Chapter 3

The silence in Lily's apartment was the loudest sound I had ever heard. It was a physical presence, a heavy blanket of grief that smothered everything. I sat on the edge of her bed, my hand resting on the sketchbook she'd left on her nightstand. The air still smelled faintly of her, a mix of turpentine and the cheap lavender soap she loved.

I was supposed to be packing her things, putting her life into boxes. But I couldn't move. Every object was a memory, every memory a fresh wound. Her paint-splattered jeans thrown over a chair, a half-finished canvas on an easel, a coffee mug with a chipped rim. It was all that was left.

I ran a hand over my face, the exhaustion a bone-deep ache. The legal battle had drained me, the public humiliation had hollowed me out. Now, there was only this empty room and the crushing weight of my failure.

My eyes fell on a small, wooden chest tucked under her desk. It was a cheap thing we'd found at a flea market years ago, where she kept her "treasures." I knelt and pulled it out, the lid creaking as I lifted it. Inside, nestled among old photographs and dried flowers, was a plain white envelope with my name on it.

My hands trembled as I opened it. It was a letter, in her familiar, looping handwriting.

Ethan,

If you're reading this, it means I couldn't find the courage to tell you myself. Or maybe something worse happened. I'm so scared.

It's Brandon Thorne. He's been following me, texting me. At first, I thought he was just arrogant, but it's more than that. There's something dark in his eyes. I told Sarah about it. I thought, as a prosecutor, she would understand. I thought she would help me.

The next words were smudged, as if tear-drops had fallen on the ink.

She told me I was overreacting. She said a guy like Brandon Thorne could open doors for me, for my art. She said I shouldn't be so dramatic. She made me feel small, like I was the one who was wrong. But I know I'm not. He scares me, Ethan. He really scares me.

My heart seized in my chest. Guilt, sharp and suffocating, flooded me. She had tried to get help. She had reached out to the one person I thought we could both trust, and that person had pushed her right back into the lion's den. I wasn't there. I was off somewhere else, playing soldier, while my sister was fighting a war all by herself.

Taped to the bottom of the chest, almost hidden in the shadows, was a small, black USB flash drive. A cold dread washed over me as I picked it up. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that this was what Lily had been trying to protect.

I went to her laptop, my fingers fumbling as I plugged in the drive. A single audio file appeared on the screen, named with a simple, chilling word: Proof.

I put on her headphones, trying to shield myself from the world, and pressed play.

The first sounds were of a party, laughing and music. Then Lily's voice, strained and nervous. "Please, Brandon, just let me go home."

"Relax, Lily," came Brandon's voice, slick and predatory. "The party's just starting."

The audio shifted. The music faded. There was the sound of a door closing, a lock clicking. And then Lily screamed.

I ripped the headphones off, my stomach churning. I couldn't listen. I couldn't hear what he did to her. But I had to. I forced myself to put them back on.

The file wasn't a recording of the assault itself. It was worse. It was a series of recorded phone calls. Lily had been smart. She had been documenting everything.

The first call was between Brandon and Sarah. It must have been right after Lily first went to her for help.

"So the little sister came crying to you?" Brandon laughed. "What'd you tell her?"

"I handled it," Sarah's voice was cool, professional. "I told her she was being hysterical. Don't worry, she won't be a problem."

"Good girl," Brandon said, his tone patronizing. "You know how to play the game. That's why I like you."

The next recording was after the assault. It was Sarah, calling Brandon. Her voice was panicked.

"She's going to the police, Brandon! She has a recording or something, I don't know! You said you were just going to scare her!"

"Things got out of hand," Brandon said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "It doesn't matter. You'll take care of it. You're the prosecutor. Make the evidence disappear."

"What if I can't?"

"Then you go down with me, Sarah," he sneered. "Don't forget all those little favors I've done for you. The donations to your campaign fund. The weekend trips. You're in this just as deep as I am. So you will handle it."

The final recording started. It was a voicemail. Lily's voice, broken and sobbing, so full of pain it was almost unrecognizable. It was a message left for Sarah.

"Sarah... why? I trusted you. He... he hurt me. He hurt me so bad. And you knew. You let him. Why? Why would you do this to me?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The recording ended.

I sat there, frozen, the headphones still clamped to my ears, the silence screaming. The full, monstrous truth of it all crashed down on me. Sarah hadn't just been betrayed by ambition. She wasn't just an accessory after the fact. She was a co-conspirator. She had known. She had known the danger and she had fed my sister to the wolves to protect herself and her powerful lover.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I doubled over, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The grief, the rage, the betrayal-it was a physical poison, burning through my veins. The sound that escaped my throat was not human. It was the raw, agonized cry of an animal caught in a trap, a sound of a man whose entire world had just been burned to the ground.