Chapter 4

I whispered an agreement.

After hanging up, I carefully emptied all the yellow pills out of the organizer, replacing them with identically sized over-the-counter vitamins.

I sealed the real yellow tablets inside an airtight bag and tucked it deep into the hidden lining of an old suitcase.

By 1:00 AM, Julian still hadn't come home.

I logged into our luxury apartment's resident portal and pulled up the hallway security footage.

From 2:40 AM to 2:52 AM the previous night, the feed was completely blank.

The system log stated: Routine System Maintenance.

Yet routine maintenance for the building was strictly scheduled for the end of each month.

I scrolled further back in the archives.

On the exact night the second silver lock appeared a year ago, the camera feed during that same twelve-minute window was also completely dark.

The footage from two years ago had already been overwritten by the system.

I screenshotted the logs, then dialed the security concierge desk.

After checking their internal tickets, the guard told me, "That maintenance was requested on short notice."

"Who submitted the request?"

"Mr. Vance’s executive assistant, Austin."

I held the phone tight against my ear, unable to utter a single word.

Why would Julian’s personal assistant request the building to shut down the cameras outside our door on the exact night a silver lock appeared?

The next day, using the excuse of visiting my mother, I slipped past the family chauffeur and headed straight to Chloe’s lab.

Seeing the hollow, drained look on my face, Chloe didn't pry; she took the pill and headed straight into the cleanroom.

During the two hours it took to run the assay, I drove across town to Heritage Silversmiths.

It was an antique jewelry studio tucked away on an old street in the west district. Four years ago, when Julian and I got married, he had custom-ordered our bridal accessories here.

The elderly jeweler examined the three locks through a magnifying loupe for a long time.

"Yes, these are from our workshop."

"This vintage padlock design is never sold off the shelf. We only make them for private custom orders."

I asked, "Can you pull up the client records?"

The owner hesitated. "Our clients sign non-disclosure agreements."

I laid out the photos of all three silver locks side by side on her counter.

"These three locks appeared during my three separate pregnancies. The first two times, I miscarried."

"I have reason to believe these locks are tied to a criminal scheme that killed my babies. If you don't disclose the purchaser right now, my next stop is the police department."

"A criminal raid on an exclusive studio like yours wouldn't look great for business, would it?"

Her face drained of color.

After a tense silence, she turned to her computer and brought up the invoices.

Three custom orders. Dated two years ago, one year ago, and just last week.

The paying account wasn't personal; it was billed to a corporate consulting firm.

I didn't recognize the business name, but the registered billing address punched me in the gut.

It was the old headquarters building of Vance Enterprises.

"Who picked them up?"

"The first two were collected by a young man in a suit. The third was delivered via a private courier service."

"Do you have security footage?"

"We only keep store recordings for ninety days."

She paused, then added, "However, I still have the courier dispatch slip for the third order."

I snapped a photo of the slip, my fingertips freezing cold.

The moment I stepped out onto the sidewalk, Chloe’s call buzzed through my phone.

She said just one single sentence.

I froze dead in my tracks, standing in the middle of the crowded street, the sounds of traffic and passing strangers abruptly fading into a deafening, hollow ringing.

How... could this be the truth?!