Page 52 of What Comes Around

Knox was studying the fence, the windows, the doors.

“I’ll have my security team upgrade it,” he said. “Cameras. Perimeter sensors. Reinforced locks.”

I turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He met my eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter 17: A Fucking Tease

I hired a contractor to handle the necessary repairs and small renovations. New locks. Reinforced doors. Updated wiring. Security pre-installation for the system Knox’s team would later upgrade. I wanted the house solid before I ever slept there.

They estimated about a month before it would be ready.

In the evenings after work, I chose furniture online. A neutral sofa. A solid dining table. A bed. Bookshelves. Lamps. Curtains. Practical things first. Beautiful ones second. I scheduled delivery for the week the house would be finished and arranged for everything to be assembled once the keys were in my hand.

On another front, the Leo situation slowly began to fade.

New scandals replaced it. A pop star’s divorce. A leaked contract. A politician caught lying. The internet moved on.

Leo made no further statements about me. No interviews. No public gestures. For a while his name still trended under old clips, but even that cooled.

I didn’t know if he had simply given up or if Knox had spoken to him. No one told me, and I didn’t ask.

All I knew was that my name stopped appearing next to his. And the internet was starting to lose interest in me.

Apple, meanwhile, had been out of the psychiatric hold for a week and had gone completely silent. No posts. No stories. No vague quotes, no victim monologues, no TikToks, no late-night lives. Nothing.

Which was worse.

Apple never went quiet unless she was planning something. I found myself checking her social accounts and her phone, waiting for the next explosion. Instead there was only stillness, the kind that settles before something ugly happens.

You don’t expect a dog not to bark.

And I knew Apple too well to trust the silence.

That afternoon I spoke with Detective Harris.

“Ms. Richards did not appear for her voluntary interview,” he told me.

“So she just didn’t show up?”

“That’s correct. Her attorney requested a new date.”

“And if she doesn’t show up again?”

“If she fails to appear again, we will proceed without her statement.”

“And that means?”

“If the evidence holds, charges will be filed. She will be detained.”

Apple had never been good at consequences. She always believed she could outtalk them, outcry them, out-victim them.

We ended the call shortly after, and I went back to work.