The Crime System

You Play the Piano

The sound of running water from the bathroom had led him to believe someone had been using the toilet. But standing in front of him now, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her hair still dripping wet, was a woman. Was she showering or just finishing in the bathroom?

For a split second, he stood there, stunned. Then her expression changed, and the room turned upside down. She froze, looking at him as though struck by lightning, her mouth opening into a scream that pierced the air.

Her scream was enough to make his heart leap out of his chest. But what happened next was even worse—her grip on the towel failed. The thing fell to the floor.

Everything. Every inch of her perfect figure was bared to his eyes.

"Woah?!" That was the only thing his brain could muster. Her body was... flawless. Even the likes of Miss Jessica couldn't compare to this. But then it hit him like a freight train—this woman wasn't Miss Jessica. Crap!

If it had been Jessica, he could have come up with an explanation—though it would have been awkward as hell. But this was someone else entirely. A stranger. He had broken into her house, accidentally or not, and seen something he absolutely shouldn't have.

Misunderstanding! Misunderstanding of the highest order!

She screamed louder, her voice shrill and relentless, filling the apartment. His body didn't even move—he was too stunned. His thoughts raced: Crime System, this is your doing, isn't it? You've set me up for failure!

But then her screams faltered. Confusion flickered in her eyes as she studied him.

Wait, what was she expecting? For him to attack her? The sheer absurdity of the thought was enough to snap him out of his panic, and he noticed her expression shifting.

He had no shoes on and he was standing there in nothing but boxers. Did he look like a mental patient to her?

Then it happened.

"Wait! How come it's you?!"

That voice. That look. A cold sense of realization settled over Luke.

She recognized him.

Miss Emily Harper.

As he tried to piece everything together, he realized just how deep in trouble he was. Trying to calm things down, he explained himself. "Miss, this was an accident. I swear, I'm your neighbor, Luke Sullivan. I got locked out of my apartment, and I thought your place was empty. I figured I'd climb through here to get back into mine."

Her face twisted through a series of emotions—confusion, shock, embarrassment. But as he spoke, her expression softened.

And then he recognized her too.

"Emily?!"

She flinched at his outburst, clutching the towel tighter around herself.

The memories came flooding back. Emily. The woman from the bar. The one who'd nearly been a victim of the York r**e Case. The very woman he'd saved.

It was her perfume that jogged his memory. This was too much of a coincidence.

"You're the mysterious cop Jessica told me about, aren't you?" Emily teased, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

And just like that, the tension between them began to ease.

Emily led Luke to her bedroom. It was cozy, smelling faintly of her perfume. She offered him a cigarette from her pack, though he declined.

"Last time," she said softly, "I didn't even know what had happened until later. I wanted to thank you for saving me... but my situation back then, it was complicated."

Her voice carried a hint of sadness. To ease the atmosphere, he changed the subject.

"What a coincidence today," he said. "You didn't go out?"

"No. After what happened, I've been taking it easy. Just needed to rest."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, the kind where both people feel the weight of unspoken words.

"Luke," she finally broke it, "I've been wondering. That day at the bar... how did you know to pick me out of the crowd? Did you already suspect the culprit would go for me?"

Her question caught him off guard, but he quickly put on his most confident smile. "Honestly, you were just the most beautiful person there. I guess my taste aligned with the culprit's."

Emily laughed, her guard completely down now.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "You're a smooth talker, Officer Sullivan. I like that."

The tension in the room shifted, growing more electric with every passing second. When she flirtatiously suggested they take their "meeting" to the next level, he could feel his pulse quickening.

But then, as he clumsily pulled her into his arms, her phone tumbled to the ground.

The lit-up screen caught his eye—a photo of her sitting at a piano, looking completely absorbed in her performance.

"You play the piano?" he asked, feeling a chill creep up his spine.

Emily's expression brightened. "I do! I've played since I was a kid. Even competed in high school..."

"Which competition?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"The tenth one. Why?"

Her answer hit him like a bolt of lightning. His hands shook, and her expensive iPhone slipped from his grip, falling to the floor once again.