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My eyes grew wider with every video I watched of me doing mundane tasks while I was alone: eating lunch, reading in the drawing room, painting in my studio. Me, living my life, clueless that every moment was being captured.

The tremor began traveling up my arms as I opened the file titled Shower. Pure horror filled me as I watched myself removing all of my clothes so I could put on the pajamas Jacob had given me on my first night here.

For several seconds, I stood naked, unknowingly giving Jacob full view of me. A strange sensation flowed through my veins. Despite everything Jacob had done to me while I was unconscious, I’d never felt this sense of violation before. Yet as I opened up another video, this one of me soaking my body in soap and rinsing it off, the overwhelming feeling of having my privacy violated plowed into me like a wrecking ball.

I clicked out of the folder, bypassing the bedroom one and clicking into the file titled ‘Cell.’ I had a feeling that the videos held in the bedroom file would show Jacob doing unspeakable things to my body while I was drugged, and I wasn’t sure I could face watching them with everything I’d just discovered.

Like the others, a list of videos loaded, and I clicked through them, one by one. Watching them, I relived every moment I spent in the cell. Pounding on the door, begging to be let out, curled in a ball and sobbing, staring into space, being carried from the cell after I’d lost consciousness.

Jacob had had a front-row seat to me slowly losing my mind. He’d witnessed every moment and used it against me, manipulating me into seeing him as my savior instead of my captor.

And I had allowed it.

A sob burst free, and unable to look at any more, I closed the folder down, tears blurring my vision. Brushing a stray one away, my gaze caught on the new folder that had appeared, and for several seconds, I could only stare at it.

With my head and heart in turmoil, I wasn’t sure I could handle finding anything else out, but like a car wreck that you just can’t look away from, I found myself opening up the new folder. There was only one document contained within, and had been named ‘Private investigation into the death of Amy Kent.’

I sucked in a deep breath as I opened it up, my heart racing furiously in my chest as I began to read.

Following concerns raised about the death of Amy Kent, I was hired by the deceased’s family to conduct a private investigation. The information provided in this report has been established from a variety of sources, including information that, for reasons unknown, was redacted from the final report released by police investigators.

The next paragraph detailed the night of the car crash, and how Amy’s body wasn’t discovered until several hours after the crash. I scanned over it, the information lining up with what Jacob had already told me.

The report then gave an overview of the levels of alcohol and drugs Amy had in her blood system on the night she died. According to the medical expert who had examined her test results, she was five times over the legal drink-driving limit, and the drug in her system was identified as cocaine.

My rigid muscles began to uncoil a fraction; so far, there was nothing I’d seen that suggested Jacob was lying. Until I reached the next paragraph.

The following information was not included in the final police report.

While cocaine was significant in Ms. King’s blood, further tests established that there were traces of flunitrazepam present. Flunitrazepam is a long-acting sedative, often resulting in drowsiness, confusion, and memory problems. It is more commonly known as rohypnol.

For the umpteenth time, my jaw dropped open. I knew what rohypnol was; I wasn’t stupid. Countless times, our guidance counselor at school had warned us of the risks of someone—more often than not, a man—slipping the drug into a girl’s drink so they blacked out and made it easier for them to be raped.

Memories of waking up disoriented and with little memory of what happened hours before swam in my mind. Was rohypnol the drug Jacob had been giving me to render me unconscious? It seemed likely. And if he was capable of doing it to me, had he done the same to Amy?

Despite my protective instinct telling me not to read on, I couldn’t stop myself.

The presence of flunitrazepam raises questions, particularly in relation to the DNA samples taken from Ms. Kent’s vaginal walls and cervix. The samples obtained indicated Ms. Kent had been sexually active within twenty-four hours before her death, and when the samples were matched against the forensic database, the results matched to Mr. Jacob Du Pont.

My heart stopped beating. Jacob had insisted that he and Amy were just friends, and that their friendship was purely platonic. So, why then, was his semen found inside her?

Another lie.

Another wound in my fragile heart.

I didn’t realize my tears were falling until the tang of salt burst on my tongue. I brushed them away, scrolling down to the next page. My breath instantly caught in my throat as a photo of Amy came into view.

Until now, she’d just been a name. A ghost hovering in the background of mine and Jacob’s relationship, but seeing her face as she waved at the camera made her real.

She was a beautiful girl, killed in the prime of her life. Long brown hair flowed down to her ribs, almost as long as mine, her facial features petite and delicate. Even though chaos reigned in my head, a streak of relief flowed through me that she didn’t look like me.

Underneath the photo was more information from the private investigator, and I held my breath as I read it.

Mr. Du Pont was identified as a fellow college student, and when other students were interviewed about Mr. Du Pont, several mentioned that they believed he had an unhealthy obsession with Ms. Kent. When pressed as to what they meant by this, one student, who wished to remain anonymous, stated that he had often seen Mr. Du Pont following Ms. Kent, and on one occasion, she had confided in the student that she found Mr. Du Pont to be ‘creepy.’

However, a professor at the college, Wallace Atkins, dismissed the claims that Mr. Du Pont was obsessed with Ms. Kent. Prof. Atkins insisted that Mr. Du Pont and Ms. Kent were very good friends, and would often spend time together. He went on to say that for Ms. Kent’s last birthday, Mr. Du Pont had purchased a very expensive diamond necklace to give to her as a gift. Prof. Atkins claimed Ms. Kent was delighted by the gift, and had worn it every day since she was given it.

Coincidentally, Prof. Atkins confirmed he had been with Mr. Du Pont on the night Ms. Kent died, corroborating Mr. Du Pont’s alibi that they were having a private study session together.