CHAPTER 42: TWELVE STABS, ONE LIE

(Evelina’s POV—Interrogation Room, Continuation)

"How do you know," I whispered, "that Kael Valtore was stabbed exactly twelve times, because according to my source, no reports have come about how many times Kael Valtore was stabbed?"

Rhea stiffened.

Hale blinked.

Just for a fraction of a second—but that alone was enough to shatter the illusion of confidence he had been clinging to.

I let the silence hang there, wrapping around their throats like a silk noose.

Then I leaned forward, elbows resting on the metal table, chains clinking softly.

"Tell me, Detective," I murmured, my tone dipped in icy mockery.

"Did a passerby perform a quick forensic analysis while Kael dramatically bled on the pavement?" I tilted my head. "Did someone tally the wounds as he was being rushed into the hospital like a discount martyr?"

Rhea swallowed.

Hale stared.

I continued, letting each word strike like a well-aimed blade.

"Because... here’s the interesting part." I smiled, slow and wicked. "I also found out the police didn’t even visit the hospital for a statement."

Silence.

Delicious, damning silence.

Detective Hale’s eyelid twitched—barely—but enough to expose the rot beneath his professional mask.

Rhea’s grip tightened on the stack of papers until the edges crumpled under her fingers.

I let my smile stretch wider.

Slowly.

Elegantly.

Predatorily.

"Oh my," I whispered, tilting my head as if studying an art piece I wasn’t quite impressed with."Did I say something... troublesome?"

Hale cleared his throat, scrambling to gather the pieces of his crumbling composure. "W-We have our sources. You don’t need to—"

I cut him off with a razor-edge of a voice.

"No official or unofficial report mentions twelve stab wounds." I leaned back, crossing my legs."So unless you’re psychic... or deeply involved... you shouldn’t know that number."

Hale’s lips parted—no words came out.

Rhea’s gaze flickered once, just once, to the CCTV camera mounted in the corner.

Ah.

There it was.

A beautifully fatal mistake.

I smirked, amusement curling warm in my chest.

Kael Valtore may be the male lead of whatever twisted novel he thinks he’s in... but he is not the strongest piece on this board.

And these two fools forgot something crucial: There are more eyes watching this interrogation room than just theirs. Higher officers. Supervisors. Internal Affairs. All observing through the CCTV feed.

Exactly as I wanted them to.

Hale suddenly straightened, trying to regain control of the narrative.

"We are here to interrogate you, Miss Hartgrave," he snapped, voice shaking just slightly. "Answer the question. Do you have any evidence that claims you were the one attacked?"

Evidence?How cute.

Before I could respond, Rhea seized the moment and threw down several photographs onto the table—my past splattered in glossy prints.

"Your history speaks for itself," she sneered. "You assaulted multiple elite socialites. Slapped influential women at public events. Struck one across the face during a gala. And—"

She slammed another set of pictures down.

"You killed twelve people at Theo Vinter’s casino party."

She leaned closer, eyes gleaming with false triumph.

"Tell us, Miss Hartgrave..." her voice dropped, sharp as a dagger. "How did you know those twelve people were assassins sent to kill him?"

Ah.

So that’s their angle.

Using the casino incident against me. Weaponizing my past. Trying to paint me into a corner.

I let the question settle in the air like smoke. Then slowly—deliberately—I smiled.

A smile that promised blood.

"Officer," I said softly, "what is your main job as a cop?"

Hale furrowed his brow. "That’s not what we’re—"

"Just answer the question," I cut in smoothly. "You will get your answer afterward."

They exchanged a look—brief, reluctant, and irritated. Finally Rhea muttered, "A cop must be ready at all times. Prepared to handle any complicated situation."

I smirked. "Exactly."

Their confusion was delicious. I leaned forward, voice lowering to an elegant razor.

"As you know, I have many enemies... political enemies, business enemies, personal enemies."

I tilted my head.

"You dug through my past, didn’t you? Surely you found that I’ve been followed, threatened, stalked... repeatedly."

Hale stiffened.

"I learned early," I continued, "that people want someone dead more often than they want to shake hands. So yes—"

I shrugged lightly, chains chiming against the table.

"I trained. I practiced firearms. I attended a seven-day tactical academy. Self-defense, threat assessment, situational analysis."

I met their eyes one by one.

"You should have found all that in your investigation. Unless, of course... you weren’t actually investigating."

Rhea’s throat bobbed.

I continued before they could recover.

"So when twelve men walked toward Theo Vinter that night—armed, coordinated, and moving like a unit—I recognized it instantly."

I tapped the table.

"One. Their weapons were concealed, but their posture wasn’t. Two. Their spacing was too perfect for civilians. Three. Their attack pattern was textbook assassin-level training."

I leaned back, letting the silence tighten around them.

"Or," I added sweetly, "did you think the universe randomly assigned some twelve dance partners with matching choreography?"

Rhea’s mouth opened—surely to spit something stupid—but I didn’t give her the chance.

"And before you ask," I said lightly, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve, "no, I did not kill them."

I smiled.

"I defended myself. They died because they were unskilled."

Rhea slammed the table again, frustration cracking through her mask. "You expect us to believe—"

"Believe?" I repeated, amusement dripping from every syllable. "My dear officer, belief is for religion. You’re supposed to rely on evidence."

Her expression faltered.

I tilted my head.

"And speaking of evidence...you must have investigated Theo Vinter’s casino party too, am I right?"

Hale froze. Rhea’s eyes flickered—too fast, too revealing.

Got them.

I smiled wider.

"If you dug into that night," I said softly, "then you already know something you’re trying very hard not to say."

I let the words drop like stones into still water.

"Those men weren’t at the casino by accident. They weren’t common criminals. And they weren’t after me."

I leaned in, gaze slicing through them.

"They were sent for Theo."

A beat.

A breath.

The CCTV camera hummed faintly above us, its red light blinking—almost amused—as it quietly recorded their unraveling.

And then—SLAM!!

Rhea slammed her palms onto the table so hard the metal screeched. Her control—already thin—finally snapped.

"Let’s say," she spat, eyes blazing, "let’s just say those men really were assassins sent to kill Theo Vinter. Fine."

She leaned in, inches from my face, breath shaking with anger.

"But it doesn’t change the fact that you tried to kill Kael Valtore. That man is in the hospital fighting for his life!"

Her voice cracked, too forceful, too emotional to be professional.

"If you confess now, it will help you in court. This is your only chance, Miss Hartgrave."

I stared at her.

Then—I laughed. Softly. Elegantly. A cruel, cultured sound that did not belong in a filthy room like this.

"Officer," I murmured, smirking as her rage trembled, "that won’t be necessary."

Rhea blinked. Hale stiffened.

"And why," Hale asked tightly, "is that?"

I tilted my head, letting the chains slide against my wrists like jewelry.

"Because..." I paused, savoring their tension. "I won’t be going to court."

Both detectives froze—shock cutting through their righteous façade.

"What the hell does that mean—?" Rhea snapped.

But she never finished.

SLAM!!!

The interrogation room door burst open so violently the frame shook. A young officer stumbled inside, breathless, pale, and with eyes wide with panic.

"Officer Rhea! Officer Hale!" His voice cracked with urgency. "You need to come out—now. Something... something has happened!"

Rhea’s glare faltered.Hale shot to his feet.

"What happened?" Hale demanded.

But the young officer only shook his head, swallowing hard. "You... you have to see it yourself."

A charged silence followed.

Rhea looked at me—hesitant, conflicted, uneasy.

Hale looked at the CCTV camera—a sweat bead forming at his temple.

And I?

I simply smiled.

Slowly.

Elegantly.

Like a wolf baring its teeth after cornering wounded prey.

Oh yes.Here it comes.

My trump card.

The one they never saw. The one Kael never calculated. The one that would flip this entire farce on its head.

I leaned back as they hesitated in the doorway, my voice a soft whisper that curled around them like smoke.

"Officers... I suggest you hurry. You wouldn’t want to miss the opening act."

Their eyes widened.

My smirk deepened.

Checkmate had officially begun.