After hours of tireless searching, they received a tip that led them to a secluded alley, where they finally found Minghao. He was leaning against a dumpster, his eyes haunted and lost. The moment he saw them, he didn't run, didn't fight. He simply nodded, as if he had been expecting them all along.
"I did it," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the distant wail of a siren. "I killed Wendy."
Rosé's hand tightened around her notepad, her heart racing. Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his grip on his gun firm but controlled. They had their man, but the 'why' was still a jagged question mark.
Minghao's confession was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. He spoke of his friendship with Wendy, of his unrequited love that had festered into something twisted and dark. He had killed her, not out of malice or anger, but because he couldn't stand the thought of her being with anyone else. In his deranged mind, he had done it to save her from the pain of a life without him. It was a warped logic that sent chills down their spines.
In the quiet of the interrogation room, Minghao continued his confession, his voice monotone and detached. He had kept a rose at the crime scene – a macabre memento of his love for her. As he spoke, the room felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of his words.
The revelation hit them like a punch to the gut. The case had taken a dramatic turn, and the reality of the situation was setting in. They had their killer, but the motive was something straight out of a tragic love story. The kind that didn't have a hero, only a broken man and a lost soul.
Jungkook's gaze met Rosé's, and in that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding. The anger and frustration that had fueled their investigation transformed into a solemn respect for the victim and a grim determination to ensure that justice would be served.
The following days were a blur of paperwork, witness testimonies, and piecing together the last moments of Wendy's life. Through it all, the rose remained a haunting symbol of Minghao's twisted affection. It sat in an evidence bag on their desk, a silent reminder of the depths to which love could drive a person.
The day of Minghao's trial was a somber affair. The courtroom was packed, the air thick with the scent of fear and anger. As they watched him being led away in handcuffs, they couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The monster had been caught, but the pain of his actions lingered like a specter.
