Chapter 3

The second piece of evidence burned in my hand like a hot coal as I held up my phone. My back screamed in agony from the lashes, but I refused to show weakness. The ceremonial hall had fallen into a tense silence, broken only by the soft whisper of fabric as family members shifted uncomfortably.

"My second evidence," I announced, my voice steadier than I felt, "shows what Westin truly does during his supposed prayer sessions in the family chapel."

I pressed play on the video. The screen illuminated with security footage from the Spencer family's sacred chapel—the place where generations had sought spiritual guidance and communion with God.

The timestamp showed 2:17 AM, three weeks ago.

Westin entered the chapel alone, looking furtively over his shoulder before settling into a pew. He checked his watch repeatedly, as if waiting for someone.

"Where is this going?" Eleanor demanded, her voice sharp with irritation.

"Watch," I replied simply.

Two minutes later, another figure slipped into the chapel—a woman in a silk robe that clung to her curves. Azalea Moreno. Chase's wife. Westin's sister-in-law.

The family gasped collectively as the footage showed Westin pulling Azalea into his arms. Their kiss was hungry, desperate—nothing like the chaste prayers that were supposed to happen in this sacred space.

"This is... sacrilege," whispered an elderly aunt, her hand flying to her throat.

The footage continued, showing them entwined in the front pew, their bodies pressed together in passionate embrace. Westin's hands tangled in Azalea's hair as she whispered something in his ear that made him smile.

"Turn it off!" Azalea's voice cut through the hall like glass breaking.

I looked up to see her standing among the family members, her face ashen, mascara streaking down her cheeks.

"It's not what it looks like," she sobbed, her body trembling. "We were just talking. About Chase. About our grief."

"Is that what you call it?" I asked quietly, pausing the video on a frame where their lips were locked together.

"That's enough!" Westin stepped forward, his face contorted with rage and fear. "Carissa, you're having a mental breakdown. You've been obsessed with these conspiracy theories for months."

He turned to the family, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I think we should call Dr. Matthews. She needs professional help."

"I'm not crazy, Westin," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "And I've been documenting your lies for months."

Azalea collapsed into the nearest chair, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "It's not true," she kept repeating. "None of it is true."

James Spencer—Chase's father—stepped toward his daughter-in-law, his face darkening with suspicion. "Azalea," he said slowly, "is there something you need to tell us?"

Before she could answer, Eleanor's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Enough of this spectacle," she declared, raising the whip once more. "Adultery is regrettable, but hardly grounds for divorce in our family. If this is all you have, Carissa, I suggest you reconsider your position."

She stepped closer, her eyes cold as she examined my face. "These videos prove nothing beyond infidelity—common enough in marriages of our stature. If you cannot provide more substantial evidence of wrongdoing—crimes that truly damage our family honor and business—then I will be forced to increase your punishment."

The threat hung in the air between us. Behind Eleanor, Westin's expression shifted from fear to something like triumph. He thought I had nothing more.

"Is that all you have?" he asked softly, his voice carrying just enough sympathy to sound concerned rather than mocking.

I straightened my spine despite the fire racing across my back. "No, Westin. That's not all I have."

His smile faltered slightly.

"Continue," Eleanor commanded, the whip twitching in her hand like a living thing. "But know this—if your next evidence proves as insignificant as these videos, the punishment will double."

The hall fell silent again as I reached for my phone once more. My third piece of evidence would change everything—not just for me, but for the entire Spencer family.

"Prepare yourself," I said quietly, "for the truth about what really happened to Chase Spencer."