Play The Part (Player Next Door Book 3)

48 | Prom King

Sorry for being late! I usually post 30minutes after the timer I set... this one I set early by mistake... anyhoo, we're here... we're alive... and I HOPE WE'RE DOING WELL!

Chapter 48: Prom King

"See Millie home," Mrs Dawson ordered her son, wrapping her arms around her nightgown, "I mean it. Her room tonight."

"Yes ma'am," I nodded quietly.

Mrs Dawson's face was stern as she looked from me to her disappointing son, then walked back upstairs to her bed, her silk slippers padding softly against the carpeted floor. I knew they were tired of us, of this.

Me too, honey.

I sat cross legged on the floor. Luke watched me, knowing not to rush me. If we can't be together tonight, I didn't want to leave so soon.

I was spiraling.

"How do we have so many clues but no real leads?" I asked, waving the latest letter in the air.

I threw it down on the carpet in front of me, sitting hunched.

Luke was standing by his family's bookcase. His hand covered his lips, "It'll fall into place. We have a lot of incidents now, and there must be a common thread between them. Something we don't see."

"One clue to crack the case?" I pressed my fingers against my eyelids to pull them open and stare at the note, "The blackmailer going after Bianca is new. I'm not opposed to that strategy."

"It could be her going after herself," he shrugged, "Throws us off the scent."

My eyes opened wide as I stared up at him, "Imagine."

The tea.

"That's why I wanted to hear her talk," he said, "Hear all the garbage she was saying, in case she dropped something."

"I was wondering why you were so quiet while she insulted me," I muttered, putting my face in my hands and despairing, "This blackmailer! Who can love you so badly that they've become this deranged?"

"It's not love," he said, "Sickness."

A clue to a deranged soul.

To expose a monster who lurks in shadows, haunting our lives for any secret to manipulate, distort and expose.

Does it have any limitations or expiration date? If we move to Madagascar, would it follow?

Because if I can get a job in a coffee shop there...

What did Luke do to create such a monster? Did he smile at it once or promise a life together? How did he trigger such a disturbed obsession?

"Well," I said, breaking the silence, "it wasn't Austin."

Luke's eyes glanced at me, his head unmoving.

He stood in front of trophies, books and family photos on his bookshelf. Reminders of how fake these symbols of perfection are.

The reality is I've been feeling guilty, ever since we watched the surveillance tape.

I wanted Luke to hear it, to know how sorry I was, "I should've listened to you. Austin never should've been on the suspect list."

I'd pointed a finger at Austin because the bottle of pills had his name on it. Luke hadn't fallen for it like I did.

How basic of me. Maybe I keep falling for these set ups, because I'm so ready to distrust.

Just like I did with Luke and the texts.

Before this year, the people closest to me betrayed me. Disappointed me. Left me. I learned that the ones closest to us have the power to hurt us most.