Page 87 of The Substitute Fiancée

“At least now I know where your priorities are,” she says softly.

28. Intrusion

Samantha

A few hours earlier.

I push the door open slowly, cautiously.

“Emelyne? Mara?”

No answer.

My heart pounding, I move further into the apartment, and what I discover steals the air from my lungs.

No. No. No.

The apartment has been ransacked.

The living room is in complete disarray. The couch has been slashed open, stuffing scattered everywhere. The coffee table lies overturned, its glass shattered. The shelves are empty, our books strewn across the floor, some of them torn apart.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is my studio corner.

My easel has been knocked over. My canvases were hurled against the wall, frames warped, fabric ripped. Months of work. My graduation project. Destroyed.

I remain frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe.

When I finally snap out of it, only one name comes to mind. Alexander. I need to hear his voice. My hands are shaking so badly I struggle to unlock my phone. I dial his number and bring it to my ear.

One ring. Two.

Please. Answer.

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Alexander Delaunay…”

A sob escapes me. I hang up. I inhale and exhale slowly, forcing myself to get a grip.

The police. I need to call the police.

With trembling fingers, I dial 911.

“Emergency services, how can I help you?” a female voice answers.

“I just got home. My apartment’s been broken into. Everything is… destroyed.”

“All right. Are you alone? Are you safe?”

“I… I think so. I haven’t checked every room.”

“Please leave the apartment immediately and put yourself somewhere safe. Officers are on their way. Don’t touch anything.”

“Okay.”

I step outside mechanically, my legs running on autopilot. But as I reach the landing, I hear a noise behind me. A sound coming from the apartment.

My blood runs cold.