**CHAPTER 2: THE BOYFRIEND'S SECRET**
The interrogation room hummed with the kind of tension that made teeth ache.
Detective Alex Carter leaned against the two-way mirror, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the glass. He watched Ryan Cooper through narrowed eyes, tracking every twitch of the boy's fingers, every dart of his tongue across chapped lips. The kid was a live wire—all nervous energy and frayed edges, his designer sweatshirt smeared with what looked like yesterday's coffee stains.
*Guilt sweats different*, Carter thought. *This kid's drowning in it.*
Across the table, Julia Moreno sat with the calm of a sniper settling into position. She'd positioned herself just outside Ryan's personal space—close enough to seem engaged, far enough to let the silence stretch uncomfortably. Her notebook lay open, pen uncapped but unmoving. A tactic Carter recognized: *Let them fill the quiet. The guilty always do.*
"You look like you haven't slept," Julia said, not unkindly.
Ryan barked a laugh that cracked halfway through. "Yeah, well. When your girlfriend gets murdered and the cops drag you in at 6 a.m., beauty sleep kinda takes a backseat." His fingers worried at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I already told the other detectives everything."
Carter pushed off the wall, his boots scuffing against the linoleum. "Funny. Because according to Officer Friendly out there, you 'declined to answer questions' at the scene." He circled the table, slow as a vulture. "Why's that, Ryan? Shock? Or strategy?"
Ryan's head snapped up. "I was—Jesus, I was *grieving*! She was just lying there with that fucking rose on her—" His voice broke. He pressed shaking hands flat against the table.
Julia slid a paper cup of water toward him. "Start from the beginning. When did you last see Charlotte?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
Ryan's throat worked. "Two days ago. At her dorm. She was... off." His fingers traced the rim of the cup. "Kept checking the window. Jumped when her phone buzzed."
Julia's pen hovered over her notepad. "Did she say why?"
"She said someone was watching her." Ryan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Called them *The Gardener*."
Carter froze. The word slithered down his spine like cold water.
Julia arched an eyebrow. "The Gardener? Like, lawn care?"
Ryan's laugh was hollow. "That's what I said. She got pissed—said I wasn't taking her seriously." He dragged a hand through his hair, making the blond strands stand straight up. "She said The Gardener *prunes* people. That it wasn't just a metaphor."
Carter leaned in, bracing both hands on the table. The metal groaned under his weight. "And you didn't think to mention this to, oh, I don't know—*the police*?"
"I *told* her to go to the cops!" Ryan's fist hit the table, sending the cup skittering. Water bled across the surface. "She said they wouldn't believe her. That no one would." His voice cracked. "She was right, wasn't she?"
Julia righted the cup with two fingers. "Where were you between midnight and two a.m.?"
"The Diner on 5th. I waited for over an hour. Ask Jenny—she'll tell you." Ryan's knee bounced under the table. "Look, I know how this works. Boyfriend's always suspect number one. But I *loved* her. I was going to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
Carter studied him—the tremor in his hands, the raw grief in his voice. *Real. But grief and guilt wear the same face.*
Julia flipped a page in her notebook. "Did Charlotte keep a diary?"
Ryan stiffened. "Yeah. Red leather with a rose stamped on the cover. She carried it everywhere." His fingers twitched toward his pocket, then stopped. "Said it was the only place she could be *honest*."
Carter and Julia exchanged a glance. *No diary at the scene.*
Julia pressed. "Where is it now?"
"I don't know. But if you find it..." Ryan's eyes gleamed with something desperate. "It'll tell you why she died."
Carter smirked. "Dramatic. I like it."
Julia shot him a glare that could peel paint before turning back to Ryan. "We'll need names. Friends, enemies, the guy who screwed up her coffee order last Tuesday."
Ryan hesitated. Then, so quiet they almost missed it: "There was someone. Older guy. Her dad *hated* him."
Carter's spine straightened. "Name?"
"She wouldn't tell me. Just said he *'understood the roses'*." Ryan's fingers traced the water stains on the table. "She started acting weird after she met him."
**Outside the interrogation room,** Julia exhaled sharply. "So. Either lover boy's an Oscar-worthy actor, or we've got a killer with a horticultural hard-on."
Carter stared through the glass at Ryan's hunched shoulders. "Or both." He pulled out his phone, swiping to the crime scene photos. The rose on Charlotte's chest glowed luridly on the screen. *Pruning people. The Gardener.*
Julia tapped her pen against her notebook. "We need that diary."
Carter's smile was razor-thin. "Guess we're paying a visit to the Rose King."
Somewhere in the precinct, a phone rang. The sound slithered down the hallway like a warning.