Thirteen

Cassandra stepped out of Jessica’s house, carefully closing the door to avoid making any noise. The morning was quiet, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind accompanying her steps toward her car.

Once she reached the driver’s seat, she opened the door, sat down, and took a deep breath as if trying to calm her mind before diving into a challenging day. Her eyes were still half-asleep when she accidentally glanced at the second-floor balcony of Jessica’s house. There, Jessica stood, wearing her burgundy kimono, accompanied by a man with an athletic build. He wore a black shirt and ripped jeans, his hair tousled but styled to look that way.

From inside her car, Cassandra could see them kissing—long and intense, as if they didn’t care about the world around them. The man cupped Jessica’s face with both hands, and Jessica laughed softly between kisses, her trademark mischievous smile returning to her face. They looked like a couple caught in temporary happiness, which Cassandra knew would only last briefly.

Cassandra looked away, giving her friend some privacy, though her heart sank seeing Jessica involved in yet another directionless relationship. She knew Jessica hid sadness behind her cheerful facade and these empty relationships—men who came and went, none of whom stayed long.

But Cassandra didn’t want to interfere further. This was Jessica’s world, and Cassandra could only hope her friend would someday find someone who truly saw her. When Cassandra looked back at the balcony, the man had stepped back, smiling at Jessica as he put on his leather jacket. Jessica waved casually, and the man descended the stairs and exited through the front gate.

Cassandra started her car’s engine, but before she could drive off, the man from the balcony walked to the sidewalk, heading toward a black sedan parked not far from Cassandra’s car. Their eyes met briefly—silently observing each other. The man gave a faint smile, his gaze calm yet full of curiosity, as if he was trying to read who Cassandra was. His gray eyes seemed to hold secrets, but Cassandra offered no response. She just stared back with a neutral expression, resisting the urge to dwell on the brief interaction. The man eventually shrugged casually and continued toward his car.

Cassandra watched as he opened the door and calmly entered the black sedan. The engine hummed as he drove away, leaving the street silent once more.

Cassandra remained still, staring blankly at the man’s car as it moved farther away. For a moment, she felt something odd about him—she wasn’t sure what, but her instincts as a detective told her this encounter was no coincidence. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath, trying to dismiss the strange feeling.

However, the curiosity lingered in her mind. Cassandra had seen the man park his car not far from hers, and they’d exchanged glances before he finally left.

Cassandra held the wheel, but with some concern about Jessica’s life as a hostess and the owner of the Sun Bright Club. She knew her friend was strong, accustomed to living in the shadows of the nightlife world filled with deception and empty relationships.

The sound of the black sedan’s engine had faded. The street in front of Jessica’s house returned to silence, accompanied only by the morning breeze rustling through the branches. Cassandra knew that thinking about Jessica’s life wouldn’t help. After a deep breath, she started her car again. The smooth sound of the engine seemed to strengthen her resolve to carry on with her day.

Skillfully, she shifted the gear and headed toward downtown, where her work awaited—at the police station.

The streets were still quiet that morning, giving Cassandra a brief moment to enjoy the peace before the day became truly busy. But as she approached the police station building, a bad feeling began to gnaw at her.

From afar, she could see a crowd of reporters gathered at the entrance. The flash of cameras and microphones scattered in the air indicated that something had happened.

Cassandra frowned deeply. "What’s going on here?" she muttered, steering toward the side parking lot to get a clearer view of the situation without getting trapped in the crowd.

She turned off the engine and stepped out of her car, her curiosity growing.

But as soon as her feet touched the asphalt, several reporters noticed her and reacted as if they had found prey. "Cassandra! Cassandra Baker!" one of them shouted, thrusting a microphone in her direction. Like a flock of birds smelling blood, the other reporters quickly gathered around her.

Several reporters pushed their microphones closer, racing to ask questions. One of them shouted among the crowd, "What’s your response to Cale Callaghan’s death? Is it true he committed suicide?"

The words hit Cassandra like a slap to the face. Cale Callaghan? Dead? she thought.

Her throat tightened, but she kept her expression neutral to avoid showing any emotion in public. The reporters continued their relentless questions, as if waiting for her to make the slightest mistake.

"Is his death related to the Foster case?"

"Will this affect the Antonio Franches investigation?"

"Are you going to step back from the case?"

Cassandra felt heat rising in her neck. This was more than just bad news. Cale’s death, a suspect in the embezzlement case she was investigating, was not only a personal blow—it had the potential to shake up the entire plan she had meticulously crafted.

Without wasting time, Cassandra quickly pushed through the crowd of reporters. She brushed aside the microphones blocking her way, quickening her steps toward the station’s entrance.

The reporters, unsatisfied with her silent responses, continued shouting questions behind her, but Cassandra ignored them. When the station door finally closed behind her, she took a deep breath, trying to refocus.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Her fellow officers whispered to each other, their gazes fixed on the bulletin board displaying the latest news about Cale Callaghan’s case. Cassandra walked briskly toward the investigators’ desk, hoping to find answers amidst the chaos.

At the end of the hallway, Alexander—her partner—was already waiting for her. The tall man with perpetually messy black hair wore a wrinkled shirt and a loosely fastened tie. His expression showed that something terrible had indeed happened.

"Alex, what exactly happened?" Cassandra asked urgently, her voice slightly trembling from the frustration she held back.

Alexander looked at her with a sharp gaze, then glanced left and right, ensuring no one else was listening. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, and shook his head slowly.

"Cale is gone, Cass," Alex said in a low, heavy voice.

Cassandra’s world felt like it was shaking. All the information, strategies, and her hopes of linking Cale to Antonio Franches crumbled just like that. Her gaze met Alexander’s, and in that look, Cassandra knew this situation would be far more complicated than she had anticipated.