Images flashed on the screen—Dominic in his tailored suit, Helena radiant in her gown, smiling like the world owed them nothing. The anchor gushed, “A wedding of love reborn… destiny fulfilled…”
My body went rigid.
So that was it. Fine. They could have their perfect sunset wedding. But I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.
I dragged my aching body to his office. Every shelf, every drawer, I searched. My eyes landed on the safe tucked in the corner.
My hands trembled as I typed combination after combination. Nothing. Then I noticed the photo on his desk—Helena, smiling, her arm linked with his. Her birthday. I typed it in. Click. The lock opened.
Inside were stacks of documents, bundles of cash, and a single flash drive. I knew. This was it. I plugged it into his laptop, holding my breath.
Reports, witness statements, confidential police files. Not just an accident. Not just guilt. Proof. Dominic had killed Adrian—and covered it up.
Tears blurred my vision as I gripped the flash drive like it was a lifeline. I called the police from his office phone, voice trembling. “I have evidence,” I whispered. “Adrian Cole’s death… it wasn’t an accident. I’m filing a case.”
After that, I packed in a fury, stuffing my clothes, documents, and small savings into a suitcase. Every movement fueled by rage and sorrow.
As I stepped outside, my brother waited by the car. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, softening only when they met mine.
“You’re ready?” he asked.
I nodded, tears brimming, voice shaking but firm. “Yes.”
He opened the car door. “Then let’s go.”
We drove through the city in silence. Lights streaked past as the sunset painted the horizon. At the airstrip, a private plane awaited. He guided me aboard, steadying my shaking hands.
As the engines roared, the world shrinking beneath us, I pulled out my phone one last time. Dominic’s number still at the top. I took a deep breath, removed the SIM card, and tossed it into the wind.
I was gone. And this time, there would be no return.
---
Dominic’s POV
I adjusted my cufflinks—the ones Helena had chosen. Today was supposed to mark a fresh start, a chance to bury the ghosts of my past.
The door creaked. I turned, expecting a staff member. Instead, two uniformed officers stepped in, faces unreadable.
“Mr. Blackwood,” one said, voice firm. “You are under arrest for the death of Adrian Cole.”