Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Breaking news.
Headlines at 9 p.m. lit across every television screen in Monterey.
“Breaking News: Businesswoman Ella Walls, daughter of Donald Walls, was found dead in her car near the coastal highway of California.
Police say it appeared to be a targeted attack. No trace of evidence was found and nothing was leaked to the press,” the reporter announced in a serious tone.
The entire city was talking about it. Everyone knew the Walls family — one of the richest in California. And Ella? She was the quiet, calm, polished type, who hardly even made news. Until now.
The TV light reflected softly on Amelia’s face as she sat cross-legged on her bed, the remote in her hand. She was dressed in her silk robe, a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Her eyes didn’t even blink as the reporter continued to speak.
Photos of Ella flashed on the screen — smiling, beautiful, full of life. Amelia’s lips curved faintly.
“I could do anything just to be with you,” she said quietly, crunching a popcorn in her mouth, her eyes still glued to the TV.
Her phone buzzed beside her pillow
Gloria: You did it?
Amelia stared at the message, her jaw tightening for a second. Then she typed calmly.
Amelia: No.
A few seconds later, she added another line.
Amelia: It must have been a coincidence.
She set the phone down beside her and took another bite of popcorn. Her movie was still paused from earlier — some random romantic drama on Netflix — but she didn’t hit play.
The TV still showed Ella’s photo, now beside her father’s, both faces framed by the red “Breaking News” banner.
Her phone buzzed again.
Gloria: I know you did it. Ella Walls was innocent, Amelia. She did nothing to you. She and Ethan weren’t even dating. You just cut a young woman’s life short.
Amelia rolled her eyes, grabbed the phone again, and typed.
Amelia: Don’t say that, girl. I did nothing.
The typing dots appeared. Then stopped. Then came again.
Gloria: I know you, Amelia. And I know what you’re capable of. But Ella didn’t deserve that. Not at all.
Amelia threw her phone on the bed this time, annoyed. “What do people even know?” she muttered. “They talk like they’ve lived my life.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
Ella’s face flashed in her mind again — the way she used to smile on magazine covers, the effortless glow, the soft voice in interviews. Amelia hated that smile. She hated the way people always compared her to Ella.
Amelia was still lying on her bed, her phone resting on her chest. The popcorn bowl was empty now.
The news was still replaying in the background.
“...no suspects have been confirmed. The police are continuing investigations,” the anchor repeated.
Amelia’s face was calm.
She got up and walked to the mirror, looking at herself.
Her reflection stared back — tired eyes, mascara slightly smudged, but still beautiful.
“You’re just protecting what’s yours,” she whispered to herself. “You love him, and love makes people do things.”
Her voice trembled slightly. She straightened her hair and smiled faintly.
“I didn’t kill her,” she said again, her tone softer now, almost childlike.
She turned the TV off. The room went quiet.
Only the faint hum of her phone vibrated against the blanket.
Another text from Gloria appeared, but she didn’t open it.
She didn’t want to hear more accusations. She didn’t want to think anymore.
Ethan sat on the couch in his living room, watching the same news silently.
The TV headline repeated every few minutes, showing Ella’s car by the coastal highway. The police were still investigating.
He leaned back, one hand resting on his chin. His face looked tired, his eyes dull.
“She’s dead,” he muttered under his breath.
He remembered the random decorated card that was delivered to him in the villa just few days ago.
Would you be my boyfriend? it had said, sent by Ella Walls.
He remembered her message too. Dinner?
And how he had replied, Sorry, not interested. Have a nice life.
Now that same girl was gone.
He exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead. “Life’s so unpredictable,” he said quietly.
The house was silent. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off.
He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind kept going back — not to Ella, but to the pattern.
Every woman that crossed his path somehow got hurt. Emotionally, mentally, or worse.
And this time, someone had died again.
He picked up his phone again. His notifications were full of pe
ople talking about it. News blogs, comments, sympathy posts — all about Ella Walls.
One particular comment caught his eye:
“They said she was last seen arguing with someone at the gas station near the highway.”