Bella's POV
I vomit in Patricia Moore's rose bushes.
Luis holds my hair back, not saying anything. He's been my partner long enough to know when to stay quiet.
When I'm done, I wipe my mouth and stand up. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking.
"Sorry," I mutter. "I don't know what—"
"You knew her," Luis says quietly. It's not a question.
I can't lie to him. Not Luis. He's saved my life three times and never once asked about my past.
"Yes." My voice cracks. "Five years ago. She testified against me in court. She lied under oath and destroyed my reputation."
Luis processes this slowly. "And the photographer from this morning?"
"He made the fake evidence."
"Jesus, Bella." He runs a hand through his hair. "Two people who ruined your life are dead within hours of each other. And you're the lead detective. Do you understand how bad this looks?"
"I didn't kill them!"
"I know that!" He grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "But you need to recuse yourself from this case. Now. Before someone else connects the dots."
"I can't." I pull away. "Don't you see? If I back out now, it looks guilty. Like I'm hiding something. I have to stay on the case and prove I had nothing to do with this."
"Or you could tell the Captain the truth—"
"And tell him what?" I laugh bitterly. "That I was falsely accused of embezzlement five years ago, destroyed by these victims, and now someone's killing them one by one? That makes me look more guilty, not less!"
Before Luis can argue, Damien appears from inside the house. His face is grim.
"You need to see this," he says. "Both of you."
I don't want to go back inside. I don't want to see Patricia's dead face, her lying mouth frozen forever. But I force my feet to move.
Patricia Moore's living room looks normal—expensive furniture, family photos on the walls, a half-finished cup of tea on the coffee table. Like she was just living her life when death walked in.
She's on the floor near the couch, her throat carved with the same "R" mark. But it's worse than Jeremy's. Deeper. More violent. Like the killer was angry with her.
"Time of death was around the same time as Jeremy Walsh," Dr. Park explains. "Within a thirty-minute window. Which means—"
"The killer did both murders in one night," I finish. "Moving fast between locations."
"Or there's more than one killer," Luis suggests.
Damien shakes his head. "Same blade signature. Same technique. Same handwriting on the card." He points to another black card on Patricia's chest. "This is one person. Someone very skilled and very efficient."
I read the card, my stomach churning:
"The truth you buried has been uncovered. Justice always finds its way. Two down, ten to go."
Ten more people are going to die.
"We found something else," Dr. Park says hesitantly. "In the victim's safe upstairs. You should see it."
She leads us to a bedroom where a wall safe stands open. Inside are stacks of cash—at least fifty thousand dollars—and a folder.
Dr. Park hands me the folder with gloved hands. "I think you should read this alone, Detective."
"Why?" But I'm already opening it.
Inside are documents. Bank records. Contracts. And at the top, a letter addressed to Patricia Moore from someone named Richard Hartley.
My father.
My hands go numb as I read:
"Patricia, as agreed, here is your payment for testimony regarding my daughter's embezzlement. An additional $50,000 will be provided once the court case concludes. Remember—stick to the script we provided. Do not deviate. This family matter must be resolved quickly and quietly."
The letter is dated five years ago. Two weeks before the trial.
My father paid her. He paid Patricia Moore to lie about me.
"Bella?" Luis tries to take the letter, but I can't let go. "What does it say?"
"My father hired her." The words come out like broken glass. "He paid her fifty thousand dollars to lie under oath. To help frame me."
The room spins. All this time, I thought Marcus orchestrated everything. But my father—my own father—was in on it from the start. He didn't just abandon me. He actively destroyed me.
Damien steps closer, his voice low. "Now do you understand? These aren't random victims, Bella. They're all connected to a conspiracy. Someone paid them to ruin you. And now someone's killing them for it."
"Who?" I whisper. "Who would kill for me?"
His gray eyes bore into mine. "That's what we need to figure out. Before the killer finishes the list."
"Or before they come for you," Luis adds grimly.
I look at him, confused. "Why would they come for me?"
"Because you're the common link." Luis gestures at the evidence around us. "All these victims hurt you. Whoever's killing them is either protecting you... or framing you. Either way, you're the center of this whole thing."
My phone rings. The Captain.
"Hartley," I answer, trying to sound normal.
"Detective, I need you back at the station. Now." His voice is tense. "Internal Affairs wants to talk to you."
My blood turns to ice. "About what?"
"About your connection to the victims. Someone tipped them off." He pauses. "Bella, they're investigating you for murder."
The phone slips from my hand.
Internal Affairs. Investigation. Murder charges.
This is exactly what I feared. Someone knows about my past. Someone connected me to the victims.
"Who?" I ask hoarsely. "Who told them?"
The Captain sighs. "Anonymous tip came in twenty minutes ago. Said you had motive to kill both victims. Included details about events from five years ago that match the evidence we're finding."
Someone is setting me up. Someone who knows everything about my past.
I look at Damien. He's watching me with an expression I can't read.
"It wasn't me," he says quietly, reading my suspicion. "I'm not trying to destroy you, Bella."
"Then who is?" My voice rises. "Who else knows? Who else was there five years ago?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you." He pulls out his phone and shows me a photo. "This was taken at your engagement party. Five years ago. Look at the crowd in the background."
I zoom in on the photo. There are hundreds of people, all watching my humiliation. And in the corner, partially hidden by shadows, is a face I recognize.
Marcus. My ex-fiancé. Talking to someone.
I zoom in more on the other person, and my heart stops.
It's Vivian. My step-sister. And she's handing Marcus something—a folder.
"They planned it together," I breathe. "Marcus and Vivian. They weren't just betraying me separately—they were working as a team."
"Look at who's watching them," Damien says.
I adjust the zoom again. Standing a few feet away, observing Marcus and Vivian with intense focus, is a man in a dark suit. His face is sharp, predatory. And his eyes...
His eyes are gray. Like smoke. Like steel.
Like Damien's.
"Who is that?" I whisper.
Damien's jaw tightens. "My younger brother. Elias Crowe."
The world tilts again.
"You have a brother?" Luis asks. "Why didn't you mention this before?"
"Because he disappeared five years ago." Damien's voice is strained. "The same night as Bella's engagement party. I haven't seen or heard from him since."
I stare at the photo. At this brother who looks so much like Damien but somehow darker. More dangerous.
"What was he doing at my party?" I demand.
"I don't know." Damien meets my eyes. "But I'm starting to have a very bad theory."
"What theory?"
He hesitates, like he doesn't want to say it out loud. "What if Elias has been watching you all these years? What if he saw what they did to you and decided to take revenge on your behalf?"
"Why would he care about me? I've never met him!"
"You have." Damien's voice drops. "You just don't remember."
My heart pounds. "What are you talking about?"
"The night I found you in the alley. You were unconscious when I carried you to my car. But someone else was there first. Someone who called me and told me where to find you."
"Who?"
"Elias." Damien looks haunted. "He found you first. He saw what they did. And then he called me to come save you because he... he couldn't."
"Why not?"
Damien's hands clench into fists. "Because five years ago, my brother was dying. He had a rare blood disease. The doctors gave him six months to live."
My mind spins. "But you said he disappeared—"
"The same night he found you." Damien's voice cracks. "He called me, told me to save you, and then he vanished. I thought he went somewhere to die alone. But now..."
"Now you think he's alive," I finish. "And killing people for me."
"I think he's been alive this whole time." Damien shows me another photo—a recent security camera image from near Jeremy Walsh's studio. It's blurry, but there's a figure in dark clothes walking away from the building.
The build is similar to Damien's. But the walk is different. More aggressive. More violent.
"That was taken twenty minutes after Jeremy's estimated time of death," Damien explains.
I look closer at the figure and notice something. He's carrying something in his hand.
A knife.
"Oh God," I whisper.
Luis grabs my arm. "Bella, we need to get you to the station. If Internal Affairs thinks you're the killer—"
"They'll arrest me," I finish. "And while I'm locked up, the real killer will keep murdering people."
"So what do we do?" Luis asks desperately.
I look at Damien. At this man who saved me five years ago. This man whose brother might be a serial killer murdering people in my name.
"We find Elias," I say firmly. "Before he kills again. And before I end up in prison for his crimes."
Damien nods slowly. "I know where he might be. But Bella—if we're right about this, my brother is very dangerous. He's not the person I remember. Five years alone, consumed by revenge... he could be completely unstable."
"Then we stop him together."
"And if we can't?" Damien's voice is soft. "If he's too far gone? If the only way to stop him is..."
He doesn't finish, but I understand what he's asking.
If the only way to stop Elias is to kill him, can I live with that?
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:
"Run, Bella. They're coming for you. And this time, I can't save you. - E"
Elias.
He's been watching me. Texting me. Warning me.
Which means he knows Internal Affairs is coming.
Which means he has someone inside the police department feeding him information.
"We need to go," I say urgently. "Right now."
"Go where?" Luis asks.
I look at Damien. "You said you know where Elias might be. Take me there. Before the police arrest me and ten more people die."
Damien hesitates for only a second. Then he nods.
"My car's outside. Let's move."
We run for the door, leaving Dr. Park and the crime scene behind. Luis follows, already calling in sick for both of us.
As we climb into Damien's expensive car, I catch a glimpse of something across the street.
A figure in shadows. Watching us.
Our eyes meet for just a second—gray eyes so similar to Damien's but filled with something colder. Emptier.
Then he's gone, disappearing like smoke.
But I heard him. Just before he vanished.
He whispered one word:
"Mine."