Chapter 5
We found Ethan in the honeymoon suite, crouched beside the bed. He'd moved the mattress — dragged it a full foot to the left — and was staring at something on the floor beneath it.
A knife.
A chef's knife from the villa's kitchen, the blade smeared with dried, rust-colored blood.
"Found your murder weapon," Ethan said, standing. His eyes moved across us. "Hidden under the mattress. Not exactly the work of a professional."
My hand flew to my mouth.
"Whoever did this," Ethan continued, "didn't plan it. This wasn't premeditated. The weapon came from the kitchen — grabbed in the moment. The kill was fast, brutal, and the cleanup was rushed." He turned to face us directly. "This was someone who panicked."
"Or someone who was drunk," Grace said carefully.
"Or both." Ethan pulled on a latex glove from his jacket — he apparently carried them — and lifted the knife by its handle. "The grip angle, the entry wound... the person who stabbed Ryan was standing at the left side of the bed. They drove the blade downward and slightly inward." He demonstrated the motion with an empty hand. "That's consistent with a left-handed attacker."
Something cold crawled up my spine.
I was left-handed.
Everyone in this room knew that.
"Don't," Harper said sharply — not to Ethan, but to me. Her eyes were fierce. "Don't you dare think what I know you're thinking."
But the horror was already blooming in my chest. The blood under my nails. The blackout. The locked bathroom door — as if someone had put me in there. Hidden me. Protected me from the scene.
"I need to fingerprint this knife," Ethan said. "I don't have a kit, but I have graphite powder and tape in my emergency supplies on the boat. Nobody touches anything until I get back."
He set the knife on the dresser and headed for the door, but Mara blocked his path.
"Commander Cole." Her voice was measured, professional. "You're not a homicide detective. You're Coast Guard. Search and rescue, maritime law — that's your jurisdiction. A murder investigation on private property isn't."
Ethan looked at her calmly. "You're right. It's not." He paused. "But there's a dead man, five suspects, and no one else coming until this storm breaks. So unless one of you wants to confess right now and make this easy, I'm the closest thing to justice this island has."
Mara didn't move.
"Step aside," Ethan said quietly.
After a long moment, she did.
Once he was gone, I grabbed Nadia by the arm. "You were about to tell me something. About Ryan. What things don't I know?"
Nadia's face crumpled — not with grief, but with something that looked almost like guilt. "Lily, this isn't the time—"
"A man is dead! I might have killed him! This is exactly the time!"
"You didn't kill him," Harper said firmly.
"How do you know?" I screamed. "How can any of you know? I can't remember! I have blood under my nails and I'm left-handed and the knife was under my bed—"
"Because we were with you!" Harper shouted back, and then immediately clamped her mouth shut, as if she'd said too much.
The room went silent.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
Harper closed her eyes and took a slow breath.
"I mean... we checked on you. Multiple times during the night. You were in the bathroom. Asleep. Safe." She opened her eyes. "You didn't kill Ryan."
"Then who did?"
No answer.
"Why was I in the bathroom?" I pressed. "Why was the door locked?"
"We don't know," Grace said.
But her eyes said otherwise. Every single one of my bridesmaids was lying to me, and the worst part was, they were doing it with love in their eyes.
"Nadia," I said, my voice breaking. "Please. What were you going to tell me about Ryan?"
Nadia looked at the others. Some silent agreement passed between them.
"Ryan wasn't who you thought he was," Nadia said finally. "He hurt people, Lily. He hurt you. You just... don't remember."
A knife.
A chef's knife from the villa's kitchen, the blade smeared with dried, rust-colored blood.
"Found your murder weapon," Ethan said, standing. His eyes moved across us. "Hidden under the mattress. Not exactly the work of a professional."
My hand flew to my mouth.
"Whoever did this," Ethan continued, "didn't plan it. This wasn't premeditated. The weapon came from the kitchen — grabbed in the moment. The kill was fast, brutal, and the cleanup was rushed." He turned to face us directly. "This was someone who panicked."
"Or someone who was drunk," Grace said carefully.
"Or both." Ethan pulled on a latex glove from his jacket — he apparently carried them — and lifted the knife by its handle. "The grip angle, the entry wound... the person who stabbed Ryan was standing at the left side of the bed. They drove the blade downward and slightly inward." He demonstrated the motion with an empty hand. "That's consistent with a left-handed attacker."
Something cold crawled up my spine.
I was left-handed.
Everyone in this room knew that.
"Don't," Harper said sharply — not to Ethan, but to me. Her eyes were fierce. "Don't you dare think what I know you're thinking."
But the horror was already blooming in my chest. The blood under my nails. The blackout. The locked bathroom door — as if someone had put me in there. Hidden me. Protected me from the scene.
"I need to fingerprint this knife," Ethan said. "I don't have a kit, but I have graphite powder and tape in my emergency supplies on the boat. Nobody touches anything until I get back."
He set the knife on the dresser and headed for the door, but Mara blocked his path.
"Commander Cole." Her voice was measured, professional. "You're not a homicide detective. You're Coast Guard. Search and rescue, maritime law — that's your jurisdiction. A murder investigation on private property isn't."
Ethan looked at her calmly. "You're right. It's not." He paused. "But there's a dead man, five suspects, and no one else coming until this storm breaks. So unless one of you wants to confess right now and make this easy, I'm the closest thing to justice this island has."
Mara didn't move.
"Step aside," Ethan said quietly.
After a long moment, she did.
Once he was gone, I grabbed Nadia by the arm. "You were about to tell me something. About Ryan. What things don't I know?"
Nadia's face crumpled — not with grief, but with something that looked almost like guilt. "Lily, this isn't the time—"
"A man is dead! I might have killed him! This is exactly the time!"
"You didn't kill him," Harper said firmly.
"How do you know?" I screamed. "How can any of you know? I can't remember! I have blood under my nails and I'm left-handed and the knife was under my bed—"
"Because we were with you!" Harper shouted back, and then immediately clamped her mouth shut, as if she'd said too much.
The room went silent.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
Harper closed her eyes and took a slow breath.
"I mean... we checked on you. Multiple times during the night. You were in the bathroom. Asleep. Safe." She opened her eyes. "You didn't kill Ryan."
"Then who did?"
No answer.
"Why was I in the bathroom?" I pressed. "Why was the door locked?"
"We don't know," Grace said.
But her eyes said otherwise. Every single one of my bridesmaids was lying to me, and the worst part was, they were doing it with love in their eyes.
"Nadia," I said, my voice breaking. "Please. What were you going to tell me about Ryan?"
Nadia looked at the others. Some silent agreement passed between them.
"Ryan wasn't who you thought he was," Nadia said finally. "He hurt people, Lily. He hurt you. You just... don't remember."