Chapter 16 - A Game of Trust
1136 Words
The drive was tense, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering heat. Anna kept her eyes on the road ahead, trying to ignore the way her skin still tingled where Damien had touched her. The weight of his gaze was unmistakable, burning into her from the driver’s seat, but she refused to meet it.
They had crossed a line.
And now they had to pretend it didn’t change everything.
Damien’s phone buzzed again, breaking the silence. He checked the message before muttering a curse under his breath. “He wants us to meet him at a warehouse on the south side of the city.”
Anna frowned. “A warehouse? That sounds sketchy as hell.”
Damien smirked, but there was no humour in it. “Most of the places I do business in aren’t exactly five-star hotels.”
That should have bothered her. Maybe a few months ago, it would have. But now, after everything, she wasn’t sure she cared what kind of world Damien belonged to. If he was going to help her figure out the truth, she was willing to meet him in the dark.
They pulled up to the warehouse just after midnight. The building loomed in the shadows, its metal siding rusted and worn, a relic of something long abandoned. Damien killed the engine and glanced at her. “Stay close.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Not like I was planning on wandering off.”
They stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting at her skin. A single light flickered near the entrance, casting eerie shadows along the ground. Damien knocked twice on the metal door, and after a moment, it creaked open just enough for a man to peer through.
“Grant sent me,” Damien said.
The door opened wider, revealing a man in his fifties, his face weathered, his eyes sharp. He waved them inside without a word, locking the door behind them.
The interior was dimly lit, shelves stacked with boxes and dust-covered crates. In the center of the space stood a long metal table, covered in files, photographs, and what looked like old police reports.
Anna’s stomach tightened.
Grant—Damien’s investigator—looked up from the table, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You took your time.”
Damien crossed his arms. “What do you have?”
Grant tapped a folder. “Something that doesn’t make sense.” He turned to Anna. “You were convicted based on the assumption that the murder happened sometime between one and two in the morning, correct?”
Anna nodded, her throat dry. “That’s what they said.”
Grant opened the file, pulling out a coroner’s report. “Except, according to this, the actual time of death was closer to four AM.”
Anna’s breath caught. “What?”
Damien’s expression darkened. “That’s a big gap.”
“Exactly.” Grant pointed to another section of the report. “And here’s where it gets even weirder. The blood spatter pattern suggests the body was moved before the police arrived.”
Anna swayed slightly, gripping the edge of the table. None of this had ever come up during the trial. None of it had been in the reports she was allowed to see.
Which meant someone had covered it up.
Damien’s fingers curled into fists. “Someone wanted the timeline to fit their narrative.”
Anna’s stomach twisted. “But why? Who benefits from making sure I took the fall?”
Grant exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “That’s the million-dollar question. But it’s looking more and more like the real killer had time to clean up—and they made damn sure to frame you before the cops even arrived.”
A sickening realization settled in her chest. She had spent years believing she might have done it, that maybe the blackout had been an excuse, that maybe she was too broken to remember.
But now? Now she knew.
Someone had set her up.
Damien watched her closely. “Anna—”
She shook her head, forcing the rising panic down. “Who else had access to this report?”
Grant sighed. “The police. The prosecutors. The people who wanted you behind bars.”
Her blood ran cold. Gizelle. Allen.
Damien’s voice was low, dangerous. “We need to find that red hoodie.”
Grant nodded. “And I might have a lead on that, too.” He reached for another file. “One of the partygoers, a guy named Ryan Kessler, was known for wearing a red hoodie all the damn time. He left town right after the trial and never came back.”
Anna’s hands clenched. “You think he saw something?”
“Or did something,” Grant countered. “Either way, we need to find him.”
Damien’s gaze met hers. “Then we better start looking.”
The drive back to Anna’s apartment was even quieter than before.
She sat curled up in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window as the city blurred past. Her entire world had just shifted beneath her feet, and she wasn’t sure how to stand on solid ground again.
Damien pulled into the parking lot, but neither of them moved to get out. The weight of the night pressed down between them.
Finally, Anna let out a shaky breath. “I spent so many years believing I might have done it.”
Damien turned to her, his expression unreadable. “I never believed that.”
She swallowed hard. “Then why were you following me? Why did you act like I was the enemy?”
He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. “Because it was easier than admitting I might have been wrong.”
The words hung between them, thick with meaning. Damien wasn’t the type to admit fault easily, and she knew what this cost him.
Anna’s fingers tightened in her lap. “And now?”
Damien reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch slow, careful. “Now I know for sure.”
Her breath caught. He was too close again, his presence wrapping around her like a slow-burning fire. And despite everything, despite the chaos and the danger and the fact that this was the worst possible time to let emotions get involved—
She wanted him.
Damien’s thumb brushed against her cheek, his voice a quiet rasp. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”
She should have. She should have told him to get out of the car, to let her breathe, to let her think.
But instead, she whispered, “Stay.”
Damien didn’t hesitate.
The second his lips found hers, the rest of the world disappeared.
- Writer
