I'm a survivor of a serial murder case, and later, I willingly became a victim, marrying the killer.
My husband secretly bought another apartment in this neighborhood, right across from ours. Inside that apartment, there was a woman covered in scars. How did I know? Because I had been observing his every move.
My husband, Ethan, was a somewhat famous painter. Yesterday, he died. I was the one who reported it to the police, but they insisted that I was the prime suspect and detained me.
The officer interrogating me was a young, handsome guy who asked me to call him Officer Scott. He placed a newspaper in front of me, which read:
"Recently, multiple murder cases have occurred in A City, believed to be the work of the same perpetrator. The suspect is still at large. Citizens are advised t
