8
After reading Detective Shaw’s words, I pretended not to care and continued with my makeup transformation streams. Over time, I gradually shifted to product promotion, and the transformation videos became less frequent.
Then, two months later, I received a call from Detective Shaw. She was on maternity leave and, feeling bored, suggested we meet up for lunch.
We agreed to meet at The Magnolia Grill. After a few polite exchanges, we ordered, and Detective Shaw looked at me with a knowing smile. She said, “Jessica, did you know some people make threats or exaggerate to frighten others? Just like Ivan Carter used to.”
The sound of that name sent a cold shock through me, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, shivering as I crouched down. The memories of what he did flooded back, and I felt myself choking up. “Detective, why did you want to meet?” I whimpered. “Are you trying to flaunt your pregnancy because I lost my baby? Please… never mention that man’s name to me again.”
“Oh… Jessica, I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention,” she said, reaching out to help me up. I shoved her hand away and ran, ignoring her calling my name from behind.
I only began to calm down once I got into a taxi.
Truthfully, what Ivan did no longer haunted me. And losing the baby was a blessing in disguise. Someone as selfish as Steven never deserved my devotion as the mother of his child. Even without what Ivan did, I wouldn’t have kept that baby.
In front of Detective Shaw, I acted distressed to cover up the real truth: that I was the one who killed both Melanie Reed and Steven.
I had found out about Steven’s affairs early in my pregnancy. When I learned he’d bought Melanie a house, my hatred for him grew.
As his wife, I endured the pains of pregnancy, including intense nausea that forced me to quit my job as a makeup artist. Meanwhile, Steven kept me on a tight budget, giving me only three thousand a month–barely enough to cover check–ups and meals. Yet, he spent lavishly on his mistresses.
I tracked him several times and discovered Melanie wasn’t the only one. And while I didn’t originally plan to kill anyone, Melanie went too far by barging into our home, demanding I leave because Steven loved her.
6:25 PM d
<
I told Steven about her confrontation, but he just told me to keep quiet or he’d file for divorce.
At first, I thought about leaving him. But I reconsidered–what would I get out of a divorce? The house and car were his premarital assets, and I didn’t know the extent of his savings.
So, I plotted revenge. I disguised myself and scouted out Melanie’s apartment complex multiple times, mapping out every camera blind spot.
The plan was simple: kill Melanie and frame Steven, leaving the house and car for me to claim. I dressed up as Steven, padding myself with extra layers to appear stockier, and slipped on his jacket. I carefully avoided the cameras, letting only my silhouette show to confuse the police into thinking Steven had evaded the cameras.
9
The scalpel I used was one Steven had brought home from the hospital, and I was meticulous in staging the scene as a brutal assault. Wearing latex gloves, I left no trace.
It was a flawless plan. Melanie would be dead, and Steven would take the fall. But I hadn’t expected him to snap, nearly killing me in a fit of rage before the law could.
In self–defense, I acted first. That night, I spiked his drink with diazepam, then donned a dress like Melanie’s, applied makeup to resemble her, and slipped on gloves. When I saw that the living room curtain was open, I hurriedly closed it, then found Steven asleep on the couch.
Quietly, I sliced the major artery in his wrist with the scalpel. He awoke in shock, only to be met with what he thought was Melanie’s ghost, and he died terrified. I even pressed his hand onto the scalpel to leave his fingerprints, making the scene look like a suicide.
Afterward, I shredded the dress and flushed the pieces, erasing all evidence.
The plan was nearly perfect, if not for the open curtain and the misaligned camera across the street.
Even though Shaw and Callahan had their suspicions, my silicone prosthetic belly helped me pass their scrutiny. Initially, I had only used the fake belly as a reminder to Steven of the child I was supposedly carrying. Later, it served as the final piece in my flawless crime.
Without concrete evidence, they had no way to prove that the figure briefly seen in my living room was me. And Ivan Carter… he was all too easy to implicate.
From eavesdropping on calls between him and Steven, I knew he’d allowed Steven to sleep with his wife for favors, hoping Steven would help him get a house.
When I’d tracked Steven, I’d seen Ivan’s wife, and she looked strikingly like Melanie. I decided to use her as a pawn to cover the gaps in my
own plan.
When Ivan called about the USB, he’d originally suggested we meet at a restaurant. I offered to go to his place instead, knowing his wife worked long hours at a private firm on weekends.
I was confident his greed would drive him to scare me by admitting to Melanie and Steven’s murders. My hunch was right–he hoped that if I feared him, I’d be more likely to hand over money. He just hadn’t counted on me recording him.
When he opened the door with that gleam in his eye, it was because I’d offered to pick up the USB at his place, leading him to think I wanted more than the drive.
But his plans for me were far darker.
Ivan was rotten through and through. Years ago, he’d caused a fatal accident, killing a family of three, then fled, thinking he’d escaped undetected. Steven had witnessed the crash, which was why Ivan allowed his wife to sleep with him, hoping for silence.
That’s why I didn’t feel guilty using him as a scapegoat.
As for his wife, Grace Palmer, she wasn’t innocent either. After discovering she was infertile, she bought a child on the black market, only to learn the child had a severe eye condition. Instead of seeking medical help or putting the child in a care center, she abandoned the baby on a frigid winter night, leaving the child to die.
So, while I may be a killer, were they truly innocent?
The arrogant mistress. The embezzling husband. The hit–and–run offender. The child–abandoning monster.
If justice was late, who else would punish these people?
Two months later, I got another call from Detective Shaw, asking to meet at The Magnolia Grill. Her tone was friendly, as if she wanted nothing more than to chat.
But I had a feeling she’d uncovered something. Nervously, I booked a ticket online to stay with my parents for a while.
However, as I was about to go through security, I received a text from her:
“Jessica, you can’t leave until we complete our investigation. You need to come in for questioning.”
Heart sinking, I turned to see Detective Shaw, now visibly pregnant, walking toward me with Detective Callahan in tow.
In that moment, I realized there’s no such thing as the perfect crime–only a criminal’s delusion that they’ve committed one.
