Chương 7
“No.”
“I grabbed her because I thought she was in danger.”
The officer wrote something down.
“What made you believe that?”
I looked at the flash drive in my hand.
Before I could answer, David stepped forward.
“This is getting out of control.”
Officer Bennett looked at him.
“And you are?”
“David Hale.”
He straightened slightly.
“I’m the groom.”
The officer looked between us.
“Mr. Hale, did you make the report?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
The officer noticed.
“You seem certain.”
David’s expression tightened.
“Because I would never report my own wife missing from our wedding.”
The word wife landed strangely.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it sounded like something he wanted everyone to remember.
My wife.
His.
I looked down at my left hand.
The ring suddenly felt heavier.
Officer Bennett turned back to me.
“Ms. Carter, do you feel safe going home with Mr. Hale tonight?”
The question should have been easy.
It wasn't.
A year ago, I would have answered without hesitation.
Tonight, I stood in a parking area wearing a wedding dress covered in frosting, holding evidence that my husband-to-be had been collecting information about me.
“I don't know,” I said.
Nobody reacted.
But I felt the impact.
David looked hurt.
Sarah looked relieved.
My father looked devastated.
The officer nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
David laughed quietly.
“Okay?”
The officer faced him.
“Yes.”
“You’re taking her uncertainty as proof of something?”
“No.”
The officer remained calm.
“I’m taking her uncertainty as uncertainty.”
That simple answer almost made me cry.
Because for the first time tonight, someone was not trying to force the world into a conclusion.
They were just acknowledging what was true.
Officer Bennett asked us to separate while he spoke with everyone individually.
David immediately objected.
“I don't think that is necessary.”
“It is.”
The firmness in the officer's voice ended the discussion.
Sarah and I sat on a bench near the garden entrance while my father spoke with another officer.
The night air was cold against my bare shoulders.
A wedding guest walked by holding a champagne glass and stopped when she saw me.
It was an old friend from college.
Her face showed sympathy, then embarrassment.
She looked away.
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because she judged me.
Because I understood why she did.
People liked clean stories.
The bride was happy.
The groom was successful.
The wedding was beautiful.
Nobody wanted the version where everyone had to admit they missed something.
Sarah sat beside me quietly.
For once, she wasn't telling me what to do.
That almost made me angry.
“You knew,” I said.
She looked at the ground.
“Not everything.”
“But something.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She rubbed her hands together.
“Since before tonight.”
I laughed softly.
“That's not an answer.”
Sarah looked at me.
“Since the week before the wedding.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“I found the folder then.”
“And you waited?”
“I was trying to verify it.”
“You were trying to investigate my fiancé.”
“Yes.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
She looked exhausted.
“I knew if I came to you with accusations, you would defend him.”
I looked away.
She wasn't wrong.
“I needed proof.”
“And did you get it?”
Sarah looked at the flash drive.
“I don't know.”
That answer bothered me.
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“Because I copied files.”
She swallowed.
“But I couldn't open everything.”
“Why?”
“Password protection.”
I stared at her.
“Then why take it?”
“Because I saw enough.”
“What did you see?”
Sarah was quiet.
The silence lasted too long.
“What?”
She looked toward the building.
“I saw a document with your name.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind of document?”
“A behavioral profile.”
The words made my skin crawl.
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It sounds like something from a movie.”
Sarah nodded.
“I thought that too.”
That scared me more.
Because Sarah was the last person who would call something impossible without checking.
“What was in it?”
She hesitated.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“It wasn't written like a normal report.”
“Then how?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“It was written like someone was trying to understand how to influence you.”
I looked at her.
“Influence me?”
“Yes.”
I thought about every argument David and I had ever had.
Every time I started upset and ended up apologizing.
Every time I questioned something and somehow became the unreasonable one.
I had always assumed we were just bad at conflict.
Now I wondered if conflict had been designed.
My phone buzzed.
Both of us looked down.
A message appeared.
Unknown number.
Do not trust the drive.
My heart stopped.
Sarah saw it too.
“Who sent that?”
I didn't answer.
Another message appeared.
Then another.
You don't know what is missing.
David is not the only person who lied.
I felt cold.
Not because of David.
Because of the last sentence.
Sarah looked at me.
“Show me.”
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She didn't answer.
“Sarah.”
She looked up.
“Someone knows about the drive.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if someone was watching.”
I looked toward the building.
Through the glass, I saw David standing alone near the reception area.
The guests had moved away from him.
For the first time all night, he looked isolated.
Human.
Almost.
Then his phone lit up.
He looked down.
A second later, he looked directly at us.
My stomach dropped.
“He knows,” I whispered.
Sarah stood.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere private.”
I almost laughed.
“Private?”
The word sounded impossible now.
Every private thing I had ever shared felt like it belonged to someone else.
Sarah looked at me.
“I know you're angry.”
“I am.”
“You should be.”
I expected her to defend herself.
She didn't.
That surprised me.
“I should have told you sooner.”
I looked at her.
May you like
“Yes.”
“I should have trusted you with the truth instead of deciding I knew how you would react.”
