Page 147 of Symphony for Lies

He made a scene, claiming she was his muse.

Fucking bastard.

The second I learned her name, she was already mine.

No one else was allowed to have her.

Especially him.

But when I saw how she sometimes looked at him, soft, gentle, and affectionate, I felt something new. Something raw and scary. Fear. The fear of losing her.

And that was unforgivable.

My phone buzzed, dragging me back to the present.

I forced my mind back into reality, back to the world where Amelia was still just out of reach, a world where every second without her felt like a goddamn eternity.

That evening, I stood outside Amelia’s apartment with flowers. Better ones than Spencer’s.

When she opened the door, the world around us faded. She was glowing, her hair tied back loosely with stray strands teasing the delicate curve of her face. That smile… it could ruin me.

“You’re just in time. I just finished cooking.”

The second her soft fingers wrapped around my wrist to pull me inside, my body acted instinctually.

Was I a gentleman? Not a chance. Not with her. I was yearning for every touch, but I somehow kept my cool.

I sat at the table, watching as she proudly placed a plate of lasagna before me.

“I hope it’s good,” she murmured, eyes filled with expectation.

I wasn’t hungry, not for food, anyway. I could’ve gone another lifetime without a meal, but her? I was starving for her. Still, just to see her smile, I set the flowers down and picked up the fork.

As I ate, my gaze wandered across the room to the scattered papers on the coffee table.

Amelia flushed. “Sorry for the mess. I was working on the case and didn’t have time to clean up.”

Just like that, my mood shifted.“What case?”

“Spencer needs my help with the notes.” Her voice was casual, as if she hadn’t just said the one thing that could send me spiraling.

Spencer!

“Why? Can’t he figure it out himself? What kind of cop is he if he constantly needs you—”

Her lips crashed onto mine, silencing me in an instant. Soft. Warm. Addictive.

A groan rumbled in my chest, my body immediately caving to her. But just as I went to deepen the kiss, she pulled away. I let out a frustrated sigh.

She giggled, planting another soft peck on my lips, teasing me.“I’m not doing anything dangerous. I promise. I just want to solve the notes.”

I exhaled, defeated.

The woman controlled me in ways I couldn’t even comprehend.

Later in the evening, we sat on the couch, her notes sprawled between us. The pattern was becoming apparent.

The first murder—the beginning.

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