Page 20 of Coveted

Sadie finding the body was unfortunate, and my fault. I chased her down that way.

It’s difficult to muster regret for that though. Not when I got to pin her against a tree and feel the rush of her blood under her silky skin.

After she started screaming, Juliette and Clara reached her first. I wasn’t far behind, though I didn’t approach her.

When Sadie’s haunting gray eyes landed on me, she murmured frantic words into Juliette’s ear. Juliette then told me to fuck all the way off.

Next came the widespread confusion and chaos over the murder.

Professors arrived, cops were called, suspicious stares were thrown.

Mainly at me.

I shouldn’t have argued with Parker right before the Run, never mind in front of half the fucking school. My cousin sent me over the edge though.

Police questioned everybody, and me only briefly.

They know the score. Hales don’t get detained. Before Sadie reached the Ember Falls police station to give a witness statement, I was already gliding in my elevator to my penthouse.

If I stand at my window when she leaves tonight, I’ll see her.

My current view is comprehensive though. Four computer monitors are mounted on the desk in my study, her beautiful face pixelated and glowing from each.

Her ivory pennant rests next to my keyboard, safe and sound.

Sipping whiskey from a tumbler, I contemplate her statement to the detective.

The situation doesn’t bode well for poor Sadie. She witnessed enough to put her in danger, but not enough to solve the case.

“Alright, Miss Marlowe, thank you.” The detective hauls himself from his seat. “We’ll give you a lift back to campus if you like.”

She nods. “I appreciate it.”

As she rises, she hugs herself. Tapping the keyboard, I zoom in on her.

A tiny stray leaf clings to Sadie’s light brown hair like a spider in a web. Dried tears have smudged dark makeup under her doe-shaped eyes. When the detective’s back turns, she shakes the tension from her hands.

The screen of my phone illuminates with an incoming message. It’s my father, letting me know he’s here. As in, inside my penthouse already.

His Italian shoes announce his purposeful march down the hallway.

Better to tell people what’s happening instead of asking, he’s always believed.

No need to wonder where I get it from.

Dad strides into my study.

“Your cousin. What a fucking waste,” he says as a greeting.

“It is,” I say.

While I stay reclined in my leather chair, he pours a hefty whiskey at the drinks cart.

“His murder hijacked the evening news.” He sighs. “We were supposed to announce an acquisition tonight. I got a fucking haircut and everything.”

The man does look sharp. His charcoal-gray suit matches his hair to a degree that can’t be coincidental. He’s broad-shouldered, but these days, not as broad as me.

Dad sounds all business, but the lines of his face look deeper than usual. It was the same when Hannah died.