A Heart in Jeopardy

Chapter 2 Shadows of the past

The city stirred with the slow hum of early morning traffic. Buildings, still shadowed from the rising sun, stretched toward the sky, and the streets, once crowded with the nightlife, now felt deserted. The quiet hours before the rush of day brought a heavy stillness that seeped into the atmosphere.

In a small corner of the city, Seraphina Dawn Ellsworth stood by the window of her apartment, a cup of coffee cradled between her hands. The rising sun cast a soft golden glow over her familiar surroundings an eclectic blend of fashion sketches pinned to the walls, half-completed designs draped over chairs, and rolls of fabric stacked in one corner. The mess was a testament to her life as a fashion designer. Normally, the disarray comforted her; it was proof of her passion, of her craft. But today, it felt heavy. Suffocating.

She had barely slept, haunted by yesterday's events. Emily's death lingered in her mind like a fog she couldn't shake. Emily was a high-profile client, one who had helped Seraphina's career skyrocket after commissioning her for several custom pieces. But now Emily was gone, murdered, and somehow, Seraphina had become a person of interest.

Seraphina sipped her coffee, but the warmth did little to settle the unease twisting in her stomach. Vincent Harrison Rhodes, the detective leading the investigation, had grilled her during questioning the previous day. He was intimidating, his demeanor cold and detached. And though he hadn't said it outright, his actions made it clear he didn't trust her.

His harsh interrogation replayed in her mind. His piercing dark eyes had scrutinized her every word, his impatience simmering just beneath the surface. Every question felt like an accusation, each glance an attempt to see through her. He was looking for cracks, weaknesses. He believed she was hiding something.

She set the cup down, staring blankly out the window. How had her life spiraled into this? One moment, she was designing a new line, collaborating with a high-profile client like Emily, and the next, she was being questioned about her involvement in a murder case. The transition was too surreal, too terrifying to fully grasp.

She pushed herself away from the window, trying to focus on her day ahead. There was work to be done, deadlines looming. Despite the turmoil, the world of fashion didn't stop for her personal crisis. But the thought of going into her studio, facing more sketches and unfinished designs, felt overwhelming.

The clock on the wall ticked away. Each second felt heavier than the last. She had to meet with Detective Rhodes again today. The dread of facing him made her chest tighten, but she had no choice. She needed to clear her name.

After a quick shower, she dressed simply neutral tones, a soft gray blouse, and black pants. Her hair, usually styled with care, was left loose, cascading down her back in soft waves. She had neither the energy nor the heart to put much effort into her appearance today.

The walk to the precinct was short, but it felt like miles. The weight of the case followed her like a shadow, growing heavier with each step. The station itself loomed ahead, an imposing building of gray stone and glass. As she stepped inside, the sterile smell of disinfectant hit her, mixing with the faint scent of coffee and the murmur of officers going about their duties.

Vincent was waiting when she arrived. He was leaning against his desk, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He barely acknowledged her as she approached, his attention focused on a file in his hands.

"Ms. Ellsworth," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth. "Follow me."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward one of the interrogation rooms. Seraphina hesitated, nerves tightening in her chest. The room he led her into was cold and sterile, the harsh overhead lights casting long shadows on the gray walls. It felt far too similar to yesterday.

Vincent gestured for her to sit, pulling a chair opposite hers as he took a seat. His demeanor was as rigid and professional as ever. He opened the file on the table in front of him, flipping through the pages without looking at her.

"You've been cooperating so far," he began, his tone matter-of-fact. "But we still have some gaps that need to be filled. I need you to go over your relationship with Emily again."

Seraphina took a breath, trying to remain calm. "She was a client," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "We worked together on a few pieces over the last year. It was strictly professional. We weren't close."

Vincent's eyes flicked up from the file, locking onto hers. "And yet, you were one of the last people to see her alive."

The accusation in his tone was subtle, but it was there. Seraphina clenched her hands together beneath the table, keeping her composure. "I had a meeting with her two days before she... before she died. We discussed her upcoming collection. That was it."

"Nothing unusual during that meeting?"

She shook her head. "No. She seemed excited about the designs. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

Vincent leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You mentioned yesterday that she seemed distracted. You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

Seraphina hesitated. Emily had been a little distant during their last meeting, but she'd brushed it off at the time. "She was distracted, but I assumed it was because of her schedule. She was a busy woman, always juggling different projects."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "You didn't think to ask her about it?"

"I did," Seraphina replied, her voice tight with frustration. "But she said it was nothing. I didn't push her."

A tense silence filled the room as Vincent stared at her, clearly trying to decide whether she was telling the truth. The weight of his gaze was almost unbearable, but Seraphina refused to look away.

Finally, Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What about her personal life? Any trouble there?"

Seraphina blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Her personal life?" she repeated, confused. "I don't know. Like I said, we weren't close."

Vincent narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. "You work closely with people in your line of business. Clients tend to open up about their lives. Are you saying Emily never talked about anything personal with you?"

"Not really," Seraphina said. "She was professional when we worked together. We didn't talk about much beyond fashion."

Vincent tapped his fingers against the table, clearly frustrated with her lack of useful information. "Did she ever mention anyone who might have had a reason to hurt her?"

Seraphina shook her head. "No, nothing like that."

Vincent leaned back in his chair again, clearly weighing her words. The silence in the room was almost unbearable as he continued to study her, his expression giving away nothing.

Finally, he closed the file in front of him with a snap and stood. "Thank you, Ms. Ellsworth. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

Seraphina let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The tension in the room eased slightly, but it wasn't gone. She still felt like a suspect under his intense scrutiny. She stood as well, but before she could leave, Vincent spoke again.

"You're free to go, but I'd suggest not leaving the city anytime soon."

His words were more of a warning than advice, and the coldness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest.

As she stepped outside the station, the sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the streets. The noise of the city was a stark contrast to the suffocating silence of the interrogation room. Seraphina pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders, feeling the coldness of Vincent's words cling to her.