“Yes. That’s fine. I’ll put something together in the next few days and let you know.”
“Fine.”
His gaze flicks to mine one last time—brief, unreadable.
Then he shuts the door.
Hard.
The sound reverberates through me, sharp and final.
I stand there for a moment longer than I should, my hand still hovering in the air where the door used to be, before I finally turn and walk back across the yard.
The heat presses in around me, thick and suffocating, but I barely feel it.
All I feel is the shift.
The certainty.
The way my suspicion has hardened into something colder, something sharper.
Phillip is hiding something.
I can feel it now with a clarity that borders on instinct.
And if he thinks a carefully staged memorial is going to convince anyone otherwise—he’s wrong.
Because I’ll be watching him.
Every glance.
Every word.
Every crack in the performance.
And this time—he won’t get away with it.
Chapter Fifteen
My hands are shaking as I write this.
The words feel unsteady even in her elegant script.
The night started like a fairytale and ended like a horror movie. I haven’t told Mom—not because I’m hiding anything from her, but because I can’t talk about it. Not yet.
My throat tightens.
How did I get this so wrong? I feel like the worst person alive. I pushed McCullough into going to that stupid debutante ball… the one that almost ruined her life.
I close my eyes briefly, the weight of that sentence pressing into me.
A slow breath leaves my lungs.
I’ve replayed last night a hundred times, looking for something I missed—some sign, some moment where I could have stopped it before it happened. But the truth is… the world isn’t fair. And evil doesn’t always look like evil.
The words darken as they continue, the ink itself seeming heavier.
Some villains wear a suit and tie and a charming smile.
