thoughts spiraling.
I couldn't understand Camilla's reason for showing me that key. The whole drive, she was calm—too calm—guiding me to the unknown.
Now here we were, in a building near Rosalina's apartment. She opened one of the doors like she owned the place.
The moment the door swung open, I knew whose apartment it was. The large oil painting on the wall—a portrait of Rosalina.
I followed her inside, confusion and disbelief swirling.
How could this woman hold the key to Liam's hidden world?
I scanned the place. It didn't fit him at all: white walls, soft yellow lights, vases overflowing with flowers, sheer curtains dancing in the air, green plants peeking through the windows, and that faint vanilla scent... feminine touches in a man's darkness.
I smirked. "Doesn't look like the home of a psychotic man, does it?"
Her fingers caressed a rose delicately. She shot me a sideways glance.
"Or maybe you've never understood that mental illness has many faces."
I ignored her. My eyes roamed, sharp as a hawk's. I reached for the nearest doorknob—cold metal under my skin.
A bedroom—or rather, a gallery.
Paintings covered every wall, barely a trace of paint beneath.
Portraits of Rosalina.
Everywhere.
My mouth fell open. Disgust. Fascination. Madness.
If he was this obsessed with her—could he really have killed her?
I felt her warmth behind me, her breath on my neck, snapping me out of it.
"He was obsessed," she murmured. "Used his art to keep her alive."
I didn't need a warrant this time. I opened drawers, searched everything.
"You've proved my point twice now," she said sharply. "The law exists to be bent when it serves us."
I didn't answer, just kept digging.
Photos—so many—of Lina.
Eating. Smiling. Running. Cooking. Sleeping.
Even stepping out of the shower, steam veiling her face, droplets on her neck.
My hands trembled. "Thank God I wasn't born a woman loved by this lunatic."
Then I froze.
One photo. One face.
Camilla.
I clenched the picture so tightly it creased. My chest burned—not from suspicion, but something else. I slipped the photo quietly into my pocket.
Closing the drawer, I looked up at her again.
"You know this place too well. Been here often?" My voice carried a jealousy I didn't understand.
"Why did Liam give you the key, of all people?"
She smiled, sly and dangerous.
"Sometimes, detective, you earn people's trust in ways they'll never comprehend."
He gritted his teeth. Silence. Their eyes locked, heavy air pressing down on both of them.
She lowered her gaze, her soft fingers slipping into his hand as she led him outside. He followed, wordless.
"Liam always goes for his walk at nine," she said lightly. "He'll be back soon."
They got into the car.
The ride was quiet, their glances saying everything.
When they stopped before her building, she laughed softly.
"Of course you know my address... detective, don't you?"
This time, her teasing didn't bother him. He smiled back, watching her disappear inside