Just a girl
“What did the lawyer say?” Enid asked, her voice brittle as she dabbed at the corners of her damp eyes with a lace handkerchief. Her composure was elegant yet strained, every gesture weighted with the burden of reputation. Breakfast lay untouched on the long mahogany table, silver platters steaming, the fragrance of spiced tea and toast wasted on the silence.
“I just… I just can’t believe it.” Adelyn’s voice wavered as she spoke, her words threaded with grief. Her long, ink-dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, loose and unkempt from restless hours, framing a face that was heartbreak and beauty combined. Her deep brown eyes shimmered with tears, their intensity made sharper by the soft olive undertone of her skin. “This was supposed to be the beginning of our happily ever after.”
Lucas’s chest tightened. Even in sorrow, she seemed unearthly—like a tragic heroine sculpted from glass and fire.
“Shh… hey…” His tone was low and coaxing as he drew her gently against his side, his arm protective, his jaw rigid with unspoken longing. “It will all be okay. You and I know he isn’t capable of killing anyone—least of all someone he grew up with.”
Adelyn’s lashes trembled as she tilted her chin upward, meeting his gaze with eyes rimmed red yet burning with a quiet magnetism. “I know… I wonder how he is.” Her voice cracked, but even then, Lucas could only see how captivating she was—her sorrow an irresistible mask.
“I’m here for you.” His words came softer this time, almost a vow. The warmth of his hand lingered on her shoulder, a touch he couldn’t quite let go of. “We’ll get through this—as a family.”
“Thank you, Lucas.” Her fingers brushed his chest—light, deliberate—before slipping away. “The police have called me in for questioning. I’ll be going to the station.”
“I’ll join you,” he said instantly, the eagerness in his voice betraying him.
Adelyn paused, tilting her head. A lock of glossy black hair fell across her cheek as she regarded him, eyes dark and searching. For a long moment, it felt as though she could see straight through him, down to the insecurities he tried to bury.
Then her lips curved, ever so slightly, into a smile that was not quite kind. “That’s generous,” she murmured, her tone threaded with something far more dangerous than gratitude.
Detective Frank Mallory lowered himself back into the chair across from Ethan, his broad frame filling the space. He was a stout man in his fifties, his salt-and-pepper stubble more shadow than beard, his shirt collar a little too tight. Beside him sat his assistant, Neil Cartwright, a wiry, bookish young man with oversized glasses who seemed far more comfortable with lab reports than interrogations.
Across the table, Ethan Chamber looked wrecked. His normally wavy hair hung limp, his pale face was dull with exhaustion. Even at six-foot-one, he seemed diminished, folded in on himself.
Mallory flipped open a thin file and gave a low whistle. “You know, Mr. Chamber, I was willing to believe this was a mistake. But your record… well, it paints a different picture.” He slid the folder across the table, letting Ethan see his own mugshot from years ago. “Public intoxication. Aggravated assault. Hell, you damn near put a man in a coma outside The Red Lion bar. Had to be intubated. Ringing any bells?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “That was years ago. I don’t drink anymore.”
Mallory smirked. “Funny thing about men who ‘used to’ drink. They usually still drink. They just lie better about it. And you? You’ve got history. A mean streak. You lash out. You forget. You wake up with blood on your hands and don’t even remember how it got there.”
“I remember everything,” Ethan snapped, his voice low, raw. “And I told you, I didn’t kill Charles.” His throat worked as he forced the name out. “He was our butler, our family. Charles Hart raised us after our father passed. He was like a second parent.”
Neil shifted in his seat, adjusting his glasses. “Detective, it is possible Mr. Chamber’s prints got on the pen earlier. If it was one of his favorite pens, anyone could’ve—”
“Shut it, Cartwright,” Mallory growled, not taking his eyes off Ethan. “You’re telling me the man who raised you winds up dead in your pool, your office window blown open, your pen jammed in his jugular—and you just happened to be washing your hands in the bathroom at the exact same time?” He leaned forward, his eyes sharp, his voice cutting. “Sounds like another blackout to me, Mr. Chamber.”
Ethan’s hands curled into fists on the table, but his voice was steady. “I didn’t black out. I wasn’t drunk. And I didn’t kill Charles.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint scratching of Neil’s pen on his notepad. Then Mallory leaned back with a sigh, folding his arms.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Mallory muttered. “But let me be clear—your past is going to bury you if I let it. And right now? Every piece of evidence says you snapped again. Only difference is, this time someone didn’t wake up in a hospital bed. He went straight to the morgue.”
Ethan swallowed hard, his composure cracking, but he forced his eyes to hold Mallory’s. “I. Didn’t. Do it.”
Mallory studied him for a long, silent beat. Finally, he pushed his chair back and stood, shaking his head. “We’ll see, Chamber. Everyone breaks sooner or later. And you? You’ve already broken before.”
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The interview room was too bright, its sterile white walls pressing inward like judgment. Adelyn sat stiffly on the chair, her dark hair framing her pale face, her wide, almond eyes shining with fresh tears. A crumpled handkerchief was clutched in her hand, already damp.
Detective Mallory leaned back in his chair, his stocky frame taking up space with authority. Across from him, Neil Cartwright perched nervously on the edge of his seat, fumbling with his notepad as though it could shield him from the tension filling the room.
“Mrs. Chamber,” Mallory began, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence. “Let’s not waste time. You say you were with Lucas in the kitchen before the butler’s… accident. And then you rejoined the party. Anyone else who can vouch for you?”
Adelyn sniffled, shaking her head. “I—I don’t know… everything happened so fast. One moment we were celebrating, the next…” She trailed off, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.
Neil shifted uncomfortably, his eyes softening. “Detective, maybe we should—”
But Mallory cut him off with a sharp glance. “Convenient, isn’t it? No one to back up your story. Just you and your brother-in-law in a kitchen. And now your husband’s favorite pen is sticking out of a dead man’s throat.”
Adelyn’s eyes widened, her tears spilling over. “Do you really think I—”
Mallory leaned forward, his tone harsh. “I think women like you see a family like the Chambers and spot an opportunity. Wealth. Power. A way out of whatever you were before. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Chamber? A pretty face and a sob story, and suddenly you’re engaged to one of the richest men in the city.”
Adelyn froze, the insult sinking into her bones. For a beat, she looked as though she might collapse under the weight of it. Then, fury lit her features, breaking through the veil of grief.
“You don’t know me,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “You don’t know what I’ve endured—what I’ve lost. To suggest that I married Ethan for his money, that I could… that I could have anything to do with this…” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hand hard to her chest, as though holding herself together. “I won’t sit here and be insulted by a man who doesn’t care about the truth.”
She shoved back her chair, the legs screeching against the floor, and stormed out, her handkerchief fluttering to the ground behind her. Neil half-rose from his seat, guilt etched across his face, but Mallory only grunted and leaned back, unbothered.
Out in the hall, Lucas had been waiting. When Adelyn emerged, her dark eyes glistening and her face contorted in heartbreak, he rushed to her.
“Adelyn—what happened?” His voice was panicked, his hand reaching for her arm.
“I hate them!” She spat before disappearing from view.
Neil glanced at Mallory, his brow furrowed. The older detective was already rifling through his notes with a look of utter indifference.
“What was that?” Neil finally asked. “We were supposed to take a statement, not tear her apart.”
Mallory snorted, pushing back his chair. “And I got what I needed. You take your notes, play the gentleman—doesn’t bother me.” He shrugged, heavy shoulders rolling. “She seems harmless enough. Still smells like a gold digger to me, though.”
Neil blinked, incredulous. “So you really think she killed him? For money? Her fiancé goes to jail, and she cashes in?”
Mallory turned, giving him a withering look. “Use your head, kid. If it was about the money, she’d have waited for the wedding. Why blow it now?” He snatched his coat off the back of his chair and started toward the coffee machine. “Nah. She’s got other angles. Women like that always do.”
Neil hesitated, his pen tapping against his notebook. “So… what’s next?”
Mallory waved him off with a grunt. “Get the brother in here. Lucas Chambers. Let’s see what his story smells like.”
And with that, Mallory disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing stronger coffee.