CH189

CH189
Her smile faltered for a second before sharpening. “Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m after.”
I blinked at her like I truly didn’t have a clue. “No. Really. I don’t.”
Her jaw tightened. “The token.”
I forced my expression to stay blank. "Like… for games?"
She snarled. "You're starting to piss me off."
I cocked an eyebrow, pulling my best confused face. There was a camera bolted into the corner of the cell and a guard seated just far enough away not to overhear. Every word in this place was recorded. For her to be so bold, she had to have someone in uniform looking the other way or helping her
I kept my voice mild, even confused. “I still don't know who you are. Not sure if I care either.”
Her composure cracked further, frustration bleeding into her tone. “You're not going to be playing games much longer. He’s not going to stick around for much longer.”
The words hit like ice water. She had to be talking about Lukas. Was he safe? Was he flickering away right now?
Her lips curled into something smug. “Lukas and I have very lavish wedding plans, and soon enough, you're going to be out of the way. It would be best for you to bow out gracefully for a change.”
She turned on her heel before I could respond, her perfume trailing behind her as the click of her heels faded down the corridor.
Her interest in Lukas had been obvious from the start, but she was incredibly delusional, too.
No wonder she was friends with Reese and Celeste.

The clang of the cell door jolted me upright. Two officers appeared, faces impassive, and gestured for me to stand. The cuffed me again and walked me down a sterile corridor into a cramped interrogation room where a metal table and two chairs stood. The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air.
I sat where they pointed, chains rattling softly as they clipped the cuff to a loop on the table. The door creaked open again, and a man in a rumpled suit strolled in, file tucked under his arm. His badge caught the fluorescent light as he set the file down and took his seat across from me.
“Miss Winters,” he said, his tone casual, almost friendly. “Quite the show you put on today.”
I stayed quiet.
He flipped open the folder, glancing down at the reports. “Now, normally, I’d say a little scuffle between college athletes is nothing to worry about. Competitive spirits, tempers flaring, you know how it is, I'm sure. Especially with all the history and the Olympic tryouts…” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a faint smirk. “But this is a little much, don’t you think?” He tapped the paper. “You put three girls in the hospital with broken bones and concussions. That’s not a spat. That’s a beating. Your dad taught you that?”
I kept my gaze fixed on him, my voice even. “I’d like my phone call."
"We're just talking casually. Why so uptight?"
"I’m not saying anything without my lawyer present.”
His smirk widened, like he’d expected that. “Sure, sure. Lawyer up. That’s your right.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “But let’s be real here. Judges like to see cooperation and contrition. If you just admit this got out of hand, say you lost your cool, maybe you walk out with a slap on the wrist: anger management, probation, something easy. Following in your old man's footsteps. But if you sit here in silence?” He tilted his head. “Well, prosecutors don’t like feeling stonewalled. First offense or not, you could be looking at assault charges with teeth. One of them's in a coma.”
I said nothing.
He chuckled, low and derisive. “You don’t look like the type, but that's just going to make the press go nuts. Not going to look good for your daddy in the next election. Imagine the headlines: Senator's Daughter Beats A Woman To Near Death In A Fit Of Jealousy." He arched a brow, mocking. “Doesn’t spell he can be trusted with us. Most his policies would look hypocritical…"
He waited; the silence stretched. My refusal to speak only seemed to irritate him further. Finally, with a scoff, he shoved his chair back and stood.
“Fine. Sit here. Stew on it,” he said, gathering his file under his arm. “When you’re ready to stop pretending, we’ll talk again.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving me in the stale, humming quiet.

It felt like hours had crawled by of me chained to the stupid table, sitting in this hard chair. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a relentless hum. I must’ve dozed, because the next thing I knew, the door opened and an officer dropped a phone in front of me.
“Make your call.”
I didn’t hesitate. I dialed my mother's number, she answered, but didn’t even let me finish my first sentence.
“We’re already here,” she snapped. “Stay put. Don’t say a word to anyone else. Your father and I are coming in.”
"Okay."
Minutes later, the hallway exploded with noise: a pair of raised voices, the sound of heels striking the cheap tile like gunfire, and shuffling shoes. My parents had arrived. I caught sight of my parents storming through the precinct like a thundercloud with their lawyer in tow through the door.
I recognized him. He was my mother’s friend, and he was already in the middle of an argument with the desk sergeant.
“You’ve denied her due process, you’ve denied her access to counsel, you’ve denied her a phone call for hours—”
“She’s an assault suspect,” the detective from earlier tried to argue.
“On what basis?” my father snapped, his voice cutting like a whip. “You didn’t even bother to pull campus security footage? You didn’t even ask her side of the story before locking her up like a criminal? Never mind it was three against one! That's self-defense at best!”
"They're in the hospital," he said. "It's assault, and she's not helping her case with the silent act."