Havencrest — Sunday, 15th October 2015 | 5:00 PM

  In a quiet neighborhood of the bustling city of Eaverstead, a private detective sat at his desk, staring bnkly at the empty, utterly silent office. His fingers drummed against the edge of his wooden chair as he sipped his lukewarm coffee.

  Inside, the air was stale, carrying the constant ticking of the clock, each tick adding to his discomfort, leading him to shift his legs—first crossing one over the other, then the other over the first.

  He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Babysitting toddlers, walking dogs… I lowered my standards, yet barely anyone walks through that damn door.” His voice cut off as his head slumped to the desk with a soft thud, but the lingering chill of the wood seeped into his skin, snapping him upright. He walked to the small TV in the corner. Remote in hand, he flopped onto the sofa, and with a press, the screen came to life.

  News Reporter: “…Authorities are still searching for seven-year-old Emily Parker, who went missing from her local park two days ago. The young girl was st seen pying on the swings before her disappearance.”

  A small photo of Emily appeared in the screen’s corner—a smiling child with sparkling eyes, holding a stuffed bear. Clearing her throat, the anchor continued, “Police urge anyone with information to come forward...”

  Johan’s grip on the remote tightened. His thumb twitched, flipping through the channels. Before he realized it, a sharp voice filled the office.

  News Anchor: “Yet another horrifying case of violence against women has shocked the city. This morning, a body was discovered in an alley. Her identity remains…”

  Johan gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he aggressively pressed the remote, nding on a wildlife documentary. The serene scenes of animals in their natural habitats contrasted with the grim reports he’d just heard. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Wildlife, huh? They seem more civilized.”

  Tap. Tap.

  A soft knock at the door broke his reverie. Johan gnced up as a tall, skinny man in his te thirties entered. In a polite, almost hesitant tone, he called, “Hello, anybody inside?”

  “Yes, come in,” Johan replied, his eyes lighting up as he scrambled to his feet, eager for action. He rushed to the guest, skimming him from head to toe: a long-sleeved Man United jersey and flip-flops. The sight made his initial hope fade instantly, but a client was better than an empty office. With a forced smile, he waved to a worn chair. “Please.”

  The man hesitated at the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides, and his eyes darted around the office, studying its state before his gaze fell on Johan. He lowered his head, stepped forward, and sat down on the chair. His hands trembled as he began, his voice low and barely audible. “I heard you do all sorts of jobs.” Johan nodded. The man took a deep breath, then cleared his throat and continued, “I think… my wife… is cheating on me. Can you…?” Shaking his head, he asked, “Is it legal?”

  Johan leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he bit his lip, grabbing a pen. “It’s legal as long as I don’t break any ws. I’ll do it, but I need more details.”

  The man nodded eagerly as he leaned in closer, a hint of hope in his lifeless eyes. “How much will it cost?”

  “50 a day.”

  The man blinked twice, thinking, Isn’t it around 50 an hour? Is he even competent?

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture, handing it over hesitantly, his fingers shaking. “My name’s David Walker. My wife’s name is Abigail. Abigail Foster. Here.”

  Johan took the photograph. A low whistle slipped out before he caught himself. “Apologies,” he blurted out, gncing at the client briefly, as his gaze fell on the picture once again.

  Abigail was strikingly beautiful, with blonde hair, green eyes, and a tender smile—the kind that made you feel seen, understood, and cared for. Johan’s mind wandered for a moment. Maybe he’s just paranoid.

  Johan then slipped the photo into his pocket, his eyes still on David. “Alright,” he said, grabbing a notebook and leaning forward. “Tell me everything.”

  Meanwhile, across the street, a young dy sat at a small table in a cozy restaurant, her fingers tracing the edge of her winegss as she waited for her date. The soft clinking of silverware and low murmurs filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of tagines and freshly baked bread. Her eyes flitted around the room, scanning the other diners. A couple sat nearby, their movements free and natural—leaning in, whispering, and sharing quiet ughter. Her fingers curled into a fist. “I can do that,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

  She gnced at her phone: 7:00 PM. Why am I always early? With a quiet sigh, she shifted in her chair and tried to distract herself by watching the waitstaff. Their movements were a coordinated dance, ptes, and trays bancing perfectly as they weaved between tables.

  “Evelyn? Evelyn Carter?”

  Startled, she turned toward the voice. A tall man stood by the table, his smile warm and confident.

  “Ye-yes,” she stammered, rising halfway from her seat. “Nathan?”

  “That’s me.” His voice was smooth, teasing, as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat.

  “You look… outstanding.”

  Evelyn replied with a faint smile. “Thank you. You too.”

  Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze held hers, and just as Evelyn gnced down to adjust her gss, he moved closer, whispering in her ear, “Your hair...”—his fingers gently caressing a strand—“it's soft.”

  A shiver ran down Evelyn’s spine. Her stomach tightened at the heat of his breath and the whisper-soft touch on her hair. Before she realized it, she was on her feet; the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Without another word, she stormed out of the restaurant, muttering curses under her breath about dating apps and the ever-growing list of disappointments they seemed to bring.

  Nathan, on the other end, smirked as he tilted his head, watching her leave. A woman who knows her pce. Interesting.

  The next day,

  Amber heights — Monday, 16th October 2015 | 9:00 AM

  Johan sat in his car, engine off, parked a few blocks from Abigail Foster’s house. The neighborhood was still, except for the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes locked on the front door.

  It swung open, revealing Abigail.

  She wore a red dress and carried a handbag as she strode forward, slipping into her red car with tinted windows.

  Johan started his engine and followed her, maintaining a safe distance.

  As they approached a café, Abigail parked and stepped out. She sat alone at an outdoor table, waving at the attendant. The server rushed to her order, smiling widely, excited for a chance to please her.

  “Your usual, Lady Abigail.” The server set the drink down. “If you ever need—”

  “Count on you. I know.” She cut him off, grinning, her voice lilting with amusement.

  The server’s smile faltered. He gave a quick nod and left, nearly bumping into a chair.

  Abigail rolled her eyes and continued sipping her drink, oblivious to the watchful eyes of Johan. He sat with his hands on the wheel, steadying his breathing as he pulled out his camera.

  She seems outgoing. No wonder he doubts her, but she doesn’t strike me as a cheater. Well, I’m not here to judge—just to observe, he thought.

  As time passed, his patience wore thin. That’s when he noticed him—a tall, athletic man, dressed in a sleek dark suit. He walked toward Abigail with a confident smile on his face. She stood to greet him, her expression brightening.

  They spoke in hushed voices, too soft for Johan to hear, but their body nguage told the story—the slight lean toward each other, the way his fingers skimmed over hers before she let him take her hand.

  Johan’s heart rate quickened. This could be it.

  Suddenly, the man leaned in and kissed Abigail on her lips.

  Click. Click. Click…

  Johan barely registered the pressure on his finger as he kept snapping, framing each shot with precision.

  The kiss lingered for a moment before the man, with a possessive grip, pulled her toward his car. She didn’t protest, didn’t look back once as he steered her toward the vehicle. She followed willingly, even eagerly. They got in, and the car sped off.

  Johan sat in his car for a long moment, smoking, staring at the spot where they had vanished from view. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  Mission accomplished, proof in hand.

  A smile tugged at his lips as he quickly checked the pictures, making sure he had clear shots. But as he did, his smile faded as his thoughts shifted to David—his tired eyes and how he spoke.

  Johan exhaled a thin stream of smoke, shaking his head. “Guess that’s one day’s worth.

  Then he reached for his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and sent David a message, short and to the point: “Meet me at my office.”

  Havencrest — Monday| 3:00 PM — Johan’s Office

  “So, it’s true.” David’s voice trembled as his wide eyes remained locked on the photo of his wife passionately kissing another man. The pictures slipped from his grip, scattering on the floor as he colpsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

  Johan crouched beside him, pcing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Be strong, David. I know it hurts, but—”

  “How much?” David said, interrupting, his voice cracking as he wiped his tears with his jersey.

  “Fifty dolrs.”

  David reached for his wallet and handed over the money. “Have you done this before? Cases like this?” he asked.

  “No. This is my first. Why?”

  David’s gaze fell to the floor, pausing for a long moment before responding. “I don’t know what to do next. I thought maybe… maybe you’d know what others have done. Something to help me figure it out.”

  Johan offered a small, encouraging smile. “I think the key is understanding.”

  “Understanding?” David’s brows furrowed as he gnced up at Johan, confusion and anger flickering in his tear-streaked face.

  Johan’s knees ached from crouching too long, and he finally colpsed to the ground, leaning against the nearby wall. Taking a deep breath, he said. “Yes. Confront her, but don’t let your emotions control you. If you’re not ready, wait. Try to understand her reasons. Proper closure can—”

  A hollow ugh cut Johan off, and David’s voice grew louder, his expression darkening. “Understand what? That she betrayed me? That I’m not enough of a man for her? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Johan lowered his gaze, his voice weak at first but rising steadily.. “It’s not about you. People are complicated. This doesn’t make you less of a man. Your wife is stunning,”—he gestured to her picture—“has a good job, and could easily support herself. But she stayed with you for fifteen years. She hasn’t asked for a divorce. That must mean som...”

  “Yet.” David said as his lips twisted into a bitter smile, before adding, “You said you are twenty-four, right?”

  Johan clicked his tongue in frustration as he rolled his eyes before snapping, “I’m not saying you should forgive her or take her back. I’m saying that understanding the situation—seeing it for what it is—will help you. You’ll stop bming yourself for things beyond your control. Your child needs you to be strong, not a broken, pitiful man. You did nothing wrong.”

  David stood abruptly, wiping his face again with his sleeve. His lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’re still young. You don’t get it.” He said curtly, pocketing the photos. “Thanks.” Then walked out without looking back.

  Johan hurried to the door, calling after him, “If you ever need a drinking buddy, you know where to find me!”

  But there was no response.

  Havencrest — Wednesday, | 5:30 AM — Evelyn Carter’s Apartment

  The sharp ring of the phone echoed through the quiet bedroom, jolting Evelyn awake.

  She groaned as she stretched out her right arm blindly toward the nightstand, fumbling for the device.

  Once she held it, she pressed it to her ear, eyes still shut, “(yawning) Hello…?”

  Evelyn instantly sat up. “Another murder? Alright, I’m on my way. Send me the address.”

  Her brows furrowed as she ended the call. Tossing the phone aside, she swung her legs out of bed and got moving. She brushed her teeth while hurriedly pulling on her clothes, a button-up shirt, and a trench coat, then slid her feet into the sturdy boots, securing them by tapping the heels against the floor. Within minutes, she was out the door and into her car, the engine roaring to life.

  The early morning streets were quiet, but as she neared the scene, the wail of sirens grew louder.

  She pulled up near the alley, where a restless crowd had already formed.

  People craned their necks; some stood in hushed curiosity, others held up phones, filming, while a few tried to inch closer for a glimpse of the victim.

  Evelyn pushed her way through, muttering under her breath, “It’s six in the morning. Don’t you people sleep?”

  When she reached the perimeter, the officer in charge of the scene spotted her and stepped forward.

  “Detective Carter. Good mor—”

  “Brief me,” Evelyn cut him off curtly as she ducked under the tape and entered the alley.

  “The victim is a woman,” the officer said, his voice trembling. “Her face is… unrecognizable.”

  He swallowed hard before continuing, “We found an ID on her.”

  The officer hesitated, then exhaled sharply.

  “Abigail Foster. Age 37.”