It's a fact that you can't help who you fall in love with. And for Rosaline Davenport and him, it definitely shouldn't have been each other.
Because, sometimes, love stories have blood on them.
[warning: this is the mother of all slow-burns]
•...
DETECTIVE JUANITA ROMERO grimaces as she flips over the last sheet from the printouts of Rosaline Bonovich’s credit card history.
“What’s the verdict?”
She glances at her partner with a sigh. “She made the online payments on a regular basis,” Juanita says. “Not even a day’s worth of delay. All the bills for her prepaid phone made on time.”
Adam presses his lips into a thin line, a thoughtful expression taking over his face. “I’m going to need to ask her about that phone. It doesn’t add up—not when you take into account Dahlia’s bracelet and every other evidence we’ve managed to gather so far.”
Juanita nods, agreeing with her partner. After they made the connection between Dahlia’s bracelet and the store it was bought from, they immediately contacted the jewellery shop for further confirmation. They even took a look at the CCTV footage in the store’s interior premises. And after their theory was confirmed, it just started snowballing from there.
Now that they are on the right track of things, it has become easier to know where to look and whom to speak to. It’s become easier to put pieces of the case together. Easier to gather the necessary evidence.
All they need to do now is wait for a couple of more surveillance footage—and then it’ll be interrogation time for both Rosaline Bonovich and Zachariah Hawthorne.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ZACHARY IS LEANING back against the backrest of the bench, his face tilted upwards, and his eyes on the sky. It’s a silent match between the two—which one has the darkest shade of black? The sky is starless tonight and it stretches on, vast and endless, but so do his eyes.
That’s what Lia told him once, a few months back. That his eyes remind her of the night sky when it’s pitch black outside, with not a single star in sight.
“You make it sound so tragic,” Zachary told his wife in response, a frown forming on his face.
Lia laughed lightly, shifting her position on the bed from resting against her back to lying on her side. “Your looks are insanely good,” she sighed, an almost dreamy look on her face, “Things that feel or look this good always carry some sort of tragedy.”
Zachary remembers the slow lift of his lips into a smile. “So, what? I’m a beautiful tragedy, is that it?”
Lia simply shrugged in response. “I don’t know,” she muttered to him. “It just feels unreal sometimes, you know?” Her fingers started tracing his face and Zachary can pretend the winter breeze that blows past him right now is actually the ghost of Dahlia’s touch against his skin.
