The bodyguard quietly exited, leaving the room in silence. Stephan remained in the study with his phone pressed to his ear. He spoke in a low, determined tone, “Don’t worry, Imogen. I’ll find out who killed Archie. And I’ll track down the missing item too.”
He reassured his sister on the other end of the line.
Felicia’s new apartment was a modest two-bedroom unit near her college. The neighborhood wasn’t the best, but the rent was affordable, and the apartment itself was clean, fully furnished, and surprisingly tidy.
Feeling bad for keeping the cab driver waiting earlier, Felicia handed him triple the fare as a tip.
“Thanks for waiting, sir,” she said with a sheepish smile.
The driver waved her off but gave her a word of caution, “Young lady, this area isn’t exactly safe, especially for someone like you. Watch your back, okay?”
“I will. Thanks for the heads-up,” she replied before heading into the building with her backpack slung over her shoulder.
The stairwell lights flickered to life as her footsteps echoed through the corridor. Felicia was about to press the elevator button when the fire escape door burst open, and a group of teenagers with colored hair came barreling through.
One of them nearly collided with her, but Felicia sidestepped just in time. The boys didn’t even pause to apologize as they raced down the hall like they’d just been caught doing something illegal.
Felicia raised an eyebrow.
Before she could dwell on it, the fire escape door slammed open again. This time, a young woman stormed out, breathless and furious. She gripped a kitchen knife in her hand like she was ready for a fight.
Both froze upon seeing each other.
“Hey!” Felicia said, surprised.
She recognized the woman instantly. It was Carmen, a senior at college. They’d crossed paths a few times. Once, Carmen had stepped in to defend Felicia in the dining hall when Kayla and her friends poured soup on Felicia and another time on the rooftop, where Carmen had warned her to stay away.
Of all places to run into her again, this was the last Felicia had expected.
Carmen didn’t respond to Felicia’s greeting. Her knuckles whitened around the knife’s handle, and without a word, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the stairwell.
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Felicia shrugged off the odd encounter and took the elevator to the seventh floor.
As luck or misfortune-would have it, Carmen emerged from the stairwell just as Felicia stepped out of the elevator.
The seventh floor only had two apartment units. Felicia rented 701 on the left while the door to 702 was open wide.
What caught Felicia’s attention wasn’t the open door-it was the photos plastered all over it and the surrounding walls.
They were all photos of Carmen taken from different angles, clearly screenshots from some online platform.
The images weren’t just suggestive-they were downright vulgar.
Felicia suddenly understood why Carmen had been holding that knife. This must have been the handiwork of the group of punks she had seen earlier.
Posting explicit photos-whether
fake or not-outside someone’s
home was a deliberate attempt to humiliate and destroy them. Imagine if Carmen’s parents or neighbors saw this. They weren’t just attacking her reputation; they were trying to break her spirit completely.
Sensing Felicia’s gaze, Carmen spun around, her jaw clenched and her voice defiant. “It’s not me. Those photos are fake. They were edited! I didn’t do any of this!”
Her words carried a bitterness that hinted at how many times she had said them before, only for no one to believe her.
Carmen’s lips twisted into a bitter
smile. She didn’t even bother
removing the photos as she knew they’d only reappear. With a dismissive scoff, she disappeared into her apartment and slammed the door
behind her.
Moments later, the sound of shattering glass and a woman’s shrill voice erupted from 702.
“Look what you’ve done!” the woman screamed, her tone sharp and filled with venom. “You’ve disgraced this family! I can’t even show my face to the neighbors anymore!”
Felicia could piece together the dynamic. A stepmother, most likely-someone more concerned about appearances than Carmen’s well-being.
Felicia stood in the dimly lit hallway, her gaze drifting to the walls still covered in photos.
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