Chapter 2

In an instant, my comment was flooded with replies. Someone wrote, "Are you seriously blaming the victim?"

Another comment read, "You're the 'best friend,' aren't you? Getting defensive, huh?"

And Joan, the person who posted, replied to me directly, "I appreciate your concern, but please don't suspect my husband anymore. He's very good to me."

I couldn't help but think how ridiculous it was when I read that.

Ever since Joan got married, I'd become her emotional dumping ground. Once, she had whined, "He smelled like someone else's perfume, but he said he picked it up in the elevator."

"There was lipstick on his shirt. He said a coworker brushed against him by accident."

At first, I tried to reason with her. Later, I realized she didn't want the truth. She just needed me to repeat the answer she had already decided on—that Dylan loved her.

I had once strongly advised Joan to cut her losses while she still could.

But the very next thing she did was post photos of herself and Dylan vacationing in Maburia, with the caption, "Real love stands the test of time. Thank you for always being you."

After that, I stopped saying anything.

Dylan had even reached out to me on social media once. "Thanks for taking care of Joan all these years. Let me take you out to dinner sometime—just the two of us—so I can thank you properly."

But I turned him down without hesitation. His intentions were obvious, even through a screen.

Besides, I'd also never told Joan that my boyfriend, Cornelius Jenkins, was Dylan's boss.

I never meant to hide it from her. It was just that after she got married, she'd grown more and more arrogant. Every other sentence was about how Dylan made a six-figure salary.

To keep things from getting awkward, I'd only ever said Cornelius worked at the same company as Dylan.

More than once, I went to the office to see Cornelius and ran into Dylan joking around with female coworkers, his hand wandering well past where it should've been.

After going back and forth, I finally decided to hint at it to Joan subtly.

Her face had gone pale at the time, but the very next day, she posted a nine-photo grid of the two of them looking happier than ever.

The caption read, "Dylan said it's all just part of the job. I'm the only one he loves."

Then, the day before, I saw Dylan at the mall. He held hands with a young woman as they walked into the Chanel boutique. There, the lady picked out a five-thousand-dollar bag, and he swiped his card without blinking.

I'd been trying to figure out how to tell Joan—how to make her see the truth without breaking her. But before I could say anything, her gold stash went missing.

With a sigh, I backed out of the thread. Some things just had to be said face-to-face.

…

The next morning, I went over to Joan's place.

"Any word from the police?" I asked.

She shook her head, but her gaze drifted to the diamond ring on my left hand.

"What a beautiful ring," Joan said softly. "Did your boyfriend give it to you?"

"Yeah. It's an early birthday gift."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He must be really generous. Andrea, what does your boyfriend do? You always say he's busy, but I've never even met him."

Joan had asked me the same question last week. At the time, I'd taken it as harmless curiosity and brushed it off with a laugh.

But now, seeing how suspicious she looked, I felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. So, I asked, "What are you trying to imply, Joan?"

"I'm just looking out for you! We've been friends for years. Why would I ever doubt you? It's just…"

Joan went on, "The police found your fingerprints on the safe. I've been telling them you're innocent, but they won't hear it—"

"Joan," I cut in. "Last week, you opened the safe yourself. You said you wanted to check how much you still had left, in case you ended up filing for divorce."

At that, she froze for a beat. "I know… But then my gold disappeared right after that. The timing is way too suspicious."

Out of nowhere, Joan burst into tears.

"I even bought you a gold necklace, Andrea. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, and now… That's gone too."

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke, and the scar on her hand was impossible to ignore. In an instant, something in me gave way. I still owed her my life, after all.

I took a deep breath before saying, "Joan, there's something I have to tell you. Yesterday, at the mall, I saw—"

Before I could finish, the door swung open, and Dylan strode in.