Vivienne's POV
"We need to go to that meeting tonight."
I'm pacing Ethan's living room like a caged animal. It's been three hours since we got that message. Three hours of my brain spinning in circles.
"Vivienne, this could be a trap." Ethan sits on his worn couch, holding his head in his hands. "Someone's been watching us. Taking photos. They could be dangerous."
"I don't care!" The words explode out of me. "Someone is saying there's more to Lily's death than just you hitting her with your car. Someone is saying she was murdered. Don't you understand what that means?"
"I understand that it doesn't make sense." Ethan looks up at me, and his eyes are bloodshot. "I was there, Vivienne. I remember the impact. I remember driving away. If someone else was involved, why can't I remember them?"
"Because you were drunk!" I stop pacing and stare at him. "You said it yourself—you were celebrating, you were drunk. Maybe you don't remember everything."
"I remember enough." His voice breaks. "I remember killing your sister."
The pain in his voice makes something twist in my chest. I hate it. I hate feeling anything for him except rage.
"Then we go tonight," I say firmly. "We find out who sent that message and what they know. Because if there's even a chance that someone else was responsible—"
"It doesn't change what I did." Ethan stands up. "Even if someone else was there, I'm still the one who hit her. I'm still the one who ran away."
"But you might not be the only guilty one!" I'm shouting now. "Don't you see? For three years, I thought you were a drunk driver who made a terrible mistake. But if someone planned this, if someone wanted Lily dead—"
I stop. The realization hits me like a punch to the stomach.
"What if it wasn't an accident at all?" I whisper. "What if someone used you? What if they knew you'd be drunk that night and made sure Lily was in that exact spot at that exact time?"
Ethan's face goes white. "That's insane."
"Is it? Think about it. You don't remember everything. You were too drunk. What if there was another car? What if someone forced Lily into the street right when you were driving by?"
"But why? Who would want to kill your sister?"
I sink onto the couch, my mind racing through possibilities. Lily was nineteen. A college student. Sweet, innocent, loved by everyone. Who would want her dead?
"I don't know," I admit. "But I'm going to find out."
We sit in silence for a long moment. The broken front door lets in cold air and the sound of cars passing by.
"I need to call Mac," Ethan finally says. "My friend. He's a lawyer. If we're walking into something dangerous tonight, someone should know where we are."
"No." I grab his arm. "The message said come together or the real murderer walks free. What if this person has been watching Mac too? What if telling anyone puts them in danger?"
"Then what do we do?"
I pull out my phone. "We record everything. We go to the warehouse, we find out what this person knows, and we record the whole conversation. Then we have evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"I don't know yet." I meet his eyes. "But three years ago, my sister died and you ran away. Now someone is saying there's more to the story. Maybe they want money. Maybe they want to blackmail us. Maybe they're the real killer trying to mess with our heads. But we won't know unless we go."
Ethan nods slowly. "Okay. We go together."
The rest of the day crawls by like torture. I try to stay in Room 7, but I keep pacing downstairs. Ethan tries to act normal, but he jumps every time a floorboard creaks.
Around 3 PM, I hear him on the phone with someone—probably Mac, even though I told him not to call. Men never listen.
"I'm fine," Ethan says quietly. "No, you don't need to come over. I just... I wanted to hear a friendly voice. Yeah. Thanks, man."
When he hangs up, he looks even more miserable than before.
I should feel satisfied. This is what I wanted—to watch him suffer. But instead, I feel something I don't want to feel.
Sympathy.
I push it away. Sympathy is weakness. Sympathy means I'm forgetting why I'm here.
At 7 PM, we eat dinner in silence. I made pasta, but neither of us can eat much. The food tastes like cardboard.
"Can I ask you something?" Ethan says quietly.
"What?"
"If we find out someone else was involved... if we find out it really was murder... would that change anything? Between us?"
I stare at my plate. "I don't know."
"Because I'll still be the one who hit her. I'll still be guilty of leaving her there to die."
"I know."
"But I didn't plan it. I didn't want it. I was just a stupid, drunk coward who made the worst decision of his life." He looks at me with desperate eyes. "Does that matter at all?"
"I don't know," I say again. "Ask me after tonight."
At 11:30 PM, we get ready to leave. I wear dark clothes and put my phone in my pocket, set to record. Ethan does the same.
"If this goes bad," he says as we walk to his car, "if this person tries to hurt you, I want you to run. Don't wait for me. Just run."
"I'm not running."
"Vivienne—"
"I've spent three years searching for answers. I'm not running now."
The drive to the warehouse district takes fifteen minutes. The streets are empty. Dark. Every shadow looks like a threat.
The warehouse on Fifth Street is abandoned—broken windows, graffiti on the walls, no lights. Ethan parks a block away, and we walk toward it slowly.
"This is definitely a trap," Ethan mutters.
"Probably."
"You know this is crazy, right?"
"Completely."
Despite everything, despite the fear and anger and confusion, I almost smile. We're walking into danger together, the victim's sister and her killer, looking for truth in an abandoned warehouse at midnight.
It's insane.
The warehouse door is slightly open. Ethan pulls it wider, and the rusty hinges scream in the darkness.
"Hello?" I call out. "We're here. Show yourself."
For a long moment, there's nothing. Just darkness and the sound of rats scurrying in corners.
Then a light turns on in the back of the warehouse. A single bulb swinging from a chain, illuminating a figure standing beneath it.
I can't see their face—they're wearing a hood—but they're holding something.
A folder.
"Vivienne Ashford," the figure says in a voice I can't identify—could be male or female, young or old. "And Ethan Cross. Thank you for coming."
"Who are you?" Ethan demands. "What do you know about Lily's death?"
"I know everything." The figure opens the folder. "Because I was there that night. I saw what really happened."
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. "Then tell us. Stop playing games and tell us!"
"It wasn't an accident," the figure says calmly. "Lily Ashford was murdered. But not by Ethan Cross—at least, not intentionally. He was just the weapon someone else used."
"What are you talking about?" My voice is shaking.
The figure pulls out photos from the folder and tosses them on the ground between us. "Look for yourselves."
Ethan and I rush forward and grab the photos. They're grainy, taken from a distance, but clear enough.
The first photo shows Ethan's car on the street that night. Time-stamped 11:47 PM.
The second photo shows another car, parked nearby. A black sedan.
The third photo shows someone getting out of that sedan. A woman in expensive clothes.
The fourth photo shows that woman talking to someone in the shadows.
The fifth photo shows Lily walking down the street—and the woman pointing at her, like she's giving directions.
The sixth photo shows Ethan's car hitting Lily.
And the seventh photo—the one that makes my blood turn to ice—shows the woman's face clearly.
It's someone I recognize.
Someone from my family's social circle.
Someone who had everything to gain from Lily's death.
"No," I whisper. "It can't be..."
"Who is it?" Ethan grabs my arm. "Vivienne, who is that woman?"
But before I can answer, the warehouse lights all turn on at once, blinding us.
And suddenly we're surrounded by police officers, guns drawn.
"Hands up!" someone shouts. "Don't move!"
Detective Sarah Chen steps forward, her badge glinting in the harsh light. "Ethan Cross, you're under arrest for vehicular manslaughter and leaving the scene of an accident. Vivienne Ashford, you're being detained for questioning regarding obstruction of justice."
"No!" I scream. "You don't understand! We have evidence! Someone else killed Lily! Look at these photos!"
But when I look down, the photos are gone.
The hooded figure has disappeared.
The folder is empty.
And we're standing in an abandoned warehouse with no proof of anything.
Detective Chen walks up to me, her face hard. "Ms. Ashford, I've been investigating your sister's death for three years. I know you've been hunting for the driver. And I know that driver is Ethan Cross. But whatever game you two are playing tonight ends now."
"This isn't a game!" Ethan shouts. "Someone set us up! Someone's been—"
"Someone's been watching you," Chen interrupts. "Yes, I know. Because I have. I've had surveillance on both of you for two weeks. I know Vivienne moved into your house. I know you've been meeting in secret. And I know you're trying to cover up what really happened."
"We're not covering anything up," I say desperately. "We're trying to find the truth!"
"The truth," Chen says coldly, "is that Ethan Cross killed Lily Ashford three years ago, and you've been living with him instead of turning him in. That makes you an accessory."
Officers move forward to handcuff us both.
"Wait!" I scream. "The photos! Someone was here! They had proof that another car was involved!"
"There's no one here but you two," Chen says. "And there are no photos. Just empty rooms and your desperate stories."
As they put handcuffs on my wrists, I see something that makes my heart stop.
Standing in the shadows behind Detective Chen is a figure in a dark coat.
The same figure who was here moments ago.
The same figure who's been watching us.
And they're smiling.
They set us up. They called the police. They made sure we'd be arrested with no evidence.
But why?
The figure pulls back their hood, and I finally see their face clearly.
It's someone I never expected.
Someone who was at Lily's funeral.
Someone who cried and hugged my mother and promised justice.
My own cousin.
Rachel Ashford.
Our eyes meet across the warehouse, and she mouths two words: "I'm sorry."
Then she turns and walks away into the darkness.
And I realize that everything I thought I knew about Lily's death was a lie.