“Lady Leanne,” Ginger said, her voice faltering as she stepped back. “You’re here… I didn’t expect you to come in person.” She pointed at me quickly. “This woman stole your jewelry. We're sure of it. You should punish her!”
Leanne Whitaker’s eyes swept over the room, her expression unreadable as she looked at the jewelry, then back at Ginger. “Yes, that jewelry is mine,” she said calmly.
Ginger smirked, satisfied, and turned to Daniel. “See? I told you. Anyway, Miss Whitaker, we’re here to return it and—”
“So,” she said, cutting her off, “you must be the fiancée of that bastard who hurt my daughter.”
Ginger’s face dropped. “What?”
“You heard me,” Leanne said coolly. “Hurt. My. Daughter.”
Ginger blinked rapidly, her mind racing to process the words. “Your… daughter?” she asked, her voice shaky as she slowly turned to me.
Leanne gestured toward me with a graceful wave. “Yes. Tracie Whitaker, my daughter. Why else do you think she has my jewelry?"
The room erupted in gasps.
Ginger and Daniel turned to stare at me, their mouths open in shock.
Daniel shook his head, his voice trembling. “How… How is that possible? No, I've known Tracie since high school and she's this poor---”
I stood, meeting his disbelieving gaze. “Poor girl? Well, too bad, I wasn't the poor girl you thought. If only you believed me when I said it.”
The police officers shifted uncomfortably, their authority shrinking under Leanne’s piercing glare.
“We didn’t know, Lady Whitaker,” one officer stammered. “We—”
“You’ll regret shaming my daughter like this,” Leanne said coldly. “Your department will hear from my lawyers. Tracie, let’s go.”
I followed her out of the room, my mind still spinning. As we stepped outside, I spotted a car waiting by the curb. Leaning against it was Bobbie, a cigarette between his fingers. He looked calm, unbothered, and irritatingly handsome.
His dark eyes flicked to mine, and a smirk tugged at his lips.
“Mom,” I said, stopping in my tracks, “What is that man doing here? He’s the killer. He’s the one who killed Penny and I was almost framed for it!”
Leanne glanced at him before looking back at me. A small, knowing smile curved her lips.
“I know, Tracie,” she said softly. “And that man is also your fiancé.”
“How is Bobbie my fiancé? He’s a killer. I saw him murder Penny Eddy. How could you allow this?”
Leanne didn’t even flinch at my accusation. Before she could respond, Bobbie, leaning casually against the car, flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped closer.
“You saw me kill him?” he asked, his lips curving into an infuriating smirk.
“Yes,” I snapped, standing my ground despite the way his presence unsettled me. “Why do you need to ask when you were there! Stop fooling me! I should even tell the police that—”
He leaned in, his dark eyes locking onto mine. His voice dropped to a near whisper, teasing and dangerous. “If you don’t stop saying I killed him,” he said, his breath warm against my ear, “I’m going to kiss you.”
My breath hitched, and my face burned with anger and embarrassment. “You wouldn’t dare,” I muttered, taking a step back.
His smirk deepened, but he didn’t say anything else. I turned sharply to my mother, my frustration spilling over. “I need an explanation about what’s going on. Now.”
Leanne, unbothered by the tension, gestured toward the waiting car. “You’ll have all your answers when we get back to the estate.”
The ride to the Whitaker estate was silent, but my mind wasn’t. It had been years since I’d set foot on the sprawling property, but the moment we arrived, memories came rushing back.
The grand gates opened, revealing manicured gardens and the imposing mansion at the center. The fountain in the courtyard still sparkled under the sun, just as I remembered.
As I stepped out of the car, my chest tightened. The scent of blooming flowers brought back flashes of my childhood—running through these very gardens, carefree and innocent. But those memories felt distant now, almost foreign.
I walked through the front doors, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors. Everything was as it had been years ago, yet it felt different. The warmth I once associated with this place was replaced by an uneasy chill.
My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I turned to her, my jaw clenched. “Stop avoiding the question. Why did you allow Bobbie—a mafia boss and murderer—into this family? And why, of all people, would you arrange for me to marry him?”
Leanne’s expression didn’t falter. She walked slowly to the grand sitting room, gesturing for me to follow. I did, the tension between us building with each step.
When we reached the room, she turned to me, her face calm but her voice firm. “If Bobbie is a murderer,” she said, her eyes piercing mine, “then are you also calling us murderers?”
