Chapter 5 Chapter 5: The Weight of Truth

Sylvia Robben POV

My hands tremble violently as I search across the bed for my phone, or even Adrian’s phone, anything that can help me call an ambulance before it's too late.

Panic completely takes over my body. I rush around the apartment in confusion, knocking things over carelessly while my breathing grows uneven and unstable. Every second feels heavier than the last as fear grips my chest tighter and tighter.

Adrian remains motionless on the bed behind me. His eyes stay open, cold and empty, staring lifelessly toward the ceiling. No pulse greets my fingertips when I touch his neck, and no breath rises from his chest to comfort me.

My stomach twists violently. Who the hell shot him? And what kind of nightmare have I walked into tonight?

Before I can process another thought, a deafening noise suddenly explodes through the apartment.

The front door bursts open violently. “Police! Don’t move!”

Everything happens too fast afterward. Heavy footsteps storm across the room while bright flashlights blind my vision. Rough hands grab my arms before I can even explain myself, and within seconds, my face crashes painfully against the floor.

“What’s going on?!” I yell desperately. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Save it,” one of the officers snaps coldly while forcing handcuffs around my wrists.

I twist my head toward the bed in disbelief. “He was alive a few minutes ago! I heard the gunshot, I..."

But nobody even glances toward Adrian properly. That realization terrifies me more than the arrest itself.

The officers move calmly through the apartment like men following instructions they already memorized long before arriving here. Nobody checks if Adrian can still be saved, nobody asks me questions, and nobody looks surprised.

Then it hits me all at once. This was planned: the arrest, the timing, the way they came rushing in immediately after the gunshot. My blood runs cold as Sandra’s desperate words from prison echo loudly inside my head.

They framed her, and now they are framing me, too.

One officer shoves my head downward while dragging me toward the apartment exit, the same apartment that has now become the beginning of my destruction.

A dry laugh suddenly escapes my throat while bitterness burns through me, and I scream out in frustration as the cold steel tightens painfully around my wrists.

“This woman’s mentally unstable,” one officer mutters quietly to his partner. “She’s just a structural engineer, nothing special.”

Engineer! The word instantly drags another memory into my head. Last week, Sandra’s closest friend disappeared mysteriously after calling me from a private number. He claimed he had evidence proving Sandra’s innocence, videos powerful enough to expose whoever was behind this conspiracy.

Then suddenly he vanished, and now Adrian is dead.

The pieces begin fitting together painfully inside my head. They are cleaning up loose ends. I am getting closer to the truth, and they need to eliminate me before I catch even a glimpse of the secrets they are desperately trying to bury.

“I didn’t kill him!” I scream furiously as they force me into the police vehicle before speeding into the night.

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

The next forty-eight hours feel less like an investigation and more like a carefully rehearsed performance.

Nobody listens when I explain what happened inside the apartment. Every statement I give disappears beneath cold stares and rehearsed questions designed to twist my words against me.

At the station, they photograph me like some dangerous criminal before locking me inside a holding cell that reeks of sweat and urine. The fluorescent lights above never switch off, making sleep almost impossible while officers constantly walk past the bars, whispering accusations beneath their breath.

Then the media frenzy begins. By morning, my face is spread across every news station in Mavic City.

“Engineer murders secret lover.”

“Crime of passion turns deadly.”

“Governor’s murder case linked to Robben sisters.”

I watch the headlines silently from the interrogation room television while nausea twists violently inside my stomach.

They already convicted me before the trial even started.

Things only grow worse when they officially charge me with Adrian’s murder. The prosecution claims my fingerprints are everywhere inside the apartment, my DNA covers the crime scene, and witnesses allegedly saw us arguing earlier at the bar.

The terrifying part is how perfect everything sounds, as if someone had carefully built the entire case long before I ever stepped into that apartment.

Even my lawyer notices it. “These people want a conviction badly,” he mutters during one of our meetings. “And honestly, Sylvia, I’ve never seen evidence assembled this quickly before.”

His words confirm every fear growing inside my head. Sandra wasn’t lying after all, and yet I failed her.

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

Now here I am, standing inside a courtroom packed with strangers staring at me like I am already condemned. The air feels suffocating.

Nobody cares about the truth anymore, not the reporters scribbling dramatic headlines into notebooks, not the spectators whispering insults from the gallery, not even the jury staring at me with visible disgust before the verdict is spoken.

To them, I am already guilty.

The prosecution paints a flawless story before the court. According to them, Adrian and I argued inside the apartment before I murdered him in a jealous rage, a crime driven by unstable emotions and hidden obsession.

They present fingerprints, DNA, security footage, and witness testimony.

Every piece fits together perfectly, and with every passing minute, I feel myself sinking deeper into a nightmare I cannot escape.

My lawyer fights desperately, but even he sounds defeated by the end. Then, finally, the judge delivers the verdict.

“Guilty.”

That single word crashes into me harder than anything else so far. What the hell am I supposed to do at this point? My head buzzes in confusion as a thousand thoughts come crashing into me at once. I gasp for air as I collapse weakly into the chair.

Nobody cares; everyone stares at me with disgust, but suddenly, a wild thought pushes its way into my head as I slowly rise to my feet and turn toward the judge.