/Madison's POV/
"What? No! What makes you ask me that?" I asked, curious how we managed to give off that we slept together. My voice came out sharper than intended, my pulse thudding faintly in my ears.
"Nothing, it's just…the way Zane looks at you seems to have changed." Aya looked pensive. "It's the same look I used to see on him when he looked at Allison. I know I'm not supposed to be saying this, but is there a chance that Zane might be seeing you as her? Never mind, that's crazy. No matter how much you two look alike, I'm sure he'd be able to differentiate." She shrugged, but her words hit too close to home, sinking like ice into my stomach.
Maintaining a blank, indifferent look, I demanded, "You don't think you might simply be seeing it wrong?" My fingers dug lightly into the fabric of my trousers, grounding myself.
"Yeah…you could be right. I mean, there's no way he would actually project his feelings onto you just because you two look alike. Anyway, forget I said that." She gently clapped her hands, walked over to the chair, pulled it from the desk, the chair screeching lightly against the floor. "I was just a little worried. I mean, I'm not sure he's ever successfully mourned Allison's death. What if he found another way of coping with it by treating you like her replacement? Not like you'd ever allow that, I—"
"You know what?" I cut in sharply. "Can't we, like…have this lesson some other time? I'm kinda battling a terrible headache right now, so I think I'm gonna get some rest first, but we can revisit this tomorrow." I said while holding her shoulders, slowly and gently showing her to the door. My temples pulsed with a dull, throbbing ache.
"But we've hardly done anything today," she whined and pouted. "C'mon, can't we hang a little? I like hanging with you."
"What's with the sudden confession? And just because you act cute, Aya, doesn't mean I'll let you stay," I declared before finally shoving her out of my door.
"You are so cold. I thought we were closer than that," she complained as I pulled my door shut before she could turn.
"Be careful on your way back, Aya," I said through the door, then stayed with my back pressed against it for a while, feeling the cool wood against my spine.
I wished I could get Aya's words out of my head, but they kept replaying as if wanting me to listen to the warning signs I'd been ignoring.
I stayed in my room, thinking about her words some more before I retrieved my phone and read Kim's full message. The bright screen cast a faint glow over my hands, the room unusually quiet.
If Zane had the phone, why hadn't he mentioned it? Right…we hardly share stuff with each other. I can't begin to explain how I get my hands on the information I know and he didn't. Besides, we've always handled our stuff separately. I laughed under my breath, the sound dry, wondering how three different people could be working on the case and yet, there had been little to no improvement.
Not like I plan on just sitting around though. If I want to catch my sister's killer, I need to step into her world and see things the way she saw them. I'd retrace her steps and see where everything went wrong.
But first, let's get that phone. Although I'd made up my mind to do that…Zane had been stuck in his study since Aya left, so it was hard to sneak in. And when we finally met at the dining table—where I hoped to ignore him by giving the script Aya brought all my attention—he barely allowed me to stay silent.
"So, how is it?" he asked the moment I settled at the table. His voice was calm, steady, too steady. "I wrote the interview myself, but reporters are usually known to be aggressive, so she might throw some unexpected questions at you that weren't on the list. But I'm sure you'll be able to handle it." He smiled, holding his fork as he slightly leaned his jaw against his hand. The faint clink of cutlery sounded between us.
"Sure," I replied, reaching for the pepper sprinkler, which he grabbed and handed me before I even reached far. The warmth of his fingers brushed against mine. "Thanks," I said.
I accidentally brushed my fingers against Zane's as I retrieved the bottle, but I'm starting to doubt it was a mistake since it kept happening. Zane didn't stop talking throughout our mealtime. The low rumble of his voice filled the space, almost soothing if I didn't know him better. I'm quite convinced that was the longest I'd seen him talk, but why? Why is he so desperate to make conversation? Or maybe he wasn't—maybe I'm reading too much into it since he'd just been talking about the interview and how I could handle it.
"The reporter might ask some annoyingly intrusive and private questions like how our sex life has been since your accident, or how helpful I was during the time—"
"Zane. I can handle it. It's just talking and lying. I'm sure I can handle it." I interrupted him since I found myself wanting to actually listen. It's fun watching him talk about his interview experience, but I hate how it's making me feel—warm, fluttery, unsafe.
"I know you can." He stood almost the same time I did and walked over to my side of the table to take my plates, which I was just getting off the table. My eyes returned to the abandoned fish and salad on his plate—he'd hardly touched it because he was busy talking to me.
My body tensed as his fingers grazed mine again, and once again I brushed it off as an accident—until the sink.
I was gonna do the dishes and return to my room afterwards—or maybe to Zane's study to get that phone, since he was yet to finish his meal.
"Don't worry. I'll do it," he said, holding my hand against the plate. His palm was warm and firm, too close.
"What are you—" I let go of the plate, wanting to leave because of the uncomfortable proximity, but turned to face him. His breath ghosted lightly against my cheek. Fuck it, he's messing with me. "What are you doing?" I demanded, feeling trapped in his embrace.
"What are you talking about?" he replied innocently, blinking with feigned confusion.
I groaned. "Never mind. If I didn't know better, I'd think you—" were flirting with me. Heat crawled up my neck; I couldn't bring myself to say it. "Forget it." I shrugged him off and returned upstairs, and again, his eyes followed me until I disappeared at the landing. I felt the weight of his gaze between my shoulder blades.
Taking advantage of how distracted he was, I slipped into his study to find the damn phone, which wasn't hard to find because Zane had no intention of hiding it.
The room smelled faintly of old paper, ink, and his cologne—warm and woodsy.
Right in his top desk drawer lay my sister's second phone. It was locked, though. A few trials and it still didn't work—not with the names I was familiar with, since I was damn sure it was someone's name. We all have that habit, and we all hate changes.
"Haden Reyes," I punched the words in without thinking, and the phone slid open.
A tiny click echoed in the quiet room.
I guess you still remember Dad, huh? I thought before immediately rummaging through the phone, my fingers trembling slightly.
Of course her text messages with Elias were the first thing I checked. My face slowly darkened the more messages I read. The air felt heavier, pressing against my chest.
"That fucker… I'm gonna kill him." My hands tightened around the phone but froze midway. "Ah, fuck…what is this?" I asked as I continued to scroll fast until I reached the end of their chat.
It was a video of Allison pouring wine on someone. The liquid splashed sharply across the woman's clothes. The look on her face was one I'd never seen before—rage, cold and sharp. But that wasn't all—I flinched as I watched my sister slap the woman, whose face was angled away from the camera, almost like she knew it was there. Allison didn't stop even after slapping the woman for the third time.
"How dare you fucking sleep with him!" she raved before proceeding to kick the woman in the stomach repeatedly. The dull thuds made my skin crawl. It's weird…the woman's face seemed familiar, like I'd seen her somewhere. Is it someone I know? That's impossible though. I haven't been here long enough to get acquainted with anyone except Aya, of course. But it can't be—the woman in the video was clearly white.
I didn't think my sister was capable of what I just saw.
My body automatically flinched when Zane walked in with the copy of my interview practice questions in hand. His footsteps were soft but unmistakable, and the sudden presence startled me.
The phone slipped from my hand in the process and hit the edge of his desk. The sharp crack echoed harshly through the room.
I felt a painful tug in my chest when it landed on the floor with a loud crash.
Today is just not my lucky day, is it? I thought, realising that was the second thing I'd broken in one day.
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