The night refused to end. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, growing louder, tearing through the stillness like jagged knives. Each sound made Eve's chest seize tighter. She sat on the cold pavement, her palms sticky with Stuart's blood, her breath coming out in shallow bursts as though she had sprinted through ten lifetimes in the span of one night.
"Eve, look at me."
Emma's voice reached her, low and controlled, but his usual composure was unraveling in the tremor of his tone. He crouched beside her, eyes searching her face with naked worry. "You can't stay here."
But her body refused to obey. She couldn't move. Not when Stuart's hand—already cold, already slipping away—lay lifeless in hers. His final words thundered in her head, refusing to fade.
If anything happens to me…
Ken barked into his phone, pacing, his free hand clutching at his hair. His pale face glowed ghostly under the streetlights. "Yes—yes! He's not breathing, no pulse either! Just—send them now!"
Eve forced herself to look down again. Stuart's head lolled at an impossible angle, the rake embedded grotesquely like some cruel joke from fate. The sight hollowed her chest. How did this even happen? What went wrong? Where did I fail him? Her mind scrabbled for reason, but grief stripped away her ability to think. Even tears betrayed her, refusing to fall.
The scream of the ambulance finally cut through the air. Red lights splashed against the walls, drowning out the streetlamps as paramedics rushed forward. Their clipped voices filled the night—professional, urgent, cold.
"Step back, ma'am."
She barely felt their hands as they pulled her away, her body jerking like a rag doll. Every nerve in her fought the separation. She wanted to scream at them, demand they breathe him back to life, but her voice failed her. Some truths already carried the finality of stone.
Before the zipper hissed across the body bag, Emma caught her wrist. His grip was firm—almost too firm. His eyes, hard as steel, met hers.
"Don't watch," he whispered. "You'll never forget it."
Too late. She already knew the image of Stuart's broken body was branded into her soul. Forever.
...
The drive back to the house felt endless, each second dragging against the weight of silence. The car's interior smelled faintly of blood, though Eve knew it was only in her mind. Every bump in the road rattled her, each flicker of lights reminded her of sirens, of cold hands slipping away.
"No. She has to stay at mine for now," Mademoiselle Adeline insisted from the front seat. Her French accent sharpened with determination. "I won't leave her alone in that cottage tonight."
Emma's knuckles tightened on the wheel. "Adeline…" He hesitated, his jaw clenched. "You know what they're saying. About Madeline."
At the sound of the Pomeranian's name, Eve's hollow eyes flicked up. She hadn't spoken since the ambulance left.
"I won't let her near Eve until she's ready. I promise." Regret tinged Adeline's tone, softening it. "But she cannot stay alone in that house with everything messed up from the party".
Emma sighed, the sound heavy with defeat. After a long silence, he nodded. "Fine. I've called the cleaners. They'll finish by noon today."
Both of them glanced back at Eve. She was now standing outside the car with Ken who was now flanked by a Detective as he gave his statement. Her posture looked fragile, like glass too close to shattering.
"I was out here to get drinks from Emma's car," Ken told the detective, voice thick with leftover alcohol. "I saw someone running… fast. Then a little white thing chasing right after. At first, I thought I was imagining it. Didn't realize it was Stuart until…" His voice broke.
"You saw him running from her?" Eve's voice sliced in, sharp and pained. She shook her head in denial. "No. He wouldn't. Not over something so small—Madeline's just a tiny dog!"
The investigator turned to her, gaze calm but probing. "Do you doubt what he saw, Miss Eve?"
Her throat closed. "I—I don't know. Yes, Stuart had cynophobia, but he's seen Madeline so many times before when visiting me. He never—"
"Seeing and encountering are not the same," the investigator interrupted. "A man's pride often hides his weakness. He may not have wanted to appear frightened in front of you. Especially not of a toy dog."
Something inside Eve snapped. "Fuck pride!" Her scream echoed off the houses. She twisted violently as Ken tried to hold her back. "Fuck pride, Ken! Look at him now! Pride didn't save him—he's gone! He's gone and I'm left all alone!"
Her body shook with sobs, violent and unrestrained. Emma rushed to her side, wrapping her tightly in his arms. His glare cut across to the investigator, who raised his palms in a half-apology.
"If that will be all…" Emma's voice was ice. He didn't need to finish. The detective got the message.
"Yes, of course. We'll be in touch if further questions arise," he muttered, retreating.
.....
Later, the house felt far too quiet. After a hot shower and clean clothes, Eve sat stiffly on the plush sofa in Mademoiselle Adeline's living room. Ken lingered at the kitchen island with a steaming mug of coffee. Adeline busied herself with breakfast, the clatter of utensils the only sound. Emma stood by the wide window, arms folded, staring at the gray horizon where dawn bled into day.
The silence pressed down like suffocating fog.
Then, soft footsteps pattered across the hallway. Madeline trotted in, the tiny Pomeranian wagging her tail innocently. Eve blinked. Something inside her cracked open—not in fear, but in defiance. She bent, scooped the dog up, and settled it onto her lap. Her fingers absently stroked its fur.
The others froze, their eyes widening in disbelief. Not even six hours ago, the dog had been accused of driving Stuart to his death. And here was Eve, cradling it as if clinging to the only warmth she had left.
"Eve…" Ken started carefully. "Are you sure you're—"
"I'm fine," she cut him off, her voice hollow but steady. "Go home. You two need rest more than I do."
Ken hesitated, then exchanged a glance with Emma. Both men knew they wouldn't win this argument.
....
When Ken and Emma finally left, the air seemed to shift. Adeline draped a shawl gently over Eve's shoulders. Together, they stood by the main entrance, waving goodbye.
Neither noticed the shadow lurking in the alley opposite.
The figure had been there all night, since before the party even began. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
A gun glinted faintly in their hand, barrel lifting until it lined perfectly with Eve's spine.
One squeeze of the trigger—
And the nightmare would begin again.