The car ride was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional flick of Lance's turn signal.
I couldn't bring myself to speak.
My eyes were puffy, raw from crying, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Every time i blinked, i saw Luis's face, flashing from the last time i saw him alive, smiling and carefree, to the lifeless, blurred photo i glimpsed online.
He was really gone.
"Let me take you home," Lance had offered, no, insisted, after the agency meeting ended with nothing but silence and avoidance.
Everyone i thought would have my back had either turned theirs or disappeared entirely.
And now, I was the villain in a story i didn't even remember writing.
I had nodded.
Numbly.
Desperately.
Maybe because i wanted to believe someone still cared.
Maybe because i didn't trust myself to be alone.
But mostly because something in Lance's voice calm but certain, made me feel a little less like the world was closing in.
But that illusion shattered the moment we turned onto my street.
"There's… oh my god."
A crowd was gathered in front of my condo building.
A thick wall of people, some holding signs that said JUSTICE FOR LUIS, others holding phones, reporters speaking into microphones, their camera lights flashing like strobe lights at a crime scene.
I shrank back in my seat instinctively.
My nails dug into my palms.
"I can't… I can't go there."
Lance didn't hesitate.
He reversed, turned the wheel, and pulled into a quiet side street.
"You'll stay at my place tonight," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There's a spare room. You'll be safe there."
I wanted to protest.
I should have.
I barely knew him, he's a lawyer, a stranger, practically.
But my head was pounding, and my stomach had twisted into a tight, nauseating knot.
The thought of getting out of the car alone, walking past those cameras and microphones, being torn apart by people who didn't know me?
I couldn't.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
Lance's condo was the complete opposite of everything my life felt like right now.
Clean. Quiet. Private.
The second he unlocked the door, the scent of coffee and warm cedar greeted me. It didn't smell like a man's place. It smelled like a safe one.
He let me in first. "Spare room's down the hall, last door on the right. Bathroom's inside. Towels are in the cabinet."
I nodded but didn't move.
My knees were trembling.
My chest ached like someone had punched a hole through it.
"You okay?" he asked gently, like the answer wasn't already written all over my face.
I swallowed. "Do i look okay?"
"No," he admitted.
I let out a broken laugh. "At least you're honest."
He gave me a look, steady, unreadable but didn't say anything else. Just disappeared into the kitchen while i slowly made my way to the room he pointed to.
The door creaked softly as i pushed it open.
It was simple.
Neat. A queen-sized bed, dark gray sheets, no unnecessary furniture.
A window overlooking the city.
It should've felt cold, impersonal.
But right now, it was a blessing.
I sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, hands in my lap. And then… the tears returned.
Silently at first.
Then full-on sobs.
I buried my face in my hands.
"Luis…" I whispered, over and over. "Luis, I didn't… I don't even know what happened…"
I wanted to scream.
Break something.
Shake the world and beg it to stop spinning.
I wanted to go back to that night and drink water instead of tequila.
Leave earlier.
Drag him out of the party with me.
I wanted to know the truth.
I wanted to not be the girl people were already calling a killer.
A soft knock made me flinch.
"Yeah?" My voice cracked.
Lance stood at the door, holding a tray. "I made something. Thought you might need it."
I blinked at him, confused.
He walked in and placed the tray gently on the bedside table.
It had a steaming bowl of congee, a glass of water, and two slices of toast. Nothing fancy. But it made my throat tighten again.
"You didn't have to—"
"You haven't eaten."
"I don't think i can."
He didn't push.
Just nodded once and turned to leave.
But before he closed the door, he paused.
"I'm sorry about your friend."
My chest clenched.
"Thanks," I managed.
The door clicked shut.
I don't know how long i stared at the bowl before finally lifting the spoon.
The congee was warm.
Comforting.
The kind of food someone's mother would make when they were sick.
I ate slowly, the silence wrapping around me like a blanket i hadn't realized i needed.
When i finished, I slipped out of the room barefoot and wandered toward the living room.
Lance was there, seated on the couch, typing something on his laptop.
He looked up. "Feel better?"
I sat on the far end of the couch. "A little."
He closed the laptop. "I need to ask you something. It's important."
I nodded warily.
"Where were you the night Luis died?"
There it was.
The question again.
The one everyone wanted the answer to. And somehow, it felt even heavier coming from him.
"I told you, i was at the party," I said slowly, voice shaking. "But not for long. I didn't feel well… the drinks… I think someone spiked mine, or maybe i was just too tired. I left before midnight. I swear."
He didn't react.
Just watched me, unreadable again.
I bit my lip. "Do you think i did it?"
Silence.
Then, softly: "I'm not here to think. I'm here to help you figure out what happened."
"But do you believe me?"
That pause again.
The one that stretched out too long, too sharp.
"Even you?" I whispered again, my voice breaking. "Even you don't believe me?"
His brows furrowed. "Aurora—"
"Forget it." I stood abruptly, heat rushing to my face. "Everyone's made up their minds anyway. The actress who parties. The wild child. The scandal queen."
I turned away, blinking back fresh tears. "I didn't kill him."
"I know."
That stopped me in my tracks.
I turned, heart hammering.
"I know," he said again, standing too. "You didn't do it."
I stared at him. "Then why did you ask me like that?"
"Because everyone else will," he said simply. "And you need to be ready."
I swallowed hard.
Something in my chest tight and coiled, loosened just a little.
"Okay," I said, voice barely a whisper.
"I'll take your case."
I blinked. "But i haven't even—"
"You don't need to beg me," he interrupted. "I know what you're up against."
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
"Thank you," I whispered. "You're the only one who stayed."
He didn't reply.
But for the first time in days, I didn't feel alone.
And maybe…