Bound By Sin

The Actual Truth.

Genevieve sat there in the station's waiting area for what felt like hours, though it had only been a few minutes. The weight of what she was about to do pressed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She stared blankly ahead, her mind replaying every moment she had shared with Nicholas—the way he had looked at her with that calm, eerie expression when he told her the truth, the way he had justified the murders as if it were just something he had to do. The guilt of her silence clawed at her insides, twisting her stomach in knots.

Finally, she couldn't wait any longer. She stood up, her legs shaky beneath her, and walked over to the front desk. The officer stationed there looked up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowing in concern as he saw the distress written all over her face.

"I need to see Detective Blackwood and Detective Caldwell," she said, her voice trembling.

The officer nodded, picking up the phone and dialing. "I'll let them know you're here."

Genevieve's heart pounded in her chest as she stood there, waiting, the silence in the station almost deafening. It wasn't long before she saw the familiar figure of Detective Blackwood walking toward her, his tall frame moving with purpose, his face set in a serious expression. Detective Caldwell was right behind him, her sharp gaze locking onto Genevieve as they approached.

"Genevieve?" Blackwood's voice was soft, but there was an edge of worry in it. He knew something was wrong.

She couldn't meet his eyes. Not yet. "I need to talk to you. Both of you."

Blackwood and Caldwell exchanged a glance, and Caldwell gestured toward one of the small interrogation rooms. "Let's go somewhere private."

The room was cold, the overhead light casting harsh shadows across the small table where they sat. Genevieve sat down, her hands trembling in her lap as she tried to collect herself. Blackwood and Caldwell took their seats across from her, their eyes filled with concern.

Blackwood leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Genevieve, what's going on? You're scaring me."

Genevieve's breath hitched in her throat, her chest tight with the weight of what she was about to say. She had been holding it in for too long, and now, the floodgates were about to burst. "It's Nicholas," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Caldwell frowned, leaning in slightly. "Nicholas? What about him?"

Genevieve took a deep breath, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her chest. Her hands twisted in her lap as she forced the words out. "He... he's the killer. He's the one who's been doing all of this. He... he killed Isabella."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with shock. Blackwood's face went pale, his brows furrowing in disbelief as he sat back in his chair. Caldwell's eyes widened, her normally sharp demeanor softening with surprise.

"What?" Blackwood's voice was low, disbelieving. "Genevieve, are you sure? Are you sure?"

Genevieve nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she spoke, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "He came to me... he confessed. A few days ago. He told me everything—about the murders, about why he did it. I didn't... I didn't want to believe it. I was scared. I didn't know what to do."

Her voice cracked, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. "He killed Isabella. He killed her because she knew... because she was going to tell. And I didn't stop him. I didn't say anything, and now she's dead."

Blackwood's expression tightened, his jaw clenching as he absorbed her words. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as the reality of what she was saying hit him. This was the confession they had been searching for—the missing piece in the case. And it was Nicholas, the boy Genevieve had trusted, the boy Blackwood had known for years.