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]
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【 22.
Twenty-Two
Ilzaam 】
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[ Ilzaam • accusation ]
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DETECTIVE ADAM STONE steps into interrogation room B where Rosaline Bonovich is seated on the metal chair screwed to the floor. He has to quickly compose his expression once his eyes lock onto hers though—because while he’s seen enough of photographs during the investigation, nothing could’ve prepared him for the absolute vision the woman is in person.
People tend to have different types and tastes when it comes to outer beauty, but the woman in front of him is the rare kind where it’s impossible for even a single soul to deny how striking her features are. It’s the first thing any pair of eyes would notice about her before anything else.
“Mrs Bonovich,” Adam nods curtly, his face impassive and his tone professional. “You understand you can have a lawyer present, yes?”
The woman shrugs, swiping locks of red-brown hair away from her shoulder. “I don’t think I need one,” she says thoughtfully, her voice as clear as day. And then, she adds, “I’m not under arrest.”
It’s not a question.
Adam watches as she intertwines her fingers on top of the metal table, her shoulders and back poised in a manner that’s fit for royalty.
“No,” he tells her, taking the seat right across from her. “Or else you’d have been read your Miranda rights. Besides, you were already informed at the hotel that we just want certain questions cleared up so that we can all proceed with the case.”
“You arrested Zachary though,” she points out. Her green, green eyes stare at him. “I didn’t see any officer put cuffs on him, but I did catch a few words of someone reciting him the Miranda rights when I was escorted into one of the cars.”
“Zachary?” Adam lifts a brow, ignoring anything else and picking up on the usage of his first name. “Are you familiar with the man?”
Rosaline Bonovich’s forehead creases a little, her eyebrows twitching like she’s a little confused at his question. “He’s Dahlia Hawthorne’s husband,” she answers, like it’s the most obvious response in the world. “The woman who died with Micah.”
“Yes, I’m very well aware of that fact.” He doesn’t blink as he maintains the eye contact. “However, that wasn’t what I meant by the question.”
The woman’s mouth tugs down into a subtle frown. “We’re…” she seems to ponder a bit, “…friends?”
“Since when have you known Zachary Hawthorne, ma’am?”
