Chapter 6
David went rigid.
Detective Alvarez, who had just returned with coffee, lifted one finger to her lips and started recording.
I kept my voice calm.
“What do you want, Tiffany?”
A soft laugh.
“What I was owed.”
“You pulled a knife on me.”
“You sat at my table with my future husband.”
“He isn’t yours.”
Silence.
Then breathing.
Fast.
Angry.
“You sound brave,” she whispered. “But you only know what he told you.”
“I know enough.”
“No. You know the version that makes him innocent.”
David started to speak.
I shook my head.
Let her talk.
People like Tiffany loved an audience.
They always did.
“You think he loves you?” she said. “He loved me first. He promised me forever. Then you came along with your little soft voice and your sad eyes and stole what I built.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“I entered a place that never should have mattered.”
“You threatened me.”
“You’re in the way.”
Detective Alvarez’s pen moved quickly.
I swallowed.
“Where are you?”
Tiffany laughed again.
“Close.”
The line clicked dead.
Two minutes later, another message arrived.
A photo of David’s townhouse.
His front door.
Taken from across the street.
Police moved immediately.
David’s townhouse was empty when they arrived.
But his front window had been painted with the same red lipstick.
MINE.
Inside, nothing obvious was missing.
Until David checked the study.
His file cabinet was open.
A small safe under the desk had been pried loose.
“What was in it?” Detective Alvarez asked.
David looked sick.
“Old documents. Tiffany’s fake pregnancy proof. Legal letters. The first restraining order.”
Nathan’s voice was tight over the phone.
“She took the evidence that proves her pattern.”
“Copies?” I asked.
“In the cloud,” David said. “But originals matter.”
Detective Alvarez turned to him.
“Anything else?”
He hesitated.
My stomach dropped.
“David.”
He looked at me.
“My father’s watch. My grandmother’s letters. Personal things.”
Tiffany was not just building a defense.
She was punishing him.
Taking memories.
Taking proof.
Taking symbols.
That night dragged.
I did not sleep.
Every sound in the hotel hallway made me sit up.
Every phone buzz felt like a hand at my throat.
At dawn, Nathan arrived with news.
“Marissa’s employer fired her this morning. They found unauthorized searches on Claire, David, the restaurant staff, and Detective Alvarez.”
The detective lifted an eyebrow.
“Me?”
Nathan nodded.
“She pulled your home address.”
For the first time, Detective Alvarez looked personally angry.
That changed the temperature in the room.
By noon, warrants went out for Tiffany and Marissa.
By three, Marissa was picked up at her apartment.
She cried immediately.
Not from guilt.
From fear.
She gave Tiffany’s location in less than twenty minutes.
A rental cabin two hours north.
Police surrounded it before sunset.
Tiffany was inside.
So were the stolen files.
The watch.
The letters.
And a printed wedding invitation.
Not ours.
Hers.
Tiffany had designed one.
David Mitchell and Tiffany Rose.
Next Saturday.
The bride’s address was listed as the church where David’s parents were buried.
When Detective Alvarez showed us the invitation, David sat down like his legs had failed.
“She was planning a wedding,” I whispered.
Nathan’s mouth tightened.
“No,” he said. “She was planning a spectacle.”
Then he showed us the final item found in the cabin.
A vial.
A syringe.
May you like
And a note in Tiffany’s handwriting.
If he won’t remember loving me, I’ll make him forget her.
