LThe house on Maplewood Drive was silent, the kind of silence that presses against your chest, the kind that feels wrong. Jack Sterling stood outside in the cool night air, staring at the darkened windows. His cousin Daniela had not answered her phone all evening. That wasn't unusual—she often ignored calls when she was upset—but something in his gut told him to check. Daniela had always trusted him more than anyone else in the family.
He pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, startling him. Inside, the porch light flickered, buzzing faintly. He raised his hand, knocked, then called softly.
"Daniela? It's Jack."
No answer.
He turned the doorknob. Unlocked. That was strange. Daniela hated leaving her door open, especially at night. Jack stepped inside. The house smelled faintly of lavender and wine. A glass sat tipped over on the coffee table, red liquid dripping slowly into the rug. The TV hummed static. A blanket was thrown across the floor like someone had stumbled.
Jack's chest tightened. He took cautious steps toward the stairs.
"Daniela?"
Still no reply. Only silence.
Halfway up the stairs, he noticed it—the faintest shadow across the landing. He hurried the last steps, heart pounding, and turned toward her bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar. He pushed it open.
Daniela lay on the floor beside her bed, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Her skin was pale, lips parted slightly as though she had tried to speak one last word.
Jack froze. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He knelt, shaking her shoulder.
"Daniela! No, no, no…"
But she didn't respond. Her body was still warm, but lifeless.
Jack fumbled for his phone, hands trembling, and dialed 911.
"This is Jack Sterling—my cousin, she's—she's not breathing, she's—" His voice cracked. "Please, send someone. Hurry."
---
The flashing red and blue lights painted Maplewood Drive in harsh colors. Neighbors peeked from windows as uniformed officers rushed inside. Detective Chris Harlow, tall and stern-faced, strode in with a notebook in hand. He crouched near Daniela's body, expression unreadable.
"You found her like this?" Chris asked without looking up.
"Yes," Jack said, voice shaking. "I came by because she wasn't answering my calls. The door was unlocked, things looked… wrong."
Chris glanced at the tipped glass, the wine on the carpet, the scattered blanket. He motioned to the coroner. "Time of death?"
"Likely within the last three hours."
Jack rubbed his forehead. "She was fine yesterday. She texted me about meeting up this weekend."
Chris stood, facing him now. "Did she mention anyone? Was she upset?"
Jack hesitated. "Daniela always kept things to herself. But lately… she seemed scared."
"Scared of what?"
"I don't know. She never said."
Chris studied him for a long moment, as though weighing whether Jack himself could be trusted.
---
The family arrived within an hour. Esther, Daniela's mother, collapsed when she saw the sheet-covered body. John, the family patriarch, gripped the doorway, his knuckles white.
Jimmy, Jake, Sam, Amma, and Anny trickled in one by one, each showing grief in their own way—shock, tears, anger.
"Who would do this?" Esther sobbed.
Chris raised his hand. "We don't know that anyone did anything—yet. Until we have the autopsy, we can't call it murder."
"But it looks like murder!" Jake shouted. "She wouldn't just—" His voice broke. "She wouldn't just die like this."
Jimmy muttered, "Unless someone wanted her gone."
All eyes turned to him. He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just saying. Daniela had enemies."
"Enemies?" Amma asked sharply. "Like who?"
Jimmy hesitated. "She… she knew things. About people. Things they didn't want others to know."
Chris's pen scratched across his notebook. "Interesting. What kind of things?"
Jimmy shook his head. "I don't know. She never told me directly. But she hinted. Secrets in this family. Secrets that could ruin lives."
The room fell heavy with silence. Everyone avoided each other's gaze.
---
Later that night, when the police left with Daniela's body, Jack sat alone in the living room. His thoughts raced. Daniela hadn't just died—he could feel it in his bones. Something had happened.
On the coffee table lay her phone. Chris had bagged her laptop but missed the phone under the blanket. Jack picked it up, unlocking it with her fingerprint still fresh. The last text message blinked at him:
From: Unknown Number
"Meet me tonight. Don't tell anyone. If you want the truth, come alone."
Sent two hours before her death.
Jack's stomach dropped. She had gone to meet someone. Someone she trusted enough to keep secret. And now she was dead.
The front door creaked open suddenly, startling him. Jake stepped in, face pale.
"What are you still doing here?" Jake asked.
Jack quickly slipped the phone into his pocket. "Just… trying to understand."
Jake lowered his voice. "Listen. Don't tell the cops everything. Not yet. They'll twist it, make us all look guilty. We need to protect the family."
Jack frowned. "Protect the family? Daniela is dead."
Jake's jaw tightened. "Exactly. And they'll think one of us did it."
Jack studied him carefully. For a fleeting second, Jake's eyes darted away. Was it guilt? Or fear?
Before Jack could press further, a knock rattled the door. He opened it to find Chris back on the porch.
"We found something," Chris said grimly. "And it changes everything."
He stepped inside, holding a small plastic evidence bag. Inside was a necklace—Daniela's necklace. But it wasn't found in her room.
Chris's eyes moved across each family member. "We found this… in the backyard, buried under fresh dirt."
Gasps rippled through the room. Esther covered her mouth.
Jack's pulse quickened. "Why would her necklace be buried outside?"
Chris looked at them one by one, his voice cold.
"Because someone wanted it hidden."
The room fell silent. For the first time, every face carried suspicion. No one was safe. And so it began. Daniela's death wasn't just a tragedy—it was the opening move in a long, twisted game. Every family member carried secrets. Every friend had motives. And as Jack stood in the center of it all, he knew one truth:
The killer was closer than anyone wanted to be.