Chapter 3

Rebecca Martinez's law office smelled of leather and determination. I sat across from her mahogany desk, the divorce papers spread between us like a battle plan.

"Your husband drained your joint savings account for his mistress while his parents' bodies were still warm," she said, her pen clicking against her notepad. "That's financial abuse, Selene. We can make him pay."

I nodded, my hands folded tightly in my lap. Three days had passed since I'd discovered the red sports car in my driveway, three days since Grady had toasted his parents' deaths with whiskey and cruelty.

"There's something else," I said, pulling the fabricated trail map from my purse. "This isn't just about divorce. Someone murdered his family, and I think I know who."

Rebecca's eyebrows rose as she examined the map. "This looks professionally made. You're talking about premeditated murder."

"Detective Morrison is already investigating. The map was deliberately designed to lead them into danger." My voice cracked. "They trusted me to keep them safe, and I let a killer into our home."

"You couldn't have known." Rebecca's voice softened. "But we need to be careful. If your husband is protecting whoever did this, he could become dangerous."

As if summoned by her words, my phone buzzed with a text from Grady: *Stop embarrassing yourself with lawyers. Iris is innocent and you're just jealous.*

Rebecca read over my shoulder, her expression hardening. "He's already building a defense for her. We need to move fast."

---

Detective Morrison's office felt like a fortress of justice, case files stacked like evidence of human cruelty. He spread photos across his desk—security camera stills from a printing shop downtown.

"Iris Collins placed the order for five hundred custom trail maps two weeks before your vacation," he said, pointing to a clear image of her distinctive red hair. "Paid cash, gave a fake name, but the cameras don't lie."

My heart hammered as I stared at her face in the photograph. She looked calm, almost cheerful, ordering the instruments of murder like party invitations.

"When we confronted her yesterday, she broke down crying," Morrison continued. "Claimed she only wanted to help your family find 'beautiful hiking spots.' Said she researched trails online and had them printed as a surprise gift."

"And Grady believed her?"

"Your husband hired three lawyers before we even finished questioning her. High-powered corporate attorneys who specialize in white-collar crime." Morrison's jaw tightened. "They're claiming she's being targeted because of her relationship with a married man, that you're mentally unstable from grief and looking for someone to blame."

The words hit me like physical blows. Even faced with evidence of murder, Grady was protecting his mistress and painting me as the villain.

"What happens now?"

"We keep building the case. But I have to warn you—with lawyers like that, this won't be easy. They're going to attack your credibility, your mental state, anything they can use to create reasonable doubt."

I left the station feeling like I was drowning in quicksand, every struggle only pulling me deeper into a nightmare where truth meant nothing and money bought innocence.

---

I arrived home to find Iris Collins sitting at my kitchen table like she belonged there, her fingers adorned with sparkling diamonds I recognized from our jewelry store receipts. My jewelry store receipts, bought with my money.

"Hello, Selene," she purred, not bothering to stand. "Grady's in the shower. I thought we should have a little chat."

Rage boiled in my chest, but I kept my voice level. "Get out of my house."

"Actually, it's about to be my house." She held up her left hand, displaying a massive engagement ring that caught the afternoon light. "Grady proposed last night. Right after he heard about your pathetic attempt to frame me for murder."

The ring was my grandmother's—a family heirloom I'd shown him in our safe just months ago.

"You killed his parents," I said quietly.

"I gave them an adventure. Not my fault they were too old and weak to handle a few bees." Her smile was pure venom. "Besides, it all worked out perfectly. Grady sees you for what you really are now—a bitter, jealous woman who can't accept that she's lost."

She stood gracefully, smoothing her designer dress. "Oh, and there's one more thing you should know." Her hand moved to her still-flat stomach. "I'm pregnant. Grady's so excited about finally having a child with a real woman—someone who can actually give him what he needs."

The words were designed to destroy me, and they almost succeeded. Almost.

"Grady's infertile," I said calmly. "Has been since college. I've been covering for him for years."

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her perfect features. "You're lying."

"Medical records don't lie, Iris. But you wouldn't know that, would you? You're too busy playing house with a man who can't give you the one thing you're using to trap him."

Her composure cracked, just for a moment, but it was enough. I saw the fear beneath her mask—the terror of a woman whose house of lies was starting to crumble.

"We'll see about that," she hissed, pushing past me toward the door. "Grady loves me. He'll choose me over your bitter accusations every time."

As she left, I realized the war wasn't just beginning—it had been raging all along. I'd just finally learned to fight back.