Ursula's POV
We'd gone to a party, and I'd had too much to drink. Everything after that blurred—the music, the laughter, and the spinning lights. Then, flashes I could never forget.
I remembered that night. I remembered stumbling into a quiet room upstairs, the taste of alcohol still burning on my tongue. Someone had followed me—a man I barely knew, his face shadowed by the dim light. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was on the bed with a stranger.
The next morning. I woke up with my head pounding hard and the man beside me was still asleep. I didn't even look at him properly—I just gathered my things and slipped out of the room before he woke.
I told myself it was just one night. A mistake I'd never repeat. But now, as the memories came flooding back, I realized how wrong I'd been to think it would ever stay buried.
I looked him over, my head spinning with thoughts. He was bluffing. He had to be. But the look in his eyes… he knew.
"Don't."
"Then give me the money," he said firmly. "Now."
"I can't," I whispered.
He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Fine. Have it your way."
He turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I stood there, frozen, listening to his footsteps thud down the stairs, followed by muffled voices from the living room.
I sank to the floor, my body trembling. I was well and truly trapped. Sally was gone, Gavin knew my secret, and I had nowhere to go.
I stayed there for a long time, the cold seeping into my bones, until a new resolve began to form in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I was staying here any longer. I refused to let them break my spirit. I just needed to get out.
But how?
I thought of Sally, of her bright smile and her infectious laugh. She would have known what to do. She would have told me to be strong, to fight back.
And then I remembered the article. The one about the Marcellus Corporation.
I just knew that it was the company Sally had been working on a campaign. She'd mentioned it a few times, said it was going to be huge. What if her death was connected to it? What if it wasn't a suicide after all?
The thought was terrifying, but it was also a spark of hope. If I could find out what happened to Sally, maybe I could find a way out of this mess. Maybe I could finally get the justice she deserved.
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and a heart heavy with grief. My eyes were swollen, my throat raw from crying through the night.
The house was quiet, which was a small mercy. Everyone was still asleep at this hour—Aunt Janice and her daughters never stirred before noon on weekends, and Gavin was probably snoring away after another night out.
I crept downstairs as I grabbed my worn jacket and bag, hoping to slip out without anyone noticing me.
I had to go to the funeral. That meant seeing the Whitmore family. And most of all, I was driven to find the truth.
By the time I arrived, the sky was gray and heavy, the air melled heavily of rain and those wilted lilies. The small chapel was crowded, filled with soft murmurs and the faint sound of someone sobbing in the back row.
I slipped into the corner quietly, my eyes falling on the white casket at the front. My chest tightened. Sally's face smiled at me from the framed photo beside it—bright, fearless, and beautiful.
Sally Whitmore had been the pride of her family, their only daughter. The Whitmores weren't wealthy—her father worked at a repair shop, and her mother took sewing jobs at home—but Sally had changed everything. Her modeling career had brought light and money into their modest lives. She'd been their hope, their laughter, and their miracle. And now she was gone, leaving behind nothing but tears and whispers of disbelief.
Eveline Whitmore sat in the front row, her shoulders trembling beneath a black shawl. Nicolas Whitmore kept his hand on her back, but his face was pale and looked totally worn out. I wanted to go to them, but my legs wouldn't move—not until the final prayer ended and people began to file out one by one.
When the last mourner left after the funeral, I finally gathered the courage to approach her. "Mrs. Whitmore…" My voice cracked as she turned toward me. Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, but still kind.
"Ursula," she whispered, her lips trembling. "You came." Her eyes glistened as she reached out and took my hands in hers. "She always talked about you, you know. Said you were more like a sister than a friend. Every time she came home, she'd tell us how you looked after her when things got tough. She adored you, dear—truly."
That broke me all over again. I knelt beside her, clutching her hands. "I still can't believe it. She wasn't the type to give up. She was strong and tough. She had plans and dreams—she was supposed to shine brighter than all of us."
Eveline's tears fell silently. "I keep asking myself what I missed," she said weakly. "If she ever tried to tell me something and I didn't listen. The police said there was a note, but… it doesn't sound like her, Ursula. It doesn't sound like my girl."
Her words made my heart twist painfully. "Can I… see it? The note?" I asked hesitantly.
She looked uncertain, then nodded slowly. "I can send you a copy later. Maybe you'll understand something I can't."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. As I glanced once more toward the casket, a chill ran through me. Sally wasn't someone who'd surrender to despair. No—something about this didn't fit. And whether it broke me or not, I knew I had to find out what really happened to her.
I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "Mrs. Whitmore," I began softly, "I know this might sound strange, but… would it be alright if I came by your house later? Maybe to see some of Sally's things?"
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't pull her hand away. "Her things?"
I nodded quickly, forcing a small, shaky smile. "Sally and I used to share everything—our plans, our little secrets. She told me once she kept a few important things in her room. I just… thought maybe I could find something to remember her by. Something that made her happy."
Eveline's expression softened, and she sighed deeply. "Of course, dear. I haven't touched anything yet. Her room's still the same as she left it."
She paused for a brief moment. "The police… they brought back some of her belongings from the hotel too," she added quietly. "Her phone, her purse, some clothes. They said they didn't find anything unusual, just… personal things."
Her voice broke on the last words, and she reached for a tissue, dabbing at her trembling lips. "They gave me everything in a small box. I couldn't even bring myself to open it. It's all sitting in her room."
A strange chill ran through me at her words. The police might not have found anything, but I knew Sally. If she'd been in trouble, if something had scared her—she would've left a sign, even a small one.
"Thank you," I said softly, forcing my tone to stay calm. "Maybe… when I come by tomorrow, I can help you sort through them. You shouldn't have to do it alone."
Eveline gave me a watery smile and nodded. "That would mean a lot, Ursula. Truly."
The truth was, I wasn't looking for keepsakes. I wanted answers. Sally's death didn't make sense, and something deep inside me refused to accept it as suicide. I'd known her better than anyone. She was full of life, ambitious, and careful with who she trusted.
I stood, brushing the damp hem of my skirt. Eveline gave my hand one last squeeze, unaware of the determination burning behind my grief.
As I turned to leave, my thoughts spun wildly. Her phone, her things—the last traces of Sally's life. Maybe somewhere in that box, there was a piece of the truth everyone else had missed.
If there was even a single clue hidden in her belongings, I was going to find it.
The next day, I went to the Whitmore house. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky still looked heavy, like it hadn't quite decided whether to weep again. Eveline greeted me at the door, her face was really pale and looked completely worn out. She led me to Sally's room quietly, as if afraid her daughter might still be there, asleep under the covers.
The moment I stepped inside, it felt like my chest just squeezed shut. Everything was still exactly how Sally had left it—the faint scent of her favorite lavender perfume lingered in the air, her makeup scattered across the vanity, a half-finished cup of tea on the bedside table. It felt wrong. Too alive for someone who was gone.
Eveline handed me a box. "These are the things the police returned from the hotel," she said softly. "Her phone, some jewelry, and a few personal items. I didn't have the heart to look through them."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as she left me alone.
I sat on the edge of Sally's bed and slowly went through the box. Lipsticks, receipts, a charm bracelet I'd given her last Christmas. Then, tucked beneath a pile of folded papers, I found a small leather-bound journal—the one she never went anywhere without. My heart pounded. She'd always been protective of it, said it was where she kept her "real thoughts," the ones no one else could see.
Beside it was her phone. The screen was cracked, the battery nearly dead, but it still worked. I hesitated, staring at it for a long time. Then I typed in the password she'd once teased me with—my birthday. The phone unlocked instantly.
A shaky breath escaped me. I opened her notes app, and there it was—a recent entry marked with a date that made my skin crawl. The same night we went to that party. The night I'd made that one stupid, reckless mistake.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
The words blurred for a second before they came into focus:
"Something happened tonight. Ursula left with him. I could've stopped her, but… I didn't. The boss said not to interfere. He said it would 'work out' on its own. I don't know what that means, but I can't stop worrying that I made a terrible mistake. She must think I'm the one to blame for it. Maybe she'll hate me for good."
I froze. My stomach twisted painfully as the words sank in.
Sally knew. She had written about that night—the night I woke up next to a stranger whose face I could barely remember.
My breath caught in my throat, and I I was totally stuck and couldn't move for a second. My best friend had been there… and she'd said nothing.
And whatever she had seen… it had terrified her enough to write it down.
A little nervous feeling hit me as I flipped it over. My pulse was thumping so hard I could hear it. There, scrawled at the bottom in shaky handwriting, was a final line that made my blood run cold.
"He said she'd forget by morning."
The room seemed to tilt around me. My vision blurred. And for the first time, I realized—Sally hadn't just known. She'd been part of something I was never meant to remember.