Chapter 8 - Pieces of the Puzzle
950 Words
The break room felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with the weight of Anna’s thoughts. She stared at the faded tile floor, Gizelle’s words looping in her head like a curse.
Some things are better left buried.
For years, she had tried to convince herself that ignoring the past would make it disappear. But now, with Damien watching her every move and Gizelle slithering back into her life, it was clear that the past was clawing its way to the surface, whether she was ready for it or not.
The door swung open, breaking her trance. Magreth poked her head in. “You okay, cupcake?”
Anna forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Magreth frowned but didn’t push. “Your shift’s almost over. Want to grab some drinks tonight?”
Anna hesitated. She hadn’t been out in ages. Socializing, letting loose—it all felt foreign to her now. But maybe it was exactly what she needed. A distraction. A night to pretend she was just another woman, not a girl with a shattered past.
“Yeah,” she said, surprising herself. “That sounds good.”
Magreth beamed. “Perfect! I know just the place.”
The bar was dimly lit, pulsing with low music and the hum of conversation. Anna sat at a corner table, nursing a cocktail Magreth had insisted she try. The burn of alcohol was warm, numbing. She welcomed it.
Magreth was in her element, chatting animatedly with a group of people by the bar. Anna didn’t mind. She liked being on the sideline, watching, absorbing the normalcy she so often felt disconnected from.
Then, her gaze snagged on a familiar figure across the room.
Damien.
He leaned against the bar, his sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd before locking onto her. Anna’s breath hitched. Of all the places, of all the nights—
He started toward her, moving with the same unshaken confidence he always carried. She clenched her drink tighter, forcing herself to hold his gaze as he stopped in front of her table.
“Didn’t take you for the type to go out,” he remarked.
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the type to drink alone.”
His lips curved slightly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “Mind if I sit?”
Yes. She did mind. But refusing would only make her look like she was running. And she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
“Suit yourself.”
Damien slid into the seat across from her, resting his forearms on the table. His presence was all-consuming, drawing attention whether he intended to or not.
She took a slow sip of her drink, trying to keep her voice steady. “You really do keep showing up in the most unexpected places.”
“Funny,” he mused, “I was thinking the same about you.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Damien studied her, as if deciding how much to say. Then, he leaned in slightly. “I spoke to someone about your case today.”
Anna’s fingers stiffened around her glass. “Why?”
“Because something about it doesn’t add up.”
She scoffed. “It was a murder case. What’s there to question?”
His gaze darkened. “Everything.”
Anna forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “You’re wasting your time.”
Damien tilted his head. “Am I?”
The weight of his stare was unbearable. He was seeing too much. Pressing too hard.
She set her drink down, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Listen, Damien. I don’t know what kind of twisted game you think this is, but—”
“You were drugged that night.”
The words sent a jolt through her.
She froze. Her mind raced, memories flashing in disjointed fragments—hazy moments she had long stopped trying to piece together.
Her throat felt dry. “What are you talking about?”
“I got access to the toxicology reports,” Damien continued, his voice even but sharp. “There were traces of a sedative in your system. You weren’t just drunk at that party, Anna. Someone drugged you.”
The air in the room suddenly felt too thick. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, feel the blood draining from her face.
No. No, that couldn’t be right. Could it?
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, but even as she said it, something deep inside her stirred.
Damien leaned closer, his voice dropping lower. “Then why do you look like you do?”
She clenched her jaw, pushing back the panic rising in her chest. She wouldn’t let him do this. Wouldn’t let him tear open old wounds she had spent years suturing shut.
Anna stood abruptly. “I have to go.”
She turned, but Damien’s hand caught her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. “Anna.”
She swallowed hard, not trusting herself to look at him.
“Just think about it,” he said, his voice softer now. “Think about that night.”
She yanked her hand away, her pulse thrumming as she walked out of the bar, the noise and the heat suffocating her.
Outside, the cool air hit her, but it did nothing to slow the whirlwind in her mind. Damien’s words followed her, sinking in, settling into the cracks she had tried so hard to ignore.
You were drugged that night.
Anna pressed a hand to her forehead, her body shaking from something she couldn’t name.
Because if Damien was right…
Then what else had she been wrong about?
- Writer
