Page 9 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

It put him at the scene. Not on a couch with a beer. Not innocent.

Maybe not twenty-five years.

But prison.

Safety.

A night where Mariela could sleep without flinching at shadows.

And maybe—maybe—others would’ve come forward.

Because they always do.

One voice breaks the silence, and others follow.

But this? This was eviseration.

The case collapsed.

The system blinked, and he walked.

So here I am—rosé in hand, rage in my throat—holding the broken glass with no idea how it shattered.

My phone buzzes on the desk.

Mariela Castillo.

I answer immediately. “Mari?”

Her voice is shaking so badly I almost don’t recognize it.

Across the room, Sebastian looks up from his phone. His editing stops mid-swipe, all the sass gone from his face in an instant.

“He’s following me.”

My stomach drops. “What? When?”

“Today. Yesterday. I—I don’t know. I just... I keep seeing the same guy. Same hat. Same car. At the grocery store, outside my gym, parked across from my building.”

My hand flies to my chest. “Did you get a picture? Can you?—”

Without turning his head, Sebastian leans an inch closer like he’s trying to absorb the conversation through osmosis.

His eyes flick toward me behind his screen, one brow lifting the tiniest bit. Not interrupting. Just... gathering data like a drama-starved lawyer.

“Hesentmethe pictures.” Her voice cracks. “I got a text yesterday. Just a photo of me... walking to my car. And another today. Me on my balcony. I think he was across the street?—”

I’m already standing. I don’t remember putting my glass down. “You need to go somewhere safe. Have you gone to the police?”

“I did.” Her laugh is wet and bitter. “They said he hasn’t violated the restraining order. That he hasn’t threatened me. That they can’t act on assumptions.”

I swear so hard internally it might’ve registered on the Richter scale.

“They said they can’t do anything unless he makes contact,” she whispers. “Unless he hurts me.”

I press a hand to my temple, pacing now. I need to call the detective on the case, and I’m already flipping through my pink leather ledger to the tab for Mari’s case.

Brannon. Detective Brannon.

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