Chapter Four

Detective Harris stood at the center of the Westwood estate's grand dining room, a figure of unwavering authority amidst the tension-laden space. The dining room, usually a stage for lavish dinners and sparkling conversation, now felt heavy with unease. Aurora perched stiffly on a velvet armchair, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, her sharp green eyes fixed on the detective. Victor leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark hair a stark contrast to his pale complexion and hazel eyes, while Rose slouched in a corner, her loose silk robe half-hidden by her trembling frame.

August, ever the golden boy, remained by the window, his piercing gray eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers in the shadows. His broad shoulders and tailored suit seemed to hold him together, but the furrow in his brow betrayed his inner turmoil.

Detective Harris finally broke the silence, his voice measured and deliberate. "Before we proceed, I'd like to express my gratitude for your cooperation. I understand this is a difficult time, but I must be candid-Jonathan Westwood's death was not natural. Toxicology reports show that a lethal substance was introduced into his system."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Aurora's green eyes widened in shock, Victor's jaw tightened, and Rose let out a muffled sob. August stood frozen, his face an unreadable mask.

Harris continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. "This was no accident. Mr. Westwood was murdered."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating through the space.

The oppressive silence was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor. All eyes turned to see Vanessa Scott enter the room, escorted by one of the officers. She moved with a quiet grace, her blonde hair catching the light, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her blue eyes, striking and steady, scanned the room with calm precision. She wore a simple white blouse and tailored black slacks, her appearance professional yet effortlessly elegant.

August's breath caught as he took her in. For the first time, he truly noticed the details: the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the soft curve of her lips, the way her posture conveyed both confidence and restraint.

Vanessa's gaze landed on August, and their eyes locked. She'd seen him countless times before, but something about this moment was different. His tall frame, the chiseled lines of his face, and the storm of emotions swirling in his gray eyes made her pause. He was intimidating yet disarmingly vulnerable, a contradiction she couldn't ignore.

Detective Harris cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Miss Scott, thank you for coming. I understand you were Mr. Westwood's caretaker?"

Vanessa turned to him, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. "Yes, I've been overseeing Mr. Westwood's medical care for the past year. I managed his medications and conducted regular health checks."

"Were you present in the house at the time of his death?"

Vanessa shook her head. "No, I left around 3 p.m. after administering his afternoon medication and completing my routine check-up. Everything seemed normal when I left."

Harris leaned forward slightly. "Can you confirm what medications you gave him that day?"

"His prescribed heart medication and blood pressure tablets," Vanessa replied. "As always, I logged the details in his medical records, which I can provide if necessary."

Harris nodded and turned his attention back to the family. "Mrs. Westwood, I'd like to revisit our earlier conversation. You mentioned that your husband seemed fine before dinner?"

Aurora, who had been sitting rigidly, nodded slowly. "Yes, he was his usual self."

"And you didn't notice anything unusual about his behavior during the meal?"

Aurora hesitated, her gaze darting toward Victor and Rose before settling back on the detective. "No... nothing unusual."

Harris's sharp eyes didn't waver. "Forgive me for pressing, but the staff reported hearing raised voices between you and Mr. Westwood earlier in the day. Is that true?"

Aurora's green eyes widened briefly, a flicker of panic crossing her face. "We had a discussion, yes. But it wasn't anything serious."

"What was the discussion about?"

Aurora's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her gaze shifted to Vanessa, then back to Harris. "It was... private," she said finally, her voice tight.

Victor let out a soft, derisive laugh. "Private? That's rich, coming from you."

"Victor!" Aurora snapped, her voice sharp.

Harris raised a brow, his attention shifting to Victor. "Mr. Westwood, do you have something to add?"

Victor shrugged, his expression defiant. "Let's just say Dad wasn't exactly the paragon of virtue, and neither is she."

"Victor, stop it!" Aurora's voice cracked, her hands gripping the arms of her chair.

"Mr. Westwood," Harris interjected, his tone firm. "If you have relevant information, now is the time to share it."

Victor hesitated, his jaw working as though he were holding back a tirade. Finally, he said, "Let's just say their 'discussions' weren't exactly quiet. You could hear the shouting from across the house."

Harris turned back to Aurora. "Mrs. Westwood, were you discussing your marriage?"

Aurora's face flushed, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Yes," she admitted finally. "We were arguing about our marriage. But that has nothing to do with what happened!"

"Did you mention anything about ending the marriage?" Harris pressed.

Aurora hesitated, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the armrest. "I... might have mentioned a divorce," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Harris's expression remained neutral, but his tone was firm. "Why didn't you share this earlier?"

"Because it's irrelevant!" Aurora snapped. "Yes, I was angry with him. Yes, I wanted out. But I didn't kill him!"

Victor muttered something under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Aurora.

Harris, unshaken, took a step closer. "Mrs. Westwood, withholding information during a murder investigation is a serious matter. If there's anything else you're not telling us, now is the time."

Aurora's face paled, and for a moment, it seemed she might say something more. But she bit her lip and remained silent.

As the family began to disperse, August lingered in the dining room, his mind racing. He glanced toward Vanessa, who had stayed back as well, her posture poised yet slightly tense.

He approached her, his steps measured. "Vanessa," he said softly.

She turned to him, her blue eyes meeting his. There was something unspoken in her gaze, a mixture of empathy and curiosity. "Yes?"

August hesitated, studying her face-the delicate curve of her jaw, the faint freckles on her nose, the way her blonde hair framed her features. "Do you think... do you think this family will ever recover from this?"

Vanessa tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. "I think families are resilient in ways we don't expect. But secrets have a way of tearing people apart, especially when they're brought into the light."

Her words lingered, heavy with meaning. August nodded, his gray eyes searching hers. "Thank you... for being here."

Vanessa smiled faintly, a small, fleeting expression that seemed to carry more weight than words. "It's my job," she said simply.

But as they stood there, the weight of the night pressing down on them, August couldn't shake the feeling that Vanessa's presence was more than coincidental.

And in the shadows of the grand dining room, as the house creaked with unspoken truths, a storm was brewing-one that neither of them could yet see.