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My brows furrowed when my attention landed on a gun resting on top of a pile of paper. Why the hell did Jacob have a gun? Without thinking, I picked it up, turning it over in my hand and gaping at it. I knew little about guns, but from the weight of it, it seemed real. It even had a little switch to flick the safety on and off, and for some reason, it was set to off.

Maybe he had it for protection in case someone tried to break into the house. Even as I thought that, though, I knew how ridiculous that sounded. We lived on a remote island; there was no way anyone could approach the island without one of us knowing about it.

Like my dress, though, it was another question for another day. I rested the gun on top of the desk and rummaged through the papers in the drawer, pulling piece after piece out, but none that might have held the password. Frustration coursed through me. It was typical that now I’d decided I wanted to find out what was on the USB, I was stumbling at the first hurdle.

Not quite ready to give up, though, I gathered the papers to return them to the drawer, freezing when I came across a black-and-white photograph of a very familiar face. Although I hadn’t seen Jenson in months, my former friend stared back at me from the page. Only, it wasn’t his happy, carefree grin etched on his face, but his features twisted in anguish.

Allowing my gaze to travel over the page, it took several seconds before I realized I was staring at a copy of a police report. The photo was of Jenson in police custody, and underneath, the information stated that he’d been charged with possession of marijuana with intent to distribute. His arrest had come a day after I’d initially been arrested for having the bag of cannabis Jenson had left me with.

My heart stuttered as I read the summary leading to Jenson’s arrest.

The defendant, Jenson Rapley, was arrested during an early morning raid at his home address. The witness, Jacob Du Pont, provided visual evidence of Rapley in possession of a rucksack containing 6kg of dried cannabis flower. Video evidence provided by Mr. Du Pont showed police attendance at a small gathering where Rapley was seen to discard the bag at the feet of Mr. Du Pont’s fiancée, Charlotte Astor, who was subsequently arrested for the offence. However, she was shortly released without any charges following the information provided by Mr. Du Pont.

I read the summary three times, and with each pass over, I had more and more questions. Jacob had claimed I was his fiancée, yet when this happened, I didn’t even know he existed. More to the point, how had he been able to provide visual evidence to the police that the bag had actually belonged to Jenson?

Nausea churned in my stomach as the obvious answer sprang to mind, an answer I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Ignoring the prickle of fear stabbing my skin, I carried on reading the report.

During the search of Rapley’s house, a further 50kg of dried cannabis flower was discovered in three large suitcases, hidden under his bed and inside his wardrobe, along with weighing scales and cellophane bags, paraphernalia indicative of drug supply. Rapley maintained these items did not belong to him, claiming they had been planted there by officers.

At Rapley’s arraignment, he pleaded guilty to all charges and was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment and a fine of $500,000.

I blinked several times, not quite comprehending what I’d read. Jenson had been sentenced to ten years in prison? While I knew he had left me to take the blame for the drugs in his rucksack, I couldn’t help but wonder if his claims that the other drugs had been planted held merit.

Jenson had been one of my closest friends; I knew he tended to deal small amounts to his friends, but I never once thought he was involved in wider dealing. It wasn’t like he needed the money that drug dealing could bring in; his parents were among the wealthiest people in America.

The longer I stared at his photo, the more questions added to my already long list. Why had Jacob given information to the police that had led to Jenson’s incarceration for ten years? Surely it wasn’t because he wanted Jenson to pay for leaving me to take the blame?

Jacob wasn’t that callous, right?

Right?

I knew the answer to that, though, and the bile gathering in my stomach began to creep up my throat once more. With another glance at Jenson’s picture, a realization slammed into me. Jacob had lied to me. He’d insisted none of my friends had attempted to reach out to me, yet here was proof that he was well aware of why Jenson hadn’t made contact; he couldn’t, he was locked up.

And if Jacob could lie about that, what else could he lie about?

A heavy weight landed on my shoulders as I abandoned the papers and turned my focus back to the computer, determination rampaging through me at discovering what was on the USB stick, consequences be damned.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and I began attempting a variety of combinations of passwords, hoping one would work. I tried everything. Obvious passwords, combinations of our names, combinations of our names and dates such as my birthday and the day Jacob and I got married. Perhaps it was egotistical of me to think that Jacob would have used my name as his password.

Slumping in defeat after countless attempts, my teeth clenched in frustration. I glanced at the clock on the office wall, knowing my time was running out. It wouldn’t be long until Wallace came to inform me that lunch was ready.

I released a heavy sigh, telling myself to cut my losses and figure out a way to get the password from Jacob, when suddenly the screen unlocked, and a welcome message flashed on the screen.

My brows pulled together as the welcome message disappeared, leaving the computer unlocked and all of Jacob’s folders lined up on the screen. I should have been suspicious; it should have registered that a computer didn’t just unlock, but I’d been typing passwords so fast that maybe it just took a minute for the system to catch up.

But it didn’t register; eagerness to discover what information the USB stick held dominated all rational thought. I jammed the stick into the port at the side of the computer, my gaze darting over the screen to see where to access the new folder, but before I could find it, my eyes snagged on another folder called ‘Charlotte.’

Curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked into it, my eyes widening at finding a bunch of sub-folders. I swallowed as I read the titles: Yoga Practice, Shower, Bedroom, Dining Room, Studio, Drawing Room, Cell.

Dread pooled in my stomach, and without permission, my hand moved the mouse to open the first folder. A long list of videos appeared, and I selected the first one, my mouth forming a little ‘o’ as the video played. It was me during one of my morning yoga sessions, captured from a camera that I hadn’t ever noticed in the corner of the sun room.

I clicked out of it and scrolled down the list of videos, each one labeled with a date, starting from the first week I’d ended up on Du Pont Island. My mind struggled to process what I was seeing; Jacob had recorded my sessions every single day. For what purpose, I didn’t know.

His words from a short while ago rang in my ears. ‘I could spend every minute of my day watching every single thing you do, and I wouldn’t ever get bored.’

A tremor took up residence in my fingers. Jacob had never been shy in how obsessed he was with me, but hiding cameras to watch me when we weren’t together? That was going too far. At the thought, my heart stuttered, and I quickly clicked out of the yoga folder and selected another.