Oops

๐Ÿ’ ๐Œ๐Ž๐๐“๐‡๐’ EARLIER

๐๐Ž๐‹๐€๐๐‚๐Ž, ๐Œ๐„๐—๐ˆ๐‚๐Ž

SUNDAY, ๐Ÿ–:๐Ÿ๐Ÿ๐€๐Œ

|BLAKELY POV

Enzo was kneeling at my feet, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy, and his fingers trembled as he combed them through his messy hair. He was desperate, as usual. I watched him, unimpressed, while he stammered out his apologies.

"I'm sorry, okay? I swear, I'll listen to you from now on," he pleaded, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean to tell on youโ€”I was drunk. Please, just forgive me this one time."

I looked down, raising an eyebrow. "Enzo, baby?"

"Yes?" He sounded hopeful, like maybe he thought Iโ€™d let him off easy.

"You're crying on my Jada Dubai Passion Diamond Stilettos. Do you know how much these cost? Don't ruin them with your tears."

His eyes went wide, and he scooted back, stammering apologies like Iโ€™d slapped him.

Fine, screw it.

I sighed, like forgiving him was a chore. "Alright, okay. I forgive you. But this is it, the last time. I mean, you're the only one who actually believes I didnโ€™t kill Marcus, so I guess I owe you." Truth was, he was too cute to stay mad at for long.

"Waitโ€”really?" His face lit up like Christmas had come early. "Thank you! Iโ€™d kiss your legs, but...I donโ€™t want to mess up your shoes. I promise, I wonโ€™t let you down again." He sniffled, wiping at his tear-streaked cheeks.

"Good boy." I patted his cheek, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Now, get up before people start thinking I'm an abusive girlfriend."

He scrambled to his feet, murmuring his thanks, his relief obvious.

โ€œYou can go have fun now,โ€ I said, glancing at the barely-touched plate of spaghetti in front of me. "My momโ€™s making dinner tonight, and her husband wants you to join us. So donโ€™t mess up and ruin my mood further, alright? Remember, you promised to be good.โ€

I turned away, leaving him at the table with the spaghetti, his face still flushed and a mix of gratitude and guilt in his eyes. The other customers were still staringโ€”nosy as ever.

Outside, the valet pulled up with my car, right on cue. I tipped him, partly because heโ€™d been careful with my car and partly because he was cute. As I slid into the driverโ€™s seat, I set an alarm for dinner, glanced at my last errand for the day, and sped off.

It didnโ€™t take long to reach the police station, and I made sure to park perfectly. With my luck, Iโ€™d get a parking ticket on top of everything elseโ€”and I didnโ€™t need another reason ruin my already ruined life, especially since half the town thought Iโ€™d killed Marcus.

My life was just so hard, wasnโ€™t it?

I stepped out, just as Detective Matildaโ€”who I called Karenโ€”strode out of the station doors. One hand rested on her gun, the other on her hip, like she was about to go full 'bad cop' mode.

"Running a bit late, arenโ€™t you? What happened, forgot your three-flavored chapstick this time?" she sneered.

God, this woman.

"Thereโ€™s this thing called business, Karen. Something I actually have. I donโ€™t just sit around all day like you do. And FYI, I donโ€™t use chapstickโ€”I use moisturizing lip balm."

She narrowed her eyes. "Youโ€™re such a bitch. I hope you know that."

"Aww, thanks. Now, who am I supposed to meet?" I asked, smiling sweetly.

She glared for a moment before turning and striding back into the building, her heels clicking with every step. Honestly, she had no reason to sashay like thatโ€”especially considering she was about as flat as a board.

---

Inside, I scanned the room. The place had that lifeless, open-plan look: a bunch of desks scattered around, low voices on the phone, keyboards clicking, fluorescent lights that made the walls look even more washed out. A fly buzzed around someoneโ€™s abandoned coffee mug. Gross.

Detective Baker, who was flipping through some file, didnโ€™t bother looking up. โ€œWe just want to go over your testimony one more time, make sure it all holds up.โ€

Oh, so they were reopening the case. Guess Iโ€™d spoken too soon about being free.

I forced a smile. โ€œAnd whyโ€™s that? Didnโ€™t you finish up everything with my daddy already?โ€ My gaze flicked from Baker to Karen, who was standing off to the side, watching me like I was about to pull a stunt.

She scoffed. โ€œWent from โ€˜motherโ€™s husbandโ€™ to โ€˜daddyโ€™ real quick, huh? Spoiled brat.โ€

Rude much.

I crossed my arms, leaning back in the chair. โ€œLook, itโ€™s not my fault your mom didnโ€™t marry a rich guy and your unlucky self has to work here for years without a single promotion. So donโ€™t take it out on an eighteen-year-old attempted rape victim with a rich stepfather. And by the way, the uniform doesnโ€™t even look good on you.โ€

The room went dead silent. Every head stayed down, like everyone was glued to their work.

Karen just shook her head, a tight smile on her lips. โ€œWow. Now I know why we have more child murderers than thieves.โ€ She turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply on the floor, leaving everyone to pretend they hadnโ€™t heard a thing.

Baker slammed his folder shut, loud enough that a few people jumped. He looked at me, unimpressed. โ€œWhatever issues you have with Matilda, deal with them on her own time. I donโ€™t want any kids insulting my detectives. You hear me?โ€

I gave a small nod, focusing on my nails while waiting for him to get on with it.

Finally, he sighed and softened his tone, like he was trying to play nice. โ€œThese arenโ€™t hard questions, and I hope they donโ€™t bring up anything too painful. What time did you say Marcus called you over that night?โ€

Seriously?

โ€œAround eight,โ€ I answered, rolling my eyes. This was their big follow-up?

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. โ€œPlease be specific, Ms. Torres.โ€

โ€œIt's been weeks,โ€ I shot back. โ€œHow am I supposed to remember every little detail of something Iโ€™ve been trying to forget? He called me around eight, okay?โ€

He stared at me a moment, then looked down at his notes. โ€œAnd who was the first person you called?โ€

โ€œ911,โ€ I replied, practically yawning. This was a waste of my time.

โ€œAnd did you try, or even think about hiding the body?โ€ he asked flatly.

I sat up, crossing my arms. โ€œOf course not. I didnโ€™t kill him. Marcus slipped on some spilled soup while he was looking for his favorite knife. He hit his head and died. Why would I hide the body?โ€

Saying it out loud, it sounded absurd even to me.

He flipped through his notes again. โ€œSoup? I thought you said it was a banana peel in your last statement?โ€

Oops.

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