The Mistake

Chapter 4: The Final Interrogation

"I’d strongly advise you to stop playing little tricks in your head. From now on, every word out of your mouth better be the truth."

Her detached tone froze the carefully crafted excuses I’d been clinging to.

Ava Williams’ icy glare locked onto me as she leaned against the metal table. Her sharp words sliced through the silence.

"You get one chance, Emma. Don’t waste it."

My heart was pounding—no, not pounding. Shaking. The guilty ghosts in my mind stirred, their whispers turning to panicked screams.

I still had an out. Confess now, and maybe they’d go easy on me. But a confession? That would ruin me. My life, my future—gone. I couldn’t accept that.

So, I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay steady.

"I already told you. I didn’t kill her. You have no proof. You can’t pin this on me!"

Ava didn’t react the way I expected. No frustration, no raised voice. Instead, her eyebrows knit together, her expression darkening with restrained anger.

"You want proof?" she said, her voice low. Too low. Then she slammed a photo onto the table.

I froze, my eyes drawn to the image. It was my living room air conditioner.

"Look closely," Ava said, pointing to the photo. Her finger tapped on a tiny, barely noticeable gap in the air vent. Inside that gap was a black dot.

"See that?" she asked, pulling out another photo. This one zoomed in on the dot. My stomach dropped.

It was a pinhole camera.

Cold dread raced through me. My mind flashed to every private moment in my home—every single time I thought I was alone.

Ava didn’t stop there. Her voice became sharper, more precise, cutting me down word by word.

"If it weren’t for this, you might’ve gotten away with it. But you didn’t even know it was there. And this, Emma, is your downfall."

She slid another piece of paper across the table. A signed affidavit.

"We traced the camera back to the installer: your boyfriend, Jason Thompson. He told us everything—how he set it up and why." Ava’s lips curled into a bitter smile. "I’m not sure why he felt the need to spy on you, but that’s not the point."

She leaned in closer, her next words hitting me like a hammer.

"Jason handed over the full, unedited footage. It recorded everything, Emma. The entire night of the murder."

I couldn’t breathe.

"Originally, I was willing to go easy on you. No prior record and all. But your lies?" Ava’s voice turned colder than ice. "You’ve dug your own grave."

Her words hit harder than I thought they would, knocking the air from my lungs. My hands curled into fists, then fell limp as the last of my strength left me.

I had lost.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even my fault. Jason’s sick obsession had destroyed me. That pathetic excuse for a man.

Hatred bubbled under my skin, hotter than I’d ever felt before. For the first time, I wanted to kill—not out of fear, but pure rage.

But all I could do was wait.

Time dragged painfully. Minutes stretched into hours before Ava finally returned, her expression unreadable.

I braced myself for the final blow.

But her words took me by complete surprise.

"Miss Johnson," Ava said, her voice softer than before, "I owe you an apology."

I blinked. "What... what do you mean?"

"Jason Thompson just confessed," she said, her jaw tight, her tone strained. "He admitted to accidentally killing Lily Garcia, fleeing the scene, and trying to frame you for it."

For a moment, I couldn’t process what she was saying.

"So..." I stammered, hope creeping into my voice. "I can go home now?"

Ava nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

Relief flooded through me like nothing I’d ever felt before. My life wasn’t over. I was free.

The handcuffs came off, and I stood up, relishing the sweet taste of freedom. As I walked past Ava, I couldn’t resist smirking.

"You look happy," she muttered, her voice dripping with disapproval.

I turned to her, a smile breaking across my face.

"Oh, I am."

And I walked out, laughing softly, not caring one bit about the storm brewing in her darkened eyes.