I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I couldn't close my eyes, but because I didn't trust what might happen if I did.
After I ran out of the house and called Linda, my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. My rooms were still scattered behind me, drawers pulled out, clothes thrown carelessly across the floor, cushions overturned like someone had searched in a hurry. Not a robbery. Not vandalism.
A search.
Linda arrived with two uniformed officers less than thirty minutes later.
"Jade," she said gently, stepping toward me, "look at me. Breathe."
I tried.
I really did.
"They didn't take anything," I whispered. "Nothing valuable is gone."
Linda nodded slowly, as if she already knew that.
"I'll have security sweep the house," she said. "Estate security and two officers. We'll check everything."
As they moved past me into the house, flashlights cutting through the dimness, I felt a strange certainty settle into my chest, heavy, uncomfortable, undeniable.
They weren't here to steal.
They were looking for something.
And whatever it was… they hadn't found it yet.
The officers searched room by room while estate security stood outside, radios crackling softly. Linda stayed with me in the living room, watching my face more than the house.
"You think they were after something specific," she said.
"Yes." My voice didn't waver. "They weren't panicked. They were methodical."
Linda studied me for a moment. "What do you think they were looking for?"
I swallowed.
The thought had been circling my mind since the moment I saw my room destroyed.
"The phone," I said quietly.
She stiffened. Just slightly.
"Damien's mistress's phone."
Linda didn't interrupt, so I continued.
"The hospital called me that day using her phone. Damien's mistress. The doctor told me later that the phone disappeared, vanished, from the ward. No record. No trace."
I looked up at Linda. "Someone took it. And whoever broke into my house tonight thinks it might be here."
Silence stretched between us.
"That phone," I went on, "has timestamps. Location data. Call logs. It can prove where Damien was, and where he wasn't."
Linda exhaled slowly. "And if that phone surfaces…"
"It destroys their case," I finished.
One of the officers returned then. "No valuables missing. No forced entry. Whoever came in knew the house."
Linda's jaw tightened.
That was worse.
Security stayed through the night.
They positioned two men outside, one at the back garden, another near the gate. Inside, Linda insisted I stay in the guest room instead of the master bedroom.
"Just for tonight," she said.
I nodded, though I knew sleep wouldn't come either way.
When the house finally went quiet, when the footsteps faded and the radios hushed, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Fear pressed against me from one side.
Curiosity from the other.
And somewhere in between, something harder began to form.
Resolve.
They wanted me gone.
That much was clear.
And I wasn't going anywhere.
The next morning, the call came.
"Mrs. White," the voice said formally, "this is the government prosecutor's office. We're calling to inform you that your husband's case has been scheduled."
My heart dropped.
"When?" I asked.
"One week from today."
The room seemed to tilt.
"If you have any additional evidence," the voice continued, "it must be submitted before then."
The line went dead.
One week.
I sat there long after the call ended, staring at my phone as if it might offer comfort.
One week to save my husband.
One week to prove his innocence.
One week to find something powerful enough to dismantle a lie built by people who clearly had money, influence… and no mercy.
And then I remembered.
The night Damien was arrested.
His voice.
I saw her, Jade.
Mrs. Exilvia.
Coming from the direction where Susan's body was found.
I stood outside Barbara Exilvia's house longer than I intended to.
My hand hovered over the gate buzzer, my chest tight with uncertainty.
The last time I came here, she had screamed at me.
Slammed the door in my face.
But something told me I couldn't turn back now.
I pressed the buzzer.
The gate clicked open.
I froze.
That alone was wrong.
I walked up the path slowly, every sense alert. When the door opened, Barbara Xavier stood there—calm, composed, as though she had been expecting me.
"Come in," she said.
No shouting.
No hostility.
I stepped inside, unsettled.
That was when I saw her daughter.
A small girl, maybe six or seven, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a teddy bear in her arms. Blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Innocent.
My throat tightened.
Barbara noticed my gaze. "That's Lily."
Lily looked up at me and smiled.
Something in my chest cracked.
Barbara gestured for me to sit. "You didn't come here to chat."
"No," I said softly. "I didn't."
I met her eyes. "My husband told me he saw you near the place where Susan died. That night."
Barbara didn't flinch.
Didn't gasp.
Didn't deny.
She leaned back slightly and folded her arms. "And?"
"And I want to know why."
Her lips curved, not into a smile, but something close.
"Being seen somewhere isn't a crime," she said calmly. "And there is no proof I killed anyone."
Her certainty rattled me.
"You're… very confident," I said.
"Because I'm innocent," she replied.
I studied her then, not just her words, but her posture, her breathing, the lack of fear in her eyes.
She wasn't lying.
Not about that.
"Then why did you treat me the way you did before?" I asked. "Why the hostility?"
She looked at Lily, then back at me.
"You don't know anything," she said quietly. "Not yet."
"What don't I know?" I pressed.
She smiled faintly. "Everything."
I stood.
"Thank you for your time."
As I turned to leave, she spoke again.
"Be careful of the Alexanders."
I paused.
"Not everything that shines is clean," she added. "And not every smile means safety."
I left with my heart pounding.
I called Linda immediately.
"She's hiding something," Linda said after I explained. "But not guilt."
"Yes," I agreed. "They all know something. And someone doesn't want the truth spoken."
"Which means we move quietly," Linda said. "If they realize you're digging again…"
"I know," I said. "They'll come back."
Back at my house, I searched again.
The hidden room.
The study.
The walls.
The drawers.
Nothing.
I sat on the floor eventually, exhaustion weighing on me.
Then the truth settled in, slow and sharp.
The phone.
Everything leads back to that phone.
Not Susan.
Not Barbara.
Not even the Alexanders,yet.
The phone was the key.
Without it, Damien would stand alone against a story carefully designed to destroy him.
I closed my eyes.
"They're afraid of the evidence," I whispered to the empty room. "Not me."
And that changed everything.