Chapter 10
The floor was cold against my face. My body wouldn't stop convulsing — violent, full-body tremors that had nothing to do with temperature.
I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.
The words looped in my mind like a siren.
"Breathe, Lily. Look at me. Breathe." Mara was kneeling beside me, her hands steady on my shoulders. "Follow my voice. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
But I was drowning. Drowning in images I'd spent all day not seeing.
The weight of the knife. The resistance of flesh. The terrible, terrible sound Ryan made — not a scream, but a sigh, like all the cruelty in him was finally leaking out with his breath.
And then silence. His body going slack beneath me. His eyes — those beautiful, terrible blue eyes — fixed on mine, fading.
"Lily." It was Nadia's voice now, close to my ear. "You were defending yourself. He was choking you. You would have died."
"How—" My voice was raw. "How do you know?"
"Because I was there," Nadia whispered. "I woke up. I heard you struggling. By the time I reached the room, it was already over. You were still on top of him, frozen. His hands were still around your throat."
She pulled down the collar of my dress — gently, so gently — and I felt the ache I'd been ignoring all day. The deep, throbbing bruises ringing my neck like a necklace.
"I called the others," Nadia continued. "Harper, Grace, Mara. We found you catatonic. You wouldn't respond. You wouldn't let go of the knife."
"I had to pry your fingers off one by one," Harper said, kneeling on my other side. Her tears dripped onto my arm. "You were gripping it so hard your palm was bleeding."
Bleeding. But Ethan said there were no marks on my hands.
"I treated the cuts," Nadia said, reading my confusion. "Cleaned them, bandaged them, then removed the bandages before you woke up. I applied a healing accelerant — a surgical compound. By morning, the shallow cuts had already closed."
Every detail, every careful deception — they'd thought of everything.
"You were in shock," Mara said. "Completely dissociated. I knew that if you came back to consciousness and saw what you'd done, you'd break. Permanently. So I... I put you under. I rebuilt the night for you. I gave you a version where you simply blacked out."
"You stole my memory," I said.
"I saved your mind," Mara corrected, and her voice broke on the last word.
From across the room, Ethan watched all of this. He'd sat down in an armchair, his arms folded, his expression impossible to read.
"So," he said finally, his voice quiet. "Self-defense."
Nobody responded.
"Strangulation marks on the victim's wife. History of domestic abuse. Four witnesses who saw the aftermath." He uncrossed his arms. "That changes things."
"Does it?" Grace asked. Her voice was hollow with exhaustion.
"It changes how a prosecutor would approach it. It doesn't change the fact that evidence was destroyed, a body was tampered with, and five people conspired to cover up a death." He paused. "Those are still felonies."
"I don't care about felonies," I said, pulling myself upright. My voice surprised me — it was steady now. Hollow, but steady. "I killed my husband. I remember it. The rest doesn't matter."
"It all matters, Lily," Ethan said.
"Why?" I asked. "Why do you care? You don't know any of us. You could have stayed on your boat, ridden out the storm, and never come to this door."
Ethan was quiet for a long moment.
"Because I've been in enough houses where the wrong person paid the price for someone else's violence," he said. "And I've seen enough abusers get away with it — even from the grave."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm not here to punish you. But I am here to make sure whatever happened in this house gets documented correctly. Because if it doesn't — if this stays buried — it'll eat all of you alive."
I looked at my friends. At the dark circles under their eyes, the tremors in their hands, the weight of what they'd carried since midnight.
He was right. It was already eating them alive.
I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.
The words looped in my mind like a siren.
"Breathe, Lily. Look at me. Breathe." Mara was kneeling beside me, her hands steady on my shoulders. "Follow my voice. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
But I was drowning. Drowning in images I'd spent all day not seeing.
The weight of the knife. The resistance of flesh. The terrible, terrible sound Ryan made — not a scream, but a sigh, like all the cruelty in him was finally leaking out with his breath.
And then silence. His body going slack beneath me. His eyes — those beautiful, terrible blue eyes — fixed on mine, fading.
"Lily." It was Nadia's voice now, close to my ear. "You were defending yourself. He was choking you. You would have died."
"How—" My voice was raw. "How do you know?"
"Because I was there," Nadia whispered. "I woke up. I heard you struggling. By the time I reached the room, it was already over. You were still on top of him, frozen. His hands were still around your throat."
She pulled down the collar of my dress — gently, so gently — and I felt the ache I'd been ignoring all day. The deep, throbbing bruises ringing my neck like a necklace.
"I called the others," Nadia continued. "Harper, Grace, Mara. We found you catatonic. You wouldn't respond. You wouldn't let go of the knife."
"I had to pry your fingers off one by one," Harper said, kneeling on my other side. Her tears dripped onto my arm. "You were gripping it so hard your palm was bleeding."
Bleeding. But Ethan said there were no marks on my hands.
"I treated the cuts," Nadia said, reading my confusion. "Cleaned them, bandaged them, then removed the bandages before you woke up. I applied a healing accelerant — a surgical compound. By morning, the shallow cuts had already closed."
Every detail, every careful deception — they'd thought of everything.
"You were in shock," Mara said. "Completely dissociated. I knew that if you came back to consciousness and saw what you'd done, you'd break. Permanently. So I... I put you under. I rebuilt the night for you. I gave you a version where you simply blacked out."
"You stole my memory," I said.
"I saved your mind," Mara corrected, and her voice broke on the last word.
From across the room, Ethan watched all of this. He'd sat down in an armchair, his arms folded, his expression impossible to read.
"So," he said finally, his voice quiet. "Self-defense."
Nobody responded.
"Strangulation marks on the victim's wife. History of domestic abuse. Four witnesses who saw the aftermath." He uncrossed his arms. "That changes things."
"Does it?" Grace asked. Her voice was hollow with exhaustion.
"It changes how a prosecutor would approach it. It doesn't change the fact that evidence was destroyed, a body was tampered with, and five people conspired to cover up a death." He paused. "Those are still felonies."
"I don't care about felonies," I said, pulling myself upright. My voice surprised me — it was steady now. Hollow, but steady. "I killed my husband. I remember it. The rest doesn't matter."
"It all matters, Lily," Ethan said.
"Why?" I asked. "Why do you care? You don't know any of us. You could have stayed on your boat, ridden out the storm, and never come to this door."
Ethan was quiet for a long moment.
"Because I've been in enough houses where the wrong person paid the price for someone else's violence," he said. "And I've seen enough abusers get away with it — even from the grave."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm not here to punish you. But I am here to make sure whatever happened in this house gets documented correctly. Because if it doesn't — if this stays buried — it'll eat all of you alive."
I looked at my friends. At the dark circles under their eyes, the tremors in their hands, the weight of what they'd carried since midnight.
He was right. It was already eating them alive.