Brooke's sobbing voice echoed in the small office, acting like a key unlocking a dark vault in Carmen's mind.
The sterile walls of the police precinct began to blur. Forrest's pale face and Frobisher's suspicious glare melted away. The harsh fluorescent lights were replaced by the blinding flash of lightning.
The sound of rain filled Carmen's ears.
She was pulled violently into a memory. The memory of her final night alive.
Flashback.
It started in the massive walk-in closet of the penthouse.
Evelin had come over for dinner, crying crocodile tears. Evelin claimed that Carmen had stolen a vintage diamond bracelet that belonged to Evelin's late mother. It was a blatant lie. Evelin had lost it herself at a club.
But Forrest didn't care about the truth. He only cared about Evelin's tears.
He cornered Carmen in the closet. His eyes were bloodshot, looking at her like she was a monster.
"Are you that jealous of her?" Forrest hissed, stepping closer. "Are you that desperate for my attention that you have to steal from a grieving girl?"
"Forrest, I didn't touch her bracelet!" Carmen pleaded, backing up until her spine hit the wooden shelves.
He didn't listen. He grabbed the collar of her silk evening gown. With one violent yank, he tore the fabric down the middle.
Carmen gasped, trying to push his chest away. Her manicured nails scratched his forearm, leaving a thin trail of red.
That scratch pushed Forrest over the edge. He viewed her self-defense as an unforgivable challenge to his authority. He pinned her wrists against the wall with one hand. His other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
He punished her. He used his physical strength to force intimacy on her, turning what should have been an act of love into a weapon of humiliation.
Halfway through, a sharp, stabbing cramp ripped through Carmen's lower abdomen.
She cried out, doubling over as much as his grip allowed. "Forrest, stop! It hurts!"
He let go of her wrists and stepped back, adjusting his belt. He looked down at her curled on the floor with absolute disgust.
"Save the performance, Carmen," he spat. "It won't work."
He turned and walked into the master bathroom, turning on the shower to wash her off his skin.
Carmen lay on the cold hardwood floor. The pain in her stomach wasn't fading. It was growing sharper, twisting like a knife. Cold sweat soaked her hairline.
She knew something was terribly wrong.
She dragged herself up, grabbed a coat to cover her torn dress, and called the family's private driver. She told him to take her to the Richmond private hospital.
She sat in the back of the Rolls Royce. The rain outside was coming down in sheets, blurring the neon lights of Manhattan. She clutched her stomach, pulling out her phone to text Brooke. My stomach hurts so bad. Going to the hospital.
Suddenly, the driver's phone rang through the car's Bluetooth speakers.
"Forrest," the driver answered.
Forrest's voice filled the car. It was cold, urgent, and completely devoid of the anger he had just shown Carmen.
"Turn the car around," Forrest ordered. "Go to the speakeasy in Soho. Evelin is there. She's crying because of the bracelet incident. She's scared. Pick her up immediately."
The driver looked in the rearview mirror at Carmen, who was pale and gasping for breath. "Sir, I have Ms. Campos in the car. We are heading to the emergency room."
Carmen leaned forward, grabbing the back of the driver's seat. "Forrest," she begged into the microphone. "Please. I'm bleeding. I need a doctor. Let him drop me off first."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
"Carmen, drop the act," Forrest snapped. "I am sick of your games. Evelin is actually in distress. She is a hundred times more important than your fake stomach ache."
The words hit Carmen's chest like a sledgehammer. Her lungs stopped working.
"Pull over," Forrest commanded the driver. "Kick her out. Let her call a cab. If you don't pick Evelin up in ten minutes, you're fired."
The driver hesitated, but he needed the job. He pulled the heavy car over to the curb on a dark, flooded street corner.
Two bodyguards in the front seat got out. They opened the back door. The freezing rain blew in. They grabbed Carmen by the arms and dragged her out onto the wet pavement. They didn't even give her an umbrella.
The doors slammed shut. The Rolls Royce sped away, its red taillights disappearing into the storm.
Carmen stood alone in the freezing rain, wearing a torn dress and a thin coat. The physical pain in her stomach was agonizing, but the pain in her heart was fatal. She slid down the brick wall of a closed bakery and collapsed onto the wet concrete.
End of Flashback.
Carmen's soul snapped back to the present, inside the police precinct.
Forrest was sitting across from Frobisher. His face was chalk-white. He was twisting his watch dial frantically.
"Yes," Forrest stammered, avoiding Frobisher's eyes. "She... she said her stomach hurt. I told the driver to let her out."
Frobisher leaned forward. "You kicked your fiancée out of a car in a rainstorm while she was having a medical emergency? Why?"
Forrest swallowed hard. He lied. "I had a very urgent business meeting. I couldn't be late."
