Chapter 4

　　Before i knew it, I was being dragged out of the building by the cops. I was greeted not only by a crowd of journalists and people who clearly didn't know how to mind their business, but also by the most shocking sight I'd seen in all my days.

　　Remember that beautiful blonde girl who kept staring at me when I walked into the party?

　　I saw her making out with Harold… in his limo.

　　Yes. The universe had just been playing an elaborate prank on me this whole time.

　　~Later~

　　"So, tell us, Miss Angel, what happened last night?" the male officer sitting across from me asked. The woman remained silent, glaring at me like I'd stolen a baby. She leaned against the dark grey wall of the interrogation room, her outfit blending seamlessly with the shadows around her.

　　I'd always wondered why interrogation rooms in movies were this color. I didn't think they'd actually look like this in real life. It was hot—unbearably hot. My entire body beneath my dress was drenched in sweat, and images from the night before wouldn't stop flashing through my mind.

　　I stared quietly at the officer for a moment and said abruptly, "I think you might be stupid."

　　The woman in the background snorted.

　　"What?" he uttered, unsure he'd heard me correctly.

　　"I said I stabbed Jennifer Fredrick in the chest with the stem of a wine glass," I said, reclining in my chair.

　　"Do you regret your actions at all?" the officer asked, squinting at me.

　　"Oh, I regret it," I replied, nodding as I leaned in again, peering into his eyes like he might be my next victim. "I regret every single step I took to get to that building. I regret even considering attacking Richard Angelo in the first place. I regret being alive, officer."

　　I pulled back slightly. "Gosh, I didn't mean to hurt Jennifer," I said as tears gathered in my eyes. "I wanted to give Richard a permanent scar across his face to forever remind him of the woman he abused and treated like a toy… but Jennifer got in the way."

　　I drew in a deep breath. "I hope she's okay."

　　"Oh, no. Jennifer is dead," the woman in the background finally spoke. Her shoes clicked against the floor as she stepped toward the table. "I saw her, and she was… pretty dead to me," she continued, sitting down beside us.

　　"Listen, madam," she exhaled, "we know your past. We know the family you come from, and the matter that arose between you and Richard Angelo four years ago. We know people disrespectfully refer to you as the banished daughter of the Ramirez family. And now, Richard's spreading all kinds of rumors about you since his release."

　　"We don't know if they're rumors, though. He might be telling the truth," the man interrupted.

　　The female officer and I glanced at him with matching expressions of disgust before returning our gazes to each other.

　　"My point is," she said, "you've had a good life in Forest Hills these past four years. Your therapy was going smoothly. You were earning a decent salary from your job. Why come all the way back here just to make trouble?"

　　"I didn't come here to make trouble," I answered, rolling my eyes. "I was invited as a date by Harold Washington to a welcoming party. I had no idea Richard was the one being welcomed. He saw me—and what followed was… very unpleasant. I was humiliated by my own family. My own mother cursed me in front of all the guests."

　　Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my heart ached at the memory of the hatred in her eyes that night.

　　"And where is Harold now?" she asked.

　　My eyes faltered as the image of Harold kissing that girl flashed in my head. "He… umm. He left me."

　　The woman sighed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. But why didn't you leave after your family did that to you? Why not walk out of the party and catch a cab back to Forest Hills?"

　　I lifted my gaze. "I wanted to. I stepped into the restroom to calm myself and fix my makeup. I was going to leave afterwards, but then…" I paused.

　　Just then, a thought crossed my mind: Would they even believe me if I told them what happened in the restroom? I could already see it in their eyes—they thought I was insane because of my actions and my history with therapy. But the Ragdoll? That was a whole new level of bonkers.

　　I didn't want to be sent to an asylum. I barely escaped that fate once before.

　　"But then…?" the woman prompted, squinting.

　　"I…" I stuttered, staring into her eyes. "I… decided to attack Jennifer."

　　"Wait, but earlier you said you didn't mean to hurt Jennifer," the man blurted again.

　　"I know what I said!" I snapped, turning to him. "I was going to attack her, but I couldn't… because I was afraid. And I'm not that person. I could've left quietly, but Richard saw me and started throwing insults again. And I just… lost it."

　　I turned back to the woman. "I'm not a murderer. What happened to Jennifer was never supposed to happen. You have to believe me," I said, more tears streaming down my cheeks.

　　"It's okay, Angel," she said softly. "Thank you for being so cooperative. I'll make sure you get a public defender as soon as possible. And we'll get a doctor to take a look at your hand—it looks like the cut is still bleeding."

　　My hand… I'd forgotten all about it. The bandage the officers had wrapped around it was already soaked with blood. Clearly, they hadn't done a very good job treating me.

　　"Thank you," I replied quietly, watching as the two officers rose from their seats and walked toward the exit.

　　As soon as the door clicked shut, I exhaled and pressed my forehead to the table.