In one elegant, quiet restaurants, serenity flowed between its corners. Large windows framed views of lush green gardens, where sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft, golden tones.
Anna's voice pulled Camila from her reverie by the window beside their usual table.
"What are you thinking about, Camila?"
Anna's blue eyes searched her friend's face, trying to read the thoughts behind her silence. Despite their five years of friendship, Camila's life still felt like a locked diary to Anna-while Camila, on the other hand, knew everything about her friend, even the smallest details of her marriage to the owner of one of California's finest restaurant chains.
Camila lifted her cup of coffee, sipping delicately. A faint trace of her red lipstick marked the porcelain edge, unnoticed. Her eyes lingered on Anna, studying her with quiet intensity, as if she were analyzing a patient. The scrutiny made Anna shift uneasily in her seat.
"Anna, I'm tired," Camila murmured, voice low. "Those dreams... they still come every night. The same scenes. They won't leave my mind."
The exhaustion beneath Camila's eyes was enough to make Anna's heart ache. She knew her friend suffered from chronic insomnia and nightmares-ironic, considering she was a psychiatrist who had helped so many others overcome the same struggle.
Camila hesitated before speaking again, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
"One of my patients... he's accused of murder. And he's asking for my help."
Anna's eyes widened.
"And how exactly do you plan to help him, Camila? You don't need any more trouble in your life. Hand his file over to the police and stay out of it."
Camila shook her head firmly.
"I can't. I can't abandon him now."
Anna's concern deepened. Her heartbeat quickened as unease crept up her spine. She reached out, holding Camila's hand tightly, as if to keep her grounded.
"Camila... don't tell me he really did it-and you're covering for him?"
Camila exhaled slowly, shaking her head.
"I don't know... but I can't believe he did."
Anna's grip tightened. Her tone grew sharper, warning.
"You can't trust every patient you have. You're a doctor, not a detective. You need to be careful and tell the police everything you know."
Camila bit the inside of her cheek, voice steady and defensive.
"Anna, Liam isn't just any patient. I know him. I know who he is-as a person, not as a diagnosis."
Anna's expression hardened.
"Camila, just because Liam reminds you of your past-your childhood-that doesn't mean you should defend a criminal."
Camila's tone turned cold, unshakable.
"He hasn't been proven guilty. And I'm certain he's innocent."
Anna sighed, realizing she couldn't win this battle.
"I'm going to fix my makeup," she said, rising. The legs of her chair scraped lightly against the polished floor as she walked away.
Camila watched her go, her gaze following until Anna disappeared down the hallway. She turned back to her now-cold coffee, taking a sip as her mind drifted again.
A soft clink startled her-the waitress had returned, placing a fresh cup before her.
"I didn't order another," Camila said, brows furrowing.
The waitress opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a man pulled out the chair across from Camila and sat down.
Her eyes widened.
Ethan.
He leaned back casually, his voice smooth and deep.
"I thought you might need a refill."
He gestured for the waitress to leave.
Camila folded her arms defensively.
"I didn't realize this restaurant had become a meeting spot for detectives and suspects. What are you doing here?"
He ran his tongue over his lips, amused by her tone.
"Believe me, I didn't expect to find you here either. But then I thought-why not use the opportunity?"
"Opportunity?" she echoed warily.
His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead as he ran a hand through it, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes met hers with quiet intensity, and she swallowed hard.
"An opportunity," he said softly, "to get to know you. Not Dr. Camila, but you. The woman."
For a moment, she couldn't tell if he was serious or simply trying to get under her skin. Silence hung between them, heavy and charged. She turned her gaze to her cup, avoiding his piercing stare, her heart racing faster than she wanted to admit.
"I don't think it's very professional for a detective to meet a former suspect," she said, her voice laced with nervous humor.
Ethan's lips curved into a faint smile, revealing a glimpse of white teeth.
"If you were truly a suspect, Camila, you wouldn't be sitting across from me in a beautiful restaurant overlooking rare flowers and sunlight. You'd be in an interrogation room surrounded by officers."
She tried to ignore him, focusing on her coffee instead, though she could feel his gaze on her like heat against her skin.
"What made you become a psychiatrist?" he asked suddenly. "Seems like a tough life-constantly analyzing people, never really living like one."
It was a fair question, though even Camila didn't fully know the answer anymore.
"I'm curious about the human mind," she said quietly. "About what drives it."
He nodded, eyes thoughtful. For a moment, there was no pretense between them.
Then she looked at him and returned the question.
"And why did you become a detective? It can't be easy on your mind either."
He smiled faintly. "My father's wish."
She laughed, soft but genuine-a sound that surprised even her.
"Really? I never imagined Detective Ethan being forced into his job."
He arched a brow, feigning offense, but the corner of his lips lifted anyway.
Then his gaze shifted toward the corridor-Anna was returning. Ethan pushed himself up from his chair, hands resting briefly on the table.
"I won't pressure you," he said, voice lowering. "But I'll find a way to understand you, Dr. Camila."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear.
"By the way," he murmured, eyes flicking to her dress, "red suits you."
Before she could react, he straightened and walked away, leaving her speechless.
When Anna returned, she found Camila pale and flushed, her hands trembling slightly.
---
At Ethan's Office, Police Department
Ethan sat at his desk, flipping through the files of Rosalina's murder case.
A knock came at the door. Max entered, fatigue written all over his face.
Ethan didn't look up. "What is it this time?"
Max sank into the chair. "Another crime scene. Not far from Rosalina's apartment."
Ethan's head snapped up.
"You're saying... the two cases are connected? A serial killer?"
Max sighed. "Looks that way. Male victim, late sixties. Lived alone. Seven stab wounds-same pattern."
Ethan took the file, scanning quickly. "Any witnesses? Neighbors? Anyone who saw something?"
Max shook his head. "Nothing. No forced entry, no noise. It's like the killer just... walked in. Probably someone the victim trusted. Or someone with a spare key."
"Or," Ethan said, tapping the file, "something made him open the door."
Max groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Please don't tell me we're heading there tonight."
Ethan stood, slipping into his black jacket.
"Not tonight," he said-and Max exhaled in relief-
"Because you're coming with me to my place. We're reviewing both cases again."
Max stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding. I haven't slept in three days!"
Ethan just smirked. "You can sleep when we find the truth."
Minutes later, they were inside Ethan's minimalist apartment. Everything was in perfect order-neutral tones, precise symmetry.
Max flopped onto the couch with a groan, hugging a cushion.
"Touch anything," Ethan warned, "and I'll throw you out."
"Fine," Max muttered, eyes half-closed. "But if I fall asleep, it's your fault."
Hours passed. Ethan read through files, searching for any missing link. Max yawned so loudly it nearly echoed.
Just as he reached for his keys, ready to escape to his bed, his phone buzzed. He answered irritably, murmured a few words, then turned to Ethan.
"Not important," he said. "Just an officer giving me the usual updates on Liam's movements." He paused. "Apparently... he's heading to Camila's office."
Ethan froze. His pulse quickened.
The night was far from over.