Chapter 5 Bail Bond

The morning was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of stillness that presses down on your chest like a weight. Nandi stirred awake on the sofa, her body stiff, her mind restless. She had fallen asleep there, not wanting to share a bed with Mahati, whose labored breathing filled the master bedroom. The smell of antiseptic still hung in the air from the doctor's late-night visit.

For a brief moment, she convinced herself that today might pass without incident. She could go to the university, bury herself in work, pretend life was normal. But fate was done with giving her normal days.

At exactly 8:14 a.m., a heavy knock shook the door. Three loud raps, firm and cold.

She frowned, pulling her robe tighter. "Who is it?"

"Nandi Mahati?" a voice called, clipped and official. "Police."

Her stomach dropped.

Two officers stood at the door when she opened it, their uniforms sharp, their faces unreadable. Behind them, a black-and-white car idled, its engine humming low.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice thin.

"You need to come with us," the taller one said, flipping open a small notepad. "You're wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Camila Ighalo."

The name hit her like a blade.

She shook her head. "No, no... Camila... she-she killed herself. I told you already, I was there. She..."

"Ma'am," the officer cut her off, his tone flat. "You can explain at the station. You have the right to remain silent."

Mahati's groggy voice drifted from the hallway. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Nandi turned to see him, leaning on the doorframe, his face pale, his hand pressed against his chest. She felt a surge of panic. "He's not well," she said quickly. "He just had a heart attack yesterday. You can't take me away like this."

But they didn't flinch. One officer stepped forward and gestured firmly. "Ma'am, please cooperate."

Nandi's heart thudded painfully as the cuffs clicked shut around her wrists. The cold steel bit into her skin, and shame flooded through her. Neighbors were already peeking through curtains, whispering.

Mahati tried to step forward, but his body betrayed him. He slumped against the wall, his face twisting in pain. "This... this is madness," he rasped. "She had nothing to do with it!"

But the officers didn't turn back.

For Nandi, the walk to the car felt like an eternity, each step echoing in her ears like a public declaration of guilt.

The interrogation room was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant. A single bulb flickered above the steel table where she sat. She clasped her hands together, her wrists red from the cuffs, trying not to tremble.

Across from her sat a detective, sharp-eyed, his tie loosened but his demeanor intense. Beside him, another officer scribbled in a notepad.

"Mrs. Mahati," the detective began, his voice calm but edged with suspicion. "We've received conflicting accounts about the night of Camila Ighalo's death. We need clarity."

Nandi swallowed. Her throat was dry, her tongue heavy. "I told you. It was just the two of us. We drank, we talked. She was... she was upset. When I woke up, she was gone. And then... I found her."

The detective leaned forward. "Are you sure it was just the two of you?"

Her heart skipped. Ben. His name pulsed at the back of her mind, threatening to spill out. If she mentioned him, her career was finished. A law professor, sleeping with her student? It would be the end of everything.

"Yes," she said firmly, though her voice cracked. "Just us. Nobody else."

The detective watched her carefully, his gaze searching her face for cracks. He didn't press, not yet. Instead, he flipped a folder open and slid a photo across the table. Camila, lifeless, her eyes hollow, her lips pale.

Nandi gasped and turned her face away. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because people don't just... vanish into death without reason," the detective said quietly. "Someone pushed her there, whether with words, lies, or promises. We're trying to find out who."

Nandi felt tears sting her eyes. It was Mahati, she wanted to scream. It was his affair, his manipulation, his betrayal. But her lips stayed sealed.

Hours later, she sat in a holding cell, the metal bench digging into her spine, the murmurs of other detainees filling the air. Her head throbbed, her body screamed for rest.

A guard finally appeared at the bars. "Mahati Nandi?"

She stood, her legs weak.

"You've been bailed."

Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by dread. Bailed. Someone had paid for her freedom, but at what cost?

She stepped outside to find Vincenzo waiting. Mahati's younger brother, tall and sharp-suited, his presence like a shadow. His smile was thin, almost mocking.

"You owe me," he said simply, holding out the paperwork.

Nandi stared at him, trying to read his expression. "Why would you...?"

"Because family stays intact," he said, his tone flat. "At least for now. But don't think for a second you're untouchable. Everyone's watching you."

His eyes lingered on her a moment too long before he turned and walked away.

The ride home was silent. The driver avoided her gaze in the rearview mirror, but Nandi could feel the weight of judgment pressing on her from every direction. When they reached the house, reporters had already gathered outside, their cameras flashing like lightning.

"Nandi! Did you kill Camila?"

"Was it jealousy?"

"Is Judge Mahati covering for you?"

Their voices blended into a frenzy. She kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain around her face, and pushed through the chaos into the house.

Inside, Mahati sat in his armchair, a blanket draped over his lap, his breathing shallow. His eyes met hers, filled with both anger and something close to pity.

"You've brought shame to this house," he muttered, his voice weak but venomous.

Nandi clenched her fists. "Shame? You dare speak of shame after what you've done? After Camila?"

His eyes flickered, but he said nothing. The silence was louder than any admission.

The university wasted no time. By the next morning, her phone buzzed with an official email: Suspension pending investigation.

Her students whispered. Colleagues avoided her. The once-respected Professor Nandi Mahati had become a scandal, a cautionary tale.

And yet, beneath the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal-there was still Ben. She hated herself for it, but his name lingered like a spark in her chest. When her phone lit up with his message that night, she stared at it for a long time before opening it.

Are you okay?

Her fingers trembled as she typed back.

No. But I will be.

But deep down, she knew the cracks in the glass were no longer cracks. They were fractures, spreading wide and fast. And sooner or later, everything would shatter.