Chapter 3 Chapter 3: A Sister’s Doubt

Sylvia Robben’s POV

This was the very first time I found myself doubting Sandra, and honestly, the feeling disgusted me. My sister had always been reckless, stubborn, impulsive, and frustrating beyond reason, but one thing she never did was lie to me until now.

I stand motionless in the middle of my apartment, the phone pressed tightly against my ear while my fingers curl into my palm so hard my nails nearly pierce my skin.

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” I murmur bitterly.

Sandra’s voice bursts through the line with frustration and desperation tangled together. “I said I didn’t do it.”

I exhale heavily and drag a trembling hand through my messy hair. “Sandra, they have evidence. Not rumors, actual evidence.”

“Those files were fabricated.”

“What about the witnesses? What about the surveillance videos?” My voice rises. “What exactly do you expect me to believe?”

“They paid people to lie. They edited those damn videos. Sylvia, I swear to you, I didn’t kill anybody!” Her voice cracks loudly through the speaker, sharp enough to make my chest tighten painfully.

“Why are you sounding like them?” she continues bitterly. “Why are you questioning me like one of those investigators? You’re my sister, Sylvia. If anybody should believe me, it should be you.”

This time, silence is all I can offer, not because I want to hurt her, but because I genuinely do not know what to believe anymore.

“Why would anybody frame you?” I ask finally. “You’re an ordinary structural engineer. What possible connection could you have to the governor’s family?”

“Watch your words,” Sandra snaps quickly. “The prison security is… is… is… in these calls. Stop talking carelessly.”

“But you’re not giving me anything solid to hold onto.” Frustration burns through my chest. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Sylvia, listen to me…” Her voice softens immediately. “There are things I can’t explain over the phone.”

I laugh bitterly under my breath. “Exactly. That’s exactly the problem.”

“Sylvia, please, just lis..."

“No, you listen.” I cut her off sharply. “I’ve hired lawyers for you, attended hearings, defended your name, and fought for reduced sentencing while everyone else turned against you.”

“And now you’re giving up on me?” she asks quietly before I can continue.

I close my eyes tightly. “No. I just need something real to hold onto.”

For several painful seconds, neither of us speaks. Then Sandra sighs softly. “It’s fine.”

The line disconnects immediately afterward. For a long moment, I simply stare at my reflection on the dark phone screen, my thoughts twisting violently inside my head. The uncertainty feels unbearable now, poisoning every memory I have of her.

Was Sandra truly innocent? I honestly do not know anymore. The realization alone is enough to suffocate me.

I rise from the couch abruptly, grab my jacket, and head outside before my thoughts completely consume me.

.............

The bar smells like expensive alcohol, cigarette smoke, and terrible life choices. Under normal circumstances, I would never step into a place like this, but tonight my mind feels too heavy for silence.

I sit at the counter while Sandra’s voice keeps replaying endlessly inside my head. The bartender slides a glass of whiskey toward me, and I stare into the amber liquid as though answers might somehow appear inside it.

But all I feel is confusion: from the hesitation in Sandra’s voice, the desperation, and the fear. “Rough night?”

The unfamiliar voice drags me back to reality. “Something like that,” I reply quietly.

“You look like someone fighting a war entirely inside her own head,” the stranger says, his tone confident, smooth, and effortless in a way that instantly captures attention.

I glance sideways and finally see him properly: his brown eyes, sharp jawline, and dark hair, slightly falling across his forehead; and a smile dangerous enough to make intelligent women lose common sense.

He leans casually against the counter beside me, studying me carefully as though trying to solve a puzzle. “Boyfriend trouble?” he asks lightly.

I shake my head once. “Not exactly.”

“Family trouble then?” That question hits far too close to home. Something in my expression must give me away because his smile softens slightly afterward.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “So, I guessed correctly.”

I should ignore him. Honestly, I should, but there is something strangely comforting about his presence, something warm hidden beneath the confidence and teasing charm.

“You're always this nosy?” I ask eventually.

“Only when someone interesting catches my attention.”

A faint smile threatens my lips despite my mood.

“You barely touched your drink,” he says while nodding toward the untouched whiskey. “That usually means the problem is bigger than alcohol can fix.”

“And you think you can fix it instead?”

“I didn’t say that.” He chuckles softly. “But I could definitely distract you from it for a while.”

The way he says it sends unexpected warmth crawling beneath my skin. His fingers brush lightly against my thigh beneath the counter, subtle enough to be innocent yet deliberate enough to steal my breath for a second.

Damn. He notices the longing and fire in my eyes, but instead of pushing harder, he simply leans closer until his voice brushes warmly against my ear. “You’ve been carrying tension all night,” he murmurs. “You should let yourself breathe.”

I take another sip of whiskey, but somehow his presence intoxicates me far more than the alcohol ever could.

“What makes you think you understand me?” I ask quietly.

“Maybe I don’t,” he admits. “But I’d like the chance to try.”

I study him carefully, searching for some hidden danger behind the charm, but all I find is confidence mixed with genuine curiosity.

“You are barely taking your drink, and you seem so bored. Maybe I could help you fix that.” He leans in, biting his lips, his hand sliding to massage my thigh sensually.

Damn. My chest aches in pain and pleasure as my full nipples harden, standing on end, making me gasp awkwardly.

He senses my internal struggle and pulls closer, whispering hot breath against my neck and ears. His cologne is intoxicating. I wish I hadn’t responded, but now I am totally lost in his charm.