Matthew sat at his desk, scribbling notes on a case file, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, his thoughts kept wandering back to Andrea—her unapologetic attitude, her undeniable beauty, her irritating but oddly captivating entitlement. Hot, entitled, and infuriatingly sexy.
He shook his head sharply. She hadn’t even said thank you. She just left. The nerve.
The clatter of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up to see his superior, Detective Hughes, standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an expectant expression on his face.
“Matthew, got a minute?” Hughes asked, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
He stood up, stretching slightly. "Sure, what's up?"
"We need you to interrogate the suspect in the investigation room. She's been quiet for hours, but something feels off. We need answers," Hughes explained, his eyes dark with the weight of the case.
Matheww nodded, gathering his pen and notepad. "I'll take care of it."
As they walked down the narrow hallway towards the interrogation room, Matheww’s mind wandered.
The case had been difficult, and the clues were sparse. The suspect in question, a young woman named Clara, had been detained under suspicion of involvement in a high-profile robbery. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.
Entering the sterile, white-walled room, Matheww sat across from Clara, who sat silently, her hands folded in front of her.
Her calm demeanor unnerved him. She was too composed for someone in her position.
"You've been in here a while," Matheww began, flipping through the file. "We need some answers, Clara. You've been questioned already, but there's something we haven't gotten from you."
Clara met his gaze, but said nothing.
Matheww leaned forward. "We found your fingerprints at the scene. We know you were there. But what I don't understand is why. Why would you risk everything for something so pointless? You're smarter than that."
Clara remained silent, her eyes never wavering from his. It was as if she was waiting for him to make the first move, to let down his guard.
"Was it someone else? Did someone put you up to it?" he pressed, growing more frustrated.
Clara blinked slowly. "Why does it have to be me? Why am I the one you're focused on? Why not someone else?"
Matheww's pen hovered above the paper, and for a moment, he was taken aback. The question was valid. Why her? He had no answer, not yet.
"You're not answering my question," he said, his voice low. "We need to get to the truth here, Clara. Was anyone else involved?"
Clara shook her head, her lips tightening into a thin line. "I don’t know what you want from me. I’m telling you the truth."
Matheww sighed, frustrated. He stood up, glancing at his notes one last time. "We’re done for now. I’ll let you think about it. If you change your mind, we’ll be here."
As he turned to leave, Clara’s voice stopped him.
“Why do you think it was me?” she asked again, her voice tinged with confusion. “Why not someone else? You can’t be sure it was me.”
He paused, staring at the door, his hand on the handle. There was something in her words that struck a chord, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He shook his head, his mind whirling.
“Think about it,” he muttered under his breath, walking out of the room.
Back at his desk, Matheww tried to push the thoughts of Clara’s cryptic words out of his mind. The case was far from over, but he had a feeling there was more to this than he realized.
As he sat down, his colleague, Mark, walked by and casually turned up the volume on the TV that was mounted on the wall in the corner of the room.
Matheww barely registered it at first, lost in his thoughts. But then, something caught his attention.
He glanced up at the screen and froze. The bold, glaring letters spelling “GONZALEZ” filled the screen, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes widened as a body, wrapped in white, was shown in a somber frame.
The image was unmistakable. It was him. Sebastian Gonzalez.
His jaw dropped, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. He blinked, not believing what he was seeing. This couldn’t be real. It didn’t make sense. He was alive, sitting there yesterday.
He leaned forward, his pulse racing as he watched the screen. The report continued, and Matheww’s heart pounded louder in his chest.
The news anchor spoke about a high-profile figure being found dead, a body identified as none other than Sebastian Gonzalez, the heir to the Gonzalez family empire.
Matheww’s breath caught in his throat. How was this possible? He was right there, in the flesh, at the restaurant.
The anchor’s voice became muffled as his mind raced. He looked around at his colleagues, none of them seemed as stunned as he was. They were already discussing other matters, but Matheww couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.
As the news story continued, a picture of Andrea appeared next to the report, her image flashing on the screen.
The video from the day before — the one where she had slapped him — began to play.
His stomach churned as he watched the footage again, the memory of their argument flooding back.
Why was Andrea on the news? Why was her name tied to all of this?
His thoughts were interrupted when Mark, unaware of Matheww’s shock, turned to him with a puzzled expression. “You alright, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Matheww barely heard him. His mind was already racing.
Without a word, he pushed past Mark, his heart pounding in his chest. His feet moved on instinct as he rushed out of the office, ignoring the concerned glances of his colleagues.
He had to get to Andrea. Now.