Page 5 of Rule
"Please," I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't do this. You have to believe me."
The officer ignores my plea, probably having heard it a million times, dragging me to a small, windowless room and unceremoniously depositing me into a hard, plastic chair. He uncuffs my right wrist and places the cuffs through a metal loop on the table. Desperation gnaws at the edges of my mind as the door slams shut, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
What if they don't find Beth? What if I'm stuck in this hell forever? How will I survive in prison? Will my men wait for me? The weight of these questions threatens to crush me as tears stream down my cheeks.
Wrapping my free arm around myself, trying to hold on to what little hope remains, I know I can't let them break me. I won't. But the fear of being locked away, forgotten and helpless, claws at my insides, leaving me raw and exposed. If push comes to shove, I know my mom, Cassie, mymom, will step in, but I’d really rather not go that route. Banking on Tristan and maybehisdad to get me out of this is my only hope.
As the minutes tick by, the silence becomes suffocating, a tangible reminder of the solitude that awaits me should I fail to prove my innocence. Closing my eyes, I will the darkness to envelop me, to shield me from the nightmare unfolding around me.
"Scarlet," Caitlin’s whiny voice jolts me back to reality.
With every ounce of strength I can muster, I prepare myself for the battle ahead – fighting for my freedom and my very existence.
Raising my gaze to hers as she sits, her eyes are cold and calculating as she examines me. The air in the interrogation room feels heavy with tension, suspense hanging on each word uttered.
"Where were you when Fields was murdered?" she asks, her voice dripping with venom.
Knowing this is pointless, she fucking saw me in the bathroom, I breathe in a try to make my voice as strong as possible. "I was at Christopher Trilling’s house as his guest. I was with him up until I entered the bathroom to find…that man, already dead."
Dammit. The hesitation when I nearly blurted out Fields’s name will sink me.
Caitlin raises an eyebrow and smirks. She heard it, and she will use it against me.
She clearly doesn’t believe a word I say. My fists clench, but I keep my face as steady as possible. It's no secret that Caitlin despises me – it's written all over her face.
“Christopher Trilling can vouch for me," I state, trying to suppress the panic rising in my chest.
“Hmm. He wants to see you burn for ruining his party,” she says, victory laced in her tone.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, the ticking growing louder and more urgent in my ears, I wonder what is keeping Tristan. Caitlin's smug face remains in front of me, clearly relishing this power she holds over me. My heart races with each second that passes, my anticipation of Tristan's help growing.
"Am I going to see my lawyer anytime soon?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Maybe," Caitlin says coyly, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Or maybe not."
Gripping the edges of the cold metal table, my knuckles turn white. I need to talk to Tristan; he's my only hope in this situation. But Caitlin knows that, and she's using it against me. My chest tightens, anxiety clawing at my insides.
"Look, I didn't kill anyone," I insist, desperation tinging my words. "You have to let me speak with my lawyer."
"Fine," Caitlin finally concedes, her eyes narrowing. She stands up abruptly and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. The harsh sound reverberates through the small space, leaving me feeling even more trapped than before.
As I wait, my breaths are shallow and quick for what feels like an eternity. Every second is torture, and I wonder if Caitlin has truly gone to get Tristan or if she's stalling further, leaving me to stew and drive myself crazy. As my thoughts spiral out of control, the door finally creaks open, and I look up, hope burning in my chest.
But it's not Tristan who walks in.
It's another Detective. One I saw with Caitlin in the bathroom at Trilling’s house. My heart sinks as he takes a seat across from me.
"Scarlet, I’m Detective Blackwell. Let's talk," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Raising an eyebrow, I’m unsure of what to make of this. But I take the chance to plead my case regardless.
"I didn't do it," I say firmly, hoping that my conviction will be enough to convince him. "I swear to you."
Blackwell studies me momentarily, his eyes searching mine before he speaks again.
"I believe you," he says quietly. "But it doesn't matter if I do or not."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confusion marring my features.
