4. BURNING

ROWANNE'S POV.

“It was murder.” Her voice was a hollow whisper. “Someone murdered my son. Your husband.”

The words hit me like a blade to the chest, and like a flash, the air seemed to have vanished from the room and from my lungs. My heart pounded, while my thoughts scattered like broken glass. Murder? Not an accident?

I staggered back, Jennifer’s hands slipping from mine. My lips parted, but no sound came, only silence and the furious hammering of blood in my ears.

Jennifer dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief, her breath hitching as she steadied herself. “The police… they said the brakes. They weren’t just worn down, Rowanne. They were tampered with. It was cut.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her hand to her chest as if holding herself together.

The room tilted again.

“They also found glass in the tread of his tyres, consistent with broken bottles, deliberately placed. It wasn’t bad luck.” Her tears streamed, but her voice grew harder and brittle with fury. “It was planned.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Oh my God…” My voice was barely a whisper as my hands clutched my stomach.

Jennifer stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was afraid the walls might be listening. “The police don’t know who yet. They said it could have been anyone who wanted him gone. I don't know why someone would want my son sweet. Jett was perfect, he was sweet. But they said it could be someone close or someone he trusted.”

Her eyes flickered over me, searching.

“But they believe the killer is still out there. And until they know who… You must be careful, Rowanne. You hear me? Very careful.”

Her grip found my wrist again, shaking. “Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t trust easily. And if anything... anything feels wrong, you come straight to me. Do you understand?”

My breath trembled, caught between the horror of her words. “I… I understand,” I managed, though my voice cracked, weak and broken.

*****

"I think. You know what I think, Rowanne? You'd better stay out of this. That whole family. Did she call her son sweet? Perfect? Why didn't you tell her what he did, huh?" Kalea yelled.

"Lea..." I sighed.

"He cheated on you! He was in love with some woman, that's why he refused to make love to you. His wife! Perfect? I think it's a good thing he died."

"Kalea! That's enough," I snapped, breaking heavily.

A knock interrupted her next words, and I immediately answered, tearing my glare from her to the door. "Come in."

"Oh, Mrs Carter, I wanted to confirm if you would be going to the charity dinner tonight?" Rita asked.

"Yeah, I would, Rita. Thank you."

"No problem, ma. Your dress just arrived at your mansion. Do you need me to call Jamie?"

"Yes. Yes," I sighed as I rose, grabbed my coat, and turned away from Kalea. "We will be heading home now," I finished.

"Alright, Ma. I'll prepare the car," Rita finished, closing the door after her.

"No, I am not following you to some boring party to watch rich people gamble over shit and call it charity."

"I don't want to go alone. That place is going to be filled with the Carters and everyone related to the Carters."

Kalea stared at me, and I managed to pull a smile. "I ordered a dress for us and there's gonna be food. Oh, I remember one of the chefs is Lamar."

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and I could see I had succeeded in buying her.

Hours later, I stood before the mirror in the bedroom, the ivory silk gown draping over me.

"You know. I love how silk looks on you. I feel like you shouldn't give that up. That's your fabric. And this dress matches your skin tone."

"Really?" I smiled, looking back at Kalea before turning back to the mirror.

The fabric was soft and hugged my waist before flowing in effortless folds to the floor. The plunging neckline dipped tastefully but was held by pearl straps that kissed my shoulders.

A small rosette sat just beneath the bust, subtle but deliberate, like a secret detail. My hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that fell like a dark ribbon against my spine, exposing the pale line of my neck.

Gold hoops glimmered at my ears, a matching pendant resting against the hollow of my throat.

For the first time in weeks, I almost looked like myself. Almost. Beautiful.

On our way, Kalea fussed with her hem. Already complaining even when we weren't there yet but she still had this amusement in her eyes. Although she wouldn’t admit it, she liked the effect the dress had on her too.

The Carter Foundation’s annual charity gala was held at the Grand Carter Hotel, a towering glass structure that glittered against the night sky. Inside, the ballroom was all chandeliers, and waiters moved with silver trays, glasses of champagne.

Men in tuxedos and women in couture gowns like mine, some even better and beautiful, swayed between conversations, and the orchestra beneath the hum of a live jazz band.

It was elegant and so suffocating.

Kalea looped her arm through mine as we descended the staircase into the ballroom.

My chest tightened with every step, a hundred eyes sweeping over us, some curious, some pitying especially because of Jett. I forced a smile, nodded here and offered a polite word there.

As we blended into the crowd. I scanned the crowd possibly for Jennifer. I haven't heard from her since the last time she came over. No one in Carter’s mansion would tell me anything, but then, something caught my gaze. Eli Carter.

He stood across the room in a tailored black suit, the cut precise against his lean frame. His tie was done this time, so clean enough to make him look both composed and dangerous.

His hair was slicked back with his jaw tight, and his expression was almost irritated as he conversed with a man I didn’t recognise.

And then his eyes found mine like a punch to the chest, so blue, burning and icy all at once.

I froze, caught in that stare for a second as heat prickled down my neck, through my arms and pooling low in my belly where guilt already sat heavy. My breath hitched, and before the tension could shatter me, I tore my gaze away.

A waiter swept past, silver tray glinting beneath the chandelier light. I caught a glass of champagne before he could move on, my fingers tightening slightly against the stem.

The bubbles kissed my lips in a rush almost punishing. I swallowed too quickly, the fizz biting my tongue, but it was better than drowning in those blue eyes I’d just seen across the room.

I forced myself to turn away, to breathe. And yet, I didn’t feel composed. I felt watched.

My hand tightened around the stem of my glass as my gaze swept the crowd. Then I spotted Jennifer.

My mother-in-law. Her eyes locked on mine, and she lifted her hand slightly.

“Rowanne? Come here,” she called softly.

I adjusted my posture, forcing a small, polite smile. Each step toward her felt like I was walking through water.

My pulse thudded in my ears, but I managed to hold her gaze, pretending not to notice the whispers that trailed behind me.

Just as I reached her, her expression shifted and her focus flicked up, over my shoulder. The warmth in her face bloomed into delight. I didn’t have to turn around to know why.

It could only be Eli.

The air seemed to change when he walked in, like he carried with him a quiet dominance that made heads turn without trying.

“Hey, Mom,” his deep voice brushed against my back like velvet.

And then his hand grazed my waist barely a touch, almost nothing.

But it was enough. Enough to send a tremor through me so fierce I forgot to breathe for a heartbeat.

I froze, but only for a fraction of a second, forcing my lips into another smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Oh, Eli,” Jennifer cooed, beaming. “This party is really amazing. You did a fine job, sweetheart.”

"Thank you, Mom," he smiled at her, polite and controlled. Then, slowly his gaze slid to me.

When our eyes met, my stomach twisted. His look was calm and blank, yet there was something underneath it. I turned away at once, pretending to adjust my dress, pretending I didn’t feel the weight of his attention burning into me.

Panic clawed up my throat, tight and hot. It felt like everyone could see it. The thing that shouldn’t have happened. The kiss. Something I couldn’t scrub off no matter how many times I told myself it was a mistake.

It hadn’t even been two months.

Two months after my husband’s death, I crossed a line with his brother. I wanted to disappear.

“Ro?” My name left his lips and the sound of it froze me mid-step.

I turned, hiding behind another smile, though it felt brittle, stretched too thin. I was running out of fake smiles.

“Hey,” he chuckled softly. “You look lovely. Beautiful.”