The screaming started the moment the sirens died.
It was 4:13 AM. The "blue hour."
Eva Bennett woke to the sound of someone trying to break her door down.
"Police! Open up!"
Her heart dropped. This wasn't a mistake. This wasn't a warning.
Something had already gone wrong.
She stumbled out of bed, the faint scent of champagne still lingering from the auction hours earlier.
The pounding didn't stop, a violent, rhythmic assault against the solid oak.
She opened the door.
Red and blue lights flooded the hallway, slicing the shadows into fragments of chaos. Two officers stood there, rigid, awake—too awake for this hour.
"Eva Bennett?" the older one, Officer Davis, asked.
His voice was too gentle. That was the first thing that felt wrong.
"Yes… what's going on?"
"Ma'am, we need you to come with us. There's been an incident. Your father, Arthur Bennett…"
The world tilted. The air in the hallway became thin.
"No—wait. Is he in the hospital? I need to call him—"
She reached for her phone.
A hand stopped her. Warm. Firm. Final.
"Ma'am… I'm sorry," Davis said.
A heavy pause hung between them.
"Your father was found at the docklands. He has passed away."
The words didn't land.
Passed away. Too soft. Too clean. People passed away in bed. Not at the docks. Not at 4 AM.
"No," the word came out automatically, a reflex to reject the script they were handing her. "You're mistaken. My father doesn't go there. He hates the water."
"We found his ID. And his car."
"Anyone could have stolen it!" Her voice cracked. The rational curator was gone. "He was home. He had his medication—his heart—"
The officer's expression didn't change.
"This does not appear to be a heart attack, ma'am. It looks like foul play."
Murder.
The hallway spun. Eva felt her knees give out.
But before she hit the ground, someone caught her.
Strong. Steady. Familiar.
Sandalwood. Expensive leather. Absolute control.
Liam Carter.
He had appeared without her noticing, still in his suit from the auction. His tie was loosened, but his face—Eva froze.
Something was wrong.
Liam Carter did not panic. He did not react. He calculated.
"Davis." His voice cut through the air. Low. Controlled. Dangerous. "You've informed her. That's enough."
No comfort. No questions. No grief.
As if he already knew.
"We'll go to the scene," Liam continued, his grip tightening slightly around Eva.
Too tight. Like he was holding something together, or holding something back.
"But you will not take a statement from her like this."
It wasn't a request. The officer hesitated.
"…Of course."
The elevator ride was silent. Eva stared at the numbers dropping.
"Liam… It's not him. It can't be."
Liam didn't answer immediately. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then—
"We need to be sure."
Not if.
When.
Cold. Flat. Final.
Something inside Eva shifted, turning ice-cold. That wasn't how you spoke to someone whose father had just died.
That was how you spoke when you already knew the truth.
The car ride was worse. Too fast. Too quiet.
Liam drove like time mattered, as if something unstoppable was already in motion.
The docklands smelled like salt, fuel, and blood. Police lights flashed across the water. The car sat near the edge of the pier.
Her father's car.
Eva's breath hitched. That was it.
But Liam stopped. He didn't step forward. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.
For the first time in ten years, Eva felt a single, violent crack in something that had always been unbreakable.
Fear.
Not fear of what was inside the car. Fear of something else.
"Go back to the car, Eva," his voice was strained. Wrong.
"No." She pulled away and stepped forward.
One step. Two. Three—
And then she saw him.
Slumped over the steering wheel. Charcoal suit. Still. Silent. Gone.
The world simply stopped spinning.
"Miss Bennett," Davis said gently, appearing beside her with a tablet. "There's something else. Timeline puts his arrival here at 3:52 AM. Time of death—between 3:50 and 4:10."
That made no sense. "He shouldn't be here," Eva whispered.
"Exactly." Davis turned the screen toward her.
Grainy footage. A figure exiting the passenger seat. Dark coat. Head down. Walking away.
Not running. Walking.
With a pronounced limp.
Eva's stomach dropped. That walk. She had seen it before.
Slowly, she turned.
Liam wasn't looking at the screen. He was staring at the ground. Hands clenched. Knuckles white.
He said nothing. Did nothing. Denied nothing.
Silence stretched between them, heavy enough to crush bone.
"Liam…" Her voice broke. "Who limps like that?"
Liam finally looked up. Not at her. Past her. Into the dark.
"My father."