I did not wait for Amanda to finish her sentence before shaking my head.
"No," I said quietly but firmly. "You can't come with me."
She frowned immediately. "Jade,"
"They already know your face," I cut in, my voice low, strained, but resolute. "If anyone sees you near the estate again, they'll shut every door permanently. I need you far away from this. Please."
Amanda studied me for a long moment, her eyes filled with worry, then she exhaled slowly. "You're walking straight into a lion's den."
"I know," I swallowed hard. "But Damian is already inside the cage. I can't stand outside doing nothing."
She resisted for a while, but eventually, reluctantly, she agreed. I insisted she stayed off the estate and kept communication minimal. If anything went wrong, I would reach out. Until then, she had to trust me.
That was how I found myself alone.
Completely alone.
As I moved through the estate afterward, the atmosphere felt different. Heavy. Oppressive. The kind of silence that pressed against my ears until it felt unbearable. Curtains shifted and then froze. Conversations died the moment I passed. Doors that once opened politely now stayed firmly shut.
People knew.
They might not have known the full truth, but they knew enough to be afraid.
I walked slowly, scanning faces, security guards, gardeners, maids. No one met my gaze. Some pretended to be busy. Others simply turned away.
I felt like a ghost wandering through a place that had already buried my husband.
By nightfall, desperation pushed me into recklessness.
Susan's house.
The mansion stood dark against the night sky, its windows like unblinking eyes watching my every move. I stood by the fence for a long time, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, but I ignored it.
If there was any proof left, anything at all, it would be inside that house.
I waited until the estate lights dimmed further, then slipped around the side, keeping close to the hedges. My movements were slow, deliberate. Every crunch of gravel sounded like a gunshot in my ears.
I reached the back door.
Unlocked.
My breath caught.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of polish and something older, stale memories, secrets that refused to fade. I stepped in, barely breathing, the darkness swallowing me whole. My fingers grazed furniture I dared not touch as I moved deeper inside.
I had barely taken three steps toward the staircase when a beam of light swept across the floor.
"Who's there?"
My heart slammed painfully.
Security.
I froze, then instinct took over. I ducked behind the couch just as footsteps approached. Voices murmured. A torch flashed again, closer this time.
"There was movement," one of them said.
I didn't wait to hear more.
I ran.
Out the back door. Through the garden. Thorns clawed at my clothes, scratched my skin, but I didn't stop. I ran until my lungs burned and the house disappeared behind me.
I didn't look back.
When I finally slowed, leaning against a tree, my hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Nothing.
I had risked everything, and gotten nothing.
The following morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, but I forced myself back into the estate. If the house held no answers, then people might.
I started with the workers.
The guards avoided me completely. Drivers gave vague replies and empty excuses. Some claimed they remembered nothing. Others said they hadn't been on duty that night.
Lie after lie after lie.
By the time I reached the garden, the same garden where the party had taken place, hope was barely holding on.
A woman was cleaning fallen leaves near the hedges. A middle-aged cleaner. I approached slowly, careful not to startle her.
"Excuse me," I said softly.
She barely glanced up. "I don't know anything," she muttered, already moving away.
"Please," I said, my voice cracking despite myself. "Just… just listen to me."
She paused but didn't turn around.
"My husband is in prison for a crime he didn't commit," I continued. "Every door I knock on gets slammed in my face. If you were in my shoes… if it were your family…"
Silence stretched between us.
She sighed and finally faced me. "I can't help you," she said quietly. "People who talk don't last long here."
I nodded, my eyes burning. "I understand. Truly. Even a little information would help. Just something I might not have noticed."
She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "There's a car," she said. "Parked near the far end. Been there for months. Nobody drives it."
My heart skipped. "A car?"
"Yes. It was there even before the party. I always wondered why it never moved." She hesitated again. "Some of those cars have cameras."
Dashcam.
Hope surged through me like electricity.
"Thank you," I whispered. "You've done more than you know."
She didn't respond. She simply turned back to her work.
Finding the car wasn't difficult. Finding its owner was.
The vehicle was dusty, abandoned, its tires slightly deflated. I memorized the plate number and immediately sent it to Pepe.
Within an hour, Pepe replied with an identity.
It took me most of the afternoon to locate the man. When I finally did, he looked surprised,and confused.
"That car?" he said. "It hasn't worked in months."
"Does it have a dashcam?" I asked.
"Yes, but,"
"I need it," I said quickly. "Please."
He hesitated. "The battery might be dead. It's been parked there for almost six months."
"I'll take my chances."
Eventually, he agreed.
I took the dashcam home, my hands trembling as I connected it to my laptop. Hours passed as I sifted through footage, empty days, static views, dull recordings of nothing.
Hope began to crumble again.
Then I reached the night of the party.
My breath caught.
The camera captured the garden clearly. Guests laughed. Music drifted faintly in the background. And then—
Damian.
My chest tightened painfully as I watched him step into frame with another woman. The way they moved together. The way his hand rested on her waist.
My vision blurred.
They disappeared into a darker corner of the garden. The camera angle shifted slightly, catching fragments of them, kissing, hands tangled, bodies pressed far too close.
Betrayal hit me like a slap.
I paused the video, closing my eyes as tears slipped free. Anger surged. Hurt. Disbelief.
But I forced myself to breathe.
This wasn't about my pain.
It was about saving him.
I resumed the video.
Moments passed. Then suddenly, the screen went black.
The recording stopped.
Battery dead.
My heart sank.
It showed them going in. It showed the affair. But it didn't show them coming out.
Still… it was something.
Something that placed Damian elsewhere.
That night, I sent the footage to Amanda.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
And I had no idea how cruel fate was about to be.