Ten years after I died, they finally caught the bastard. Thirteen murders. One of them — me. The trial is livestreamed to millions. He sits there, rattling off crime after crime. Victim locations. Body dumps. Cold, mechanical, bored. Then he gets to number nine. Me. He stops. Looks straight into the camera. And smiles. “This one — oh, this one was the saddest little thing. And she deserved every second of it.” His grin stretches wider. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Bring me her family. Every last one. Or I take it all back — every confession, every location. Gone.” “Good luck finding the rest of those bodies without me.” The internet loses its mind. My name is everywhere — trending, screaming across the live chat. Strangers are already posting, trying to track down my family. And Lucas Crane — my Lucas — rips off his cap and grabs his phone like he wants to crush it. “Nora.” His voice is ice. “You’ve been partying overseas for ten goddamn years. What — you still can’t let it go? You hate them that much?” “Paying off a serial killer to put on a show? That’s a new low. Even for you.” … Ten years. The shy rookie I fell in love with is gone. Detective Captain Crane now. All sharp edges and authority. Even when he’s furious, it barely shows — just his voice going dangerously quiet. “Tomorrow is my wedding to Audrey. I put up with your bullshit for a decade, and you pull this? Now? Today?” “Nobody’s falling for it, Nora. Not anymore.” God. If I were still alive, I’d already be tripping over my own words to apologize. But I’m not alive. I haven’t been for ten years. I can’t answer him. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service—” He freezes. Pulls the phone away from his ear. Stares at it. Right. I’ve been “overseas” for ten years. The number’s been dead almost as long as I have. All that rage — nowhere to land. Like screaming into a void. He picks up his cap. Puts it back on. Sits down. Locks his jaw. Back to the mask. Someone in the chat finally connects the dots. “Wait — Nora Sinclair? THE Nora Sinclair? The architect prodigy? She vanished right after the bridge project launched!” “Holy shit. She didn’t vanish. She was KILLED.” “She was twenty-four years old.” The chat floods with grief. For me. And Lucas — unshakable, by-the-book Lucas — suddenly can’t sit still. He’s on his feet. Practically shouting at the camera. “Nora didn’t vanish. Her real identity got exposed. She was a fraud. She ditched everything and ran off to live her best life abroad.” “She nearly tanked the entire bridge project by walking away.” “If Audrey Sinclair hadn’t stepped up — poured ten years of her life into finishing it — that bridge would be rubble right now.” The second Audrey’s name leaves his mouth, something shifts in him. His whole face goes soft. He sounds like a kid bragging about his first crush. Breathless. Proud. Stupid with it. I’ve seen that face before. The first time he got his commendation — Medal of Valor, youngest officer in the precinct — he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. Pulled me forward like I was the real prize. “Everyone — this is Nora Sinclair. Ashford’s most brilliant architect. And my fiancée.” “Half this medal belongs to her.” He unclipped that bronze pin from his own chest and fastened it to mine. His hands were shaking. The whole room erupted. Wolf-whistles, cheers, someone banging on a table. And Lucas — face red as a fire truck — kissed me right there. In front of all of them. That was then. Same man. Different woman. Every medal since, every award, every proud moment — they all belong to her now. Audrey Sinclair. The real daughter. The one who replaced me in every way that mattered. That heart of his — the one so pure it made me cry — he gave it away. Whole. Unbroken. To her. And now, when someone says my name, all I see on his face is disgust. “Nora — even if you paid a murderer to say you’re dead, I won’t buy it.” “Show your face and end this. Or I’ll have you arrested.” He turns on the killer. Eyes like knives. “Where. Is. She.” Every cop in that room drops their gaze. Nobody dares meet his stare. But the killer? He just laughs. “Officer.” Slow. Amused. “I already told you. Thirty minutes. Bring me her family.” He lifts one finger toward the clock. Something cold and ancient in his eyes. “Ten minutes gone. I’d hurry if I were you.”
The chat goes dead silent — then erupts. Everyone’s rattled by the killer’s threat. Within minutes, the internet is plastered with posts trying to find my family. “Don’t let Nora fool you!” Lucas is on his feet. Voice calm. Controlled. Already building his case against me before anyone else can think. “Nora’s jealous. She’s trying to wreck my wedding to Audrey.” “I made Audrey a promise — swore it on that bridge. The day the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge opens, that’s the day I marry her.” “Nora timed this whole stunt to blow it all up.” He’s glaring at the screen like he wants to reach through it and shake me. I can practically hear what’s running through his head: Nora, you lived Audrey’s life for thirty years. What more do you want? “Lucas!” The courtroom doors slam open. Audrey staggers in, drenched head to toe from the storm. Lucas has his jacket off and around her shoulders before she takes two steps. “What are you doing here in this weather? I told you I’d come to you after work.” His voice is tight. Barely hiding the panic underneath. Like the thought of her suffering even a little bit is more than he can take. Then he turns to the camera. Hard. Cold. “Nora — you can see what you’ve done to Audrey. Are you satisfied now?” Audrey shakes her head, pale-faced, clutching his sleeve. “She has every right to resent me, Lucas. Please — don’t blame her.” She pulls out a folder, perfectly dry inside a rain cover, and holds it up to the camera. “Nora — if you’re upset about the bridge project, I’ll have the committee put your name back as lead architect at tomorrow’s ceremony.” “Just please stop making things harder for Lucas. He’s only doing his job to keep people safe.” Not a trace of anger in her voice. Not even close. Her eyes are actually glistening — on the edge of tears. Soaking wet. Trembling. The perfect picture of grace under fire. The chat flips instantly. “Nora is disgusting. Dragging the real daughter through this for her own ego.” “Must be nice living abroad. Rich enough to bribe a serial killer for attention.” But the bridge project? Audrey took it from me. The day she walked off with my blueprints, she didn’t even flinch. “Nora — you lived my life for over thirty years. Think of this as interest. Seems fair, don’t you think?” Just like that, the lead architect’s name on the internal system was changed to Audrey Sinclair. “Nora! Haven’t you done enough?” Lucas snaps the safety off his gun. Presses the barrel against the killer’s temple. His whole body is shaking with rage. “You like performing? Fine. Let’s keep the show going. Tell me — where is Nora’s body?” “Captain — stand down!” Officers scramble toward him, trying to wrestle the weapon away. The killer doesn’t even blink. He watches Lucas spiral — and laughs. “I’ve seen every face in that family photo of hers. Bring me all of them. Every single one. Or you get nothing.”
“What photo? What are you talking about?” Lucas looks completely lost. Obviously doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. He’s taken thousands of photos over the years — work events, award ceremonies, commendations. Why would he remember one unremarkable group shot? But that photo was my only family portrait. After Audrey was confirmed as the real Sinclair daughter, both families took one photo together. My adoptive parents and my birth parents — all smiles. All clustered around Audrey. Not one of them willing to stand within arm’s reach of me. But even that lopsided, heartbreaking picture — I kept it like treasure. Carried it with me for ten years. After I went back to my birth parents, they couldn’t even be bothered to smile at me. To be closer to Audrey, they gave up everything and moved to Ashford. Even when they came back to Bridgeport for the holidays — just one day a year — they’d sigh the entire drive, complaining about the three-hour detour. “If only there were a bridge connecting the two cities. Then we could see Audrey every day.” That one sentence. That’s all it took. I turned down an offer from a Fortune 500 firm overseas. Poured everything I had into getting the bridge project approved. The day it was greenlit, I walked out of the construction trailer I’d lived in for over two hundred days. Went home to tell my birth parents the good news — for the first time. I was so happy I didn’t notice the man following me. By the time I saw the knife in his hand — by the time I tried to run back inside — the front door had a new lock. A new code. My parents had changed it without telling me. I was locked out. I died on my own doorstep. That half-inch threshold felt like a mountain I couldn’t climb as I collapsed. “Oh, sweetheart — Mommy and Daddy are so sorry we’re late!” An elderly couple stumbles into the courtroom, wailing at the camera. “You’ve been overseas for ten years — do you really still resent us?” “Baby, just let it go.” I’ve heard that line a thousand times. Haven’t I let go enough? I let go of being the Sinclair heiress. Went home without a fight. I let go of my dream job overseas — threw myself into building that bridge. I let go of the blueprints I’d slaved over for months — handed the credit to Audrey without a word. And for Lucas, I let go of my life. What else is there left to let go of? Lucas slaps the table impatiently, glaring at the killer. “Talk. Now.” The killer glances at him with open contempt — then pounds the table so hard it shakes. “You’re trying to fool me with actors? Those aren’t her parents!” I freeze. Then laugh at myself. Ten years. I’ve forgotten what my own parents look like. I can’t even tell these are imposters. A vein pulses at Lucas’s temple. “Her birth parents are in Bridgeport! Her adoptive parents are in Ashford! The bridge doesn’t open until tomorrow and there’s a goddamn hurricane out there — how am I supposed to get them here?” The killer grins to himself. “Then thank you, Officer, for giving me a reason to recant.” “You’ve got six minutes.” The chat is furious on my behalf — calling Lucas heartless, cruel. Thousands of people across both cities start searching for my parents on their own. Lucas, terrified of the backlash spiraling further, has no choice. He calls in a police helicopter to fly both sets of parents in. “Thirty seconds left.” The killer props his feet up on the table, counting down with obvious pleasure. “Three…” “Two…” “One!” The courtroom doors burst open on the final second. Everyone exhales. But my birth parents and adoptive parents stroll in — unhurried, arm in arm. All four pairs of eyes go straight to Audrey. “Oh, baby girl — you came in the rain? Look at you, you’re soaked!” “Are you cold, sweetheart?” When someone mentions me, all they do is scoff. “Nora, dead? Please. She’s probably sunbathing on some beach abroad.” Lucas snaps. Grabs the killer by the collar. Roars in his face. “TALK!” The killer looks around the room — at all of them — and suddenly smiles. Quiet. Almost sad. “She really was pitiful…” The audience holds its breath. Then the killer lifts his head and finally says it: “Her body is inside the central pillar of the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge. Sealed in concrete.”
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