CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The baron shipped from Arta’s fingers, clattering against the podium. The orchestra fell silent, sixty pairs of eyes fixed on her trembling bands
“Tale tive,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
Michael Chen set his violin down, concem etched on his face. “Aria —
“I said take five!” The words exploded from her, echoing through the concert hall
She stumbled off the podium, her designer heels catching on the steps. The emergency exit sign blazed like an accusation as she pushed through the doors into the backhallway.
The bathroom mirror showed a stranger–mascarasmeated, lipstick bleeding at the corners. Marcus’s voice echoed in her head: “You’ll never perform again ‘
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The cool porcelain sink pressed against her palms as she leaned forward, trying to breathe. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a discordant him that matched the chaos in her mind
“Get it together,” she whispered to her reflection “past get through the performance.”
A soft knock at the door. “Ms. Martinelli? Tom’s worried voice. “The orchestra’s waiting
She reapplied her lipstick with mechanical precision, muscle memory taking over where control failed. Two minutes.
Back on the podium, she raised her baton. The orchestra watched, waiting In the third row, an empty chair–Sofia’s old spot.
“From the beginning,” she said, her volice steady now Professional Perfect
music swelled, but all she could hear was breaking glass, the wind rushing past as Marcus fell-
The music
The baton clattered again. This time, she didn’t stop to pick it up
Across town, David sat in Detective Killian’s office, staring at photos spread across the desk. Surveillance shots of Aria–entering hotels, leaving rehearsals, always looking over her shoulder.
“She’s unraveling,” Killian said, his voice cold as winter. He tapped one photo showing Aria arguing with someone outside the concert hall, her face contorted in rage “Three separate witnesses reported similar incidents this week”
David ran a hand through his disheveled hair. When had it gotten so long? Sofia used to tease him about cutting it
Sofia. Everything led back to her
“The symphony debut needs to be stopped,” Killun continued. “It’s our best chance to
“To what?” David’s laugh was bitter “Arrest her? Then what? My father’s dead, Sosa’s dead, and “His voice cracked, “I started all of this.”
Killian’s expression didn’t change. “Your guilt isn’t helpful, Mr. Holloway, We need action.”
David stood, pacing the small office. Citations and commendations lined the walls, each frame perfectly aligned. Everything in its place, just like Killian himself, “She’ll run if we stop the performance,” David said. “You don’t know her like 1 do. Music is all she has left.”
“Exactly.” Killian’s smile was razor–thin. “Which is why she’ll break when we take it away.”
In a rundown hotel on the outskirts of town, Aria set up her laptop on a stained desk. The room smelled of old cigarettes and desperation–fitting, she thought She’d switched hotels three times this week The walls of her apartment felt too familiar, too full of memories, Here, she was nobody. Just another guest passing through
The laptop’s camera light blanked red. Recording.
“My name is Aria Martinelli,” she began, then stopped. Deleted. Started again.
“Filled Marcus Holloway.” The words hung in the stale air. “And Sofia Romanov. This is my confession.
Her hands were steady now as she spoke, detailing everything. The atlair with Marcus, Sofia’s death, the carefully orchestrated destruction of the Holloway family. “David,” she said, loolung directly into the camera. “I want you to know why. Your father-“Her voice caught “He killed my mother. Twenty years ago, in his
Hire The sanie office where…”
the brushed away tears, searing her mascara again. “I thought I was executing justice. Now I’m not sure what this is anymore.”
The air conditioner cattled, a mechanical death rattle that matched the hollow feeling in her chest,
“The symphony debuts in the days. It’s my requiem for Sofia, for Marcus, for the person I used to be. After that Well, you’re a smart man, David. You’ll figure it out.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
She ended the recording, saving it to an encrypted drive. Then she opened her score sheets, losing herself in the familiar patterns of notes and measures. Back in Killian’s office, David studied a timeline the detective had constructed, Red string connected photos, reports, witness statements
Aria at itscenter.
Suddenly David’s phone buzzed–a message from Michael Chen: “Something’s wrong with Aria. She needs help.
“She’s breaking down, David said, showing Killian the message. “If we stop the symphony now—
a web of evidence with
“She’ll become unpredictable.” Killian straightened a photo that had gone slightly askew. “Better to wait, let her think she’s won. The performance is her endgame.”
David thought of Aris at their
i engagement party, radiant in white. He should have seen it then the calculation behind her smile, the way she watched everyone like they were pieces on a chess board
CHAFTER EIGHTEN
“What about the other witnesses?” he asked. “The ones who saw her arguing?
“Stage hands, mostly. One patron who found her crying in
in the women’s bathroom.” Killian’s tone was clinical, detached. “She’s losing control. Finally ”
David’s hands clenched. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t-
“Your affair didn’t make her kill two p
people.” Killian’s voice had an edge now. “Stop martyring yourself and help me end this
In her hotel room, Aria played the confession video again. The woman on screen was a stranger–hollow–eyed, voice trembling. Weak
She deleted the video.
Her phone lit up with messages: Michael, Caroline, the board members. All concerned, all wanting answers.
She turned the phone off and opened her laptop again. The camera light blinked red.
“My name is Aria Martinelli,” she began again, stronger this time. “And this is my confession.”
Take two. Like rehearsals. Again and again until it was perfect.
The air conditioner rattled on, harmonizing with the sound of her unraveling.
Three days until the symphony. Three days to get it right.
David left Killian’s office as sunset painted the city gold. The detective’s last words followed him: “Sometimes justice means letting people destroy themselves.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
