[ MYSTERY / THRILLER ]
❝ The death of Poppy Arlington has been labelled as a murder investigation. ❞
Where Tiffany St Claire is being accused and is one of the lead suspects in her best friend's murder.
OR
The unveiling of Poppy Arlington's
mur...
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She looked like an angel who had fallen from heaven.
The pool of crimson encircling around her head looked like her misplaced halo, a thing in which she had traded for a new life on the blue planet.
The sound of a pair of stilettos came to an abrupt halt on the hard stone floor. This stillness, never in this person's life had they ever heard a silence quite this loud.
Outside the eight-foot-tall security gate, the world around the beholder resumed. Like the inside grounds were secluded from the public eye in the area that they called Marabella Lane. Laughter echoed from the balcony three doors down at the Witherspoons. The breeze upped to a chilling gale, happy to continue with its duty because it didn't feel any human emotions such as sympathy. One of the neighbours revved the engine of one of their sports cars because all they ever did was show off their money, and they didn't care who was watching. As long as there was an audience.
They didn't need to fake the dumbstruck look of horror on their face or the way their hands shook while covering their mouth.
This time, the victim was no longer flawless. She still had that appearance of a doll, but her body ceased any sort of operation. Dark arched eyebrows looked down on the sweeping eyelashes that protected those eyes of hers. They were hazel in colour and wide open.
Staring at that person. Motionless. She would see the sin that they would commit.
Nothing made this person more materialistic than when they caught sight of a flash of gold near the victim's body. It was strewed near the deceased's cherry red patent cannage calfskin bag, notoriously designed by Christian Dior.
A black leather gloved hand shook while grasping the item to view its full form.
A notebook. Leather brown with golden detailing on the opening and its corners, a notebook of such fine quality that only the prosperous could buy.
Flipping open the notebook, they were greeted with such familiar gracefully rounded words in cursive displayed on its front page;
The Diary of Marriage
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It's back! It's redrafted! It's going to be thrilling! I'm so excited!
