Archive of Our Own

W hen Sarah was awakened by an urgent call from her boss at 5:32 in the morning on a rainy Sunday, she already knew that it wasn't going to be a good day for her.

When her coffee machine showed no signs of working and then started letting out smoke, filling her small apartment with a terrible burning smell, Sarah was sure that that day was about to be one of the worst she had ever had since she started working at the small Los Angeles police station.

When she got into her car, which had a broken heater, and continued to hear on the radio that all police officers should report to headquarters with the utmost urgency, Sarah Jones could already feel a hellish headache coming on. It wasn't even six in the morning yet, she realized with a long, pained sigh.

When she parked her car in front of her workplace and saw the huge number of other cars parked there, Sarah wished she had never disobeyed her parents and chosen to work in that particular area. Nothing good could come of so many of them being called in at that hour of the morning for such a major emergency.

And apparently she had been the last to arrive.

Just great.

“Jones,” was the first thing she heard as she walked through the revolving doors of her personal hell, better known as the Los Angeles Police Department. “Finally, you decided to show up.”

Sarah had to hold back a roll of her eyes as she turned her attention to Mary, the police station receptionist and the reason most of Sarah's days started with a headache. Mary, with her blonde hair always tied up in elaborate braids and too dressed up for Sarah's taste, had been working there long before Sarah was transferred to that specific unit after her promotion, and from day one Sarah hated everything about her.

“Davis,” Sarah replied as she walked over to Mary's always-tidy desk.

“Well, what are you waiting for, standing there?” asked the blonde, sharply. The others would never believe her if she told them that the always perfect and kind Saint Mary was being anything but incredibly nice to Sarah, but she was used to it by now. “Your boss is calling everyone into his office. And he doesn't look very happy right now, so I'd be very careful.”

With that, Mary turned her attention to her computer which was covered in pink stickers, and the mere sight of those shiny little stickers made a big frustrated sigh grow in her chest. 

Well, at least until she got close to the main room, she could hate everything about Mary Davis—her supposedly charming personality, her bright smile, and her obsession with the color pink and cute animals. Well, at least until she got close to the main office, she could hate everything about Mary Davis—her supposedly charming personality, her bright smile, and her obsession with the color pink and cute animals—but that didn't mean she was going to ignore the warning that Jonathan was in a terrible mood that day. 

Knocking on the door, Sarah waited until she heard the captain allow her to enter before finally pushing the door open. Mary was right, she realized with a weight being placed on her shoulders. Jonathan had a huge frown on his face as he looked directly at her as she quickly entered the room—not that he had many expressions other than anger, boredom, concentration, or a very specific face he used when he thought someone was being deliberately stupid and annoying and wasting his precious time.

“Jones, I've been calling you on the radio for...” began the older man in a dissatisfied tone as he turned his attention to his wristwatch. “Over thirty minutes. All your colleagues arrived on time, except you. As usual. Any specific reason you'd like to share with the class?”

Sarah felt her face turning dark red as she tried not to look away from Jonathan, knowing that it would only irritate him more. She could argue with him as much as she wanted, but she knew it would be useless, and Sarah really wanted to know the reason for all the fuss, so she opted for the safest answer:

“No, sir.”

“That's what I thought,” Jonathan finished with that very specific look he used when he thought someone was being deliberately stupid and annoying and wasting his precious time. “Well, at least you showed up. Keep up.”

Sarah took her seat next to Peter Brown, her longtime colleague, who was even younger than she was, as she looked at the photo the captain had given to her.

It wasn't hard to understand what the photo was about; it was immediately possible to identify a body without the man's head. Sarah used to believe that, after more than a decade working as a police detective, she no longer had any strong feelings about cases, no matter how bloody they were, but seeing the clear brutality of what the body had gone through, it was obvious, judging by the irregularity of the wound on the man's neck, that it had not been a quick murder, she couldn't help but shudder, a horrible chill running up her spine. In fact, Sarah doubted that it had been a mere murder, let alone a quick one—the man's body, completely naked, was covered in wounds, from his neck to the tips of his toes.

The cuts were deep, irregular, inflamed, and long, the burns ranged from small redness to large blisters that made Sarah's arms shiver, and the whip marks were unmistakable all over his body, long red marks that tore open the mysterious man's flesh.

“As I was saying,” Jonathan continued sharply, his eyes finally shifting from Sarah's face back to his own papers laid out on the table. “This morning, a patrol group was passing by in a vehicle when they found this body near an abandoned warehouse, close to the city limits.”

As the captain recounted the events, Sarah turned to the second paper that had been handed to her. There was a long list of injuries, all meticulously reported. Among the long list of injuries inflicted on the body were: decapitation, whipping, broken legs, arms, fingers, ribs, and a ruptured spleen, huge cuts that had been poorly stitched, and castration. 

Well, whoever did that to that guy had a lot of hate in their heart for him, and they obviously had a lot of strength.

“He was in an advanced state of rigor mortis, with clear signs of violence, but what caught our attention most—and you may have already read this in the preliminary report—is that the body was decapitated,” Jonathan continued, his voice taking on a somber tone as he slowly leafed through the pages in front of him. "Forensics did what they could with what they had. They managed to lift partial fingerprints from the left hand and identified a very old scar on the shoulder, probably from previous surgery. They cross-referenced the data with the national database, and it didn't take long to get a name.“ He paused for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning the faces around the table, as if he could already feel a headache coming on. ”It's official. The body has been identified as Octavian Trottel."

Sarah felt a chill in her stomach as the information finally sank in.

Octavian Trottel.

The police investigation into the disappearance of the youngest and most popular governor in history was immense and longer than anyone expected. No one in the police had stopped looking for Octavian in over four months, since January 15, when he was reported missing a few days before a parade for his campaign as the youngest senator to ever run, a goal that everyone could see meant a lot to him.

The popular opinion, at least initially, was that Octavian had been kidnapped by a criminal gang or simply by another marginalized group that felt aggrieved by the measures taken by the California governor during his more than eight years as a politician. However, this perception soon changed. After more than a month without any news about Octavian, people's eyes began to turn to a possible move by Octavian's political enemies, who were not lacking in numbers. At the age of thirty-four, Octavian had already achieved more than any other politician his age and even more than many politicians older than him, and with that came countless enemies and people who wanted the man's head on a stake.

And apparently they had succeeded. At least that's what everyone thought. Sarah was not so easily fooled, and she did not trust the “public's general view” in the slightest. What did those people know?

“The shit is about to hit the fan, and you know it,” the captain continued with a sigh before straightening his back and looking at them. When their eyes finally met, she felt an overwhelming urge to hide, but she didn't, which seemed to be the right decision. “This case will very quickly become more public than it already is. If you thought it was bad when Trottel was simply missing, then I think you'd better prepare yourselves for a much worse situation. We're going to hold a press conference soon, and I give it less than an hour before we're surrounded on all sides by journalists and a public desperate for new information on the matter.”

There was no hint of compassion for them or Octavian on his face, and Sarah could see the man who had quickly risen to the very top of the food chain in that godforsaken hell hole. “Williams, Kuhn, and Diggs, go back to where the body was found. I need you to make sure nothing has been overlooked or ignored by whoever did this. I want everything: images, footprints, routes. If that body was dumped there, whoever did it left some trace. Santiago, Reed, and Foster—you talk to the feds. Check if there's something bigger behind this. If this murder is part of something bigger than that, we need to know before the press does. Jones, Brown, and Smith, stay behind."

“Yes, sir,” exclaimed the first six called at the same time, before leaving the room with some trepidation but without even stopping once on their way out.

When the door finally closed behind Richard Diggs, Sarah turned her gaze to Jonathan just in time to see him gesturing for her, Peter, and Robert to come closer to his desk. Sarah could feel the tension radiating from each of her companions, especially Robert, and if she had to guess why, she would say that the redhead was definitely upset about Octavian's murder—he had always liked the Governor, after all.

“I'm sending you three back to the Trottel family mansion.”

Sarah had to stifle a heavy sigh when her suspicions proved correct. If there was one place Sarah Jones had come to hate more than the stuffy police station she had been working at for the past few years, it was definitely the gigantic mansion where the perfect Trottel family lived. 

“We need to inform Mrs. Trottel of her husband's death before the news of it reaches her first. You know how sensitive this matter is,” Jonathan said, looking at each of them once more, his relentless brown eyes searching for any sign of weakness. “I'm sending you because she already knows the three of you, but that doesn't mean I'm not watching. Don't fuck this up in any way."

It didn't take a genius to figure out exactly what he was talking about, but Sarah still felt the need to defend herself and her companions. At her side, Peter stretched as if struggling not to respond defiantly to the man who could end his career without much effort. Before any of them could say anything, Jonathan interrupted them:

“I'm serious. I don't care one bit about your personal opinions of Persephone Trottel, but the moment you walk through those doors, you will treat that woman as if the sun shines just because she says so.”

Robert snorted, his body, even with that feeble attempt to appear relaxed, tense as if he knew he was doing something that could cost him his place in that particular case, but nevertheless deciding not to care.

"With all due respect, Captain... Persephone Trottel is a miserable little woman with a golden surname, who will soon be worthless with the murder of her husband. If it were up to me, she would have to work very hard to—”

“Don’t worry, it won’t depend on you ,” Jonathan interrupted, his voice firm as a crack of dry wood, his gaze now fixed on Robert with an intensity that silenced the room completely in its entirety. “It will depend on what I say. And right now I’m saying that the three of you will keep your personal opinions out of this damn investigation. Is that clear?”

For a moment, no one moved. Until Robert swallowed hard and nodded with a restrained murmur, the sarcasm retreating behind a neutral mask for a moment.

"I don't think you understand what's at stake here. In fact, I think you underestimate the influence Persephone has had since she arrived in Los Angeles. I'm not asking you to love her the way this whole fucking state loves her. I'm saying that while you're working on this case under my supervision, you need to put your opinions about that woman aside and look at the whole picture”, and with a sigh he rose from his chair, his impenetrable countenance finally crumbling before their eyes. ”I don't want to hear another word about your amateur behavior. Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. Peter Drown."

Peter's pale blond eyebrows rose as if to ask, “Peter, as in me?” Jonathan didn't find this amusing at all, so he stopped his incessant pacing around the room and stood in front of the much younger detective.

“Do you think I didn't hear about your little stunt of going after Hazel Trottel while she was in a park with her babysitter?” With the angry tone of the captain of the Los Angeles Police Department, Peter swallowed hard but did not look away from Jonathan.

“Sir, I just thought that—” 

"I know exactly what you thought, Detective Peter Brown, and, honestly, I don't want to spend even a single second listening to your line of reasoning that led you to do that. What I know for sure is that I need this investigation to go as smoothly as possible, since we're already in deep trouble for taking four solid months to find Octavian. Because we found Octavian dead, more importantly, recently murdered—which means the public will be quick to conclude that if we had tried a little harder, we would have found him still alive.”

Sarah swallowed hard, her throat burning with the overwhelming urge to say something, anything at all.

Like a balloon being deflated, Jonathan raised his hand to cover his eyes as he let out a long sigh, before placing it on his hip. At that moment, Sarah wasn't sure if he was about to dismiss the three of them from the mission or simply let them go. Instead, the captain continued,

“I don't care that you don't like Persephone Trottel. I'm not saying you shouldn't investigate her or suspect her if you have reason to,” in the last part he turned his gaze to Sarah's brown eyes. "What I'm saying is to be careful. The whole country is in that one woman's hands, and right now, we don't need the mess we'd have if she opened her fucking mouth about how a cop approached her nine year old daughter without any adult supervision."

The worst part of it all was that Jonathan wasn't lying to them. No matter how much disdain and loathing Sarah harbored for Persephone in her heart, she knew it was true—from the moment Octavian's new, beautiful, exciting, demure yet fun, elegant, exotic and Greek wife had set her foot in the United States, the country had been eating right out of the palm of her hand.

It didn't matter if you followed Octavian and his conservative views or despised the man with all your heart and dreamed of him getting shot in the forehead, everyone loved Persephone Trottel.

Sarah's blood began to boil at the mere thought of the young woman. Knowing that Persephone Trottel's fate was in her hands gave her a feeling of victory—if Sarah found anything that might incriminate the woman, and she knew she would, the brilliant life of Octavian's little wife would turn to dust—but the knowledge that to do so she would have to coexist with the protagonist of her nightmares made Sarah deeply nauseous.

That would pass the moment she could see the dark haired woman being arrested. Only Sarah knows how much she longs to see Persephone wearing orange clothes instead of her designer outfits, to see her silky hair deteriorate with prison time, to finally see that Persephone Trottel was just another one of them mere mortals.

“Go back to that house, tell Mrs. Trottel that she is officially a widow and that her daughter is now fatherless, ask whatever questions you need to, but I don’t want to hear a single bad word from any of you three. I’m this close,” said the captain as he held his index finger and thumb together so that there was only a tiny gap between them. “to take you completely off the case. Remember that before you decide to do anything in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without even looking at them again, Jonathan sat down in his conference chair, which must have cost more than Sarah, Peter, and Robert’s salaries combined, only to dismiss them with an irritated wave of his hand when they remained standing in front of his desk.

As she made her way out of the room, Sarah could hear the man muttering: 

“I'm surrounded by idiots.” 

Well, it was always very nice to know how much you are loved and appreciated in your workplace.  

-

The drive to the mansion was anticlimactic, as it always was, in Sarah's humble opinion. 

As Robert drove the three of them to the second most hated place in Sarah's life, second only to the police station where she worked, the redhead pondered how she would break the news to the newest widow that her beloved husband had died in such a brutal manner.

The truth was that Sarah would rather not have to be the one to deliver the news, but between Robert, who seemed more focused on mourning his hero, and Peter, who would probably rather face the same fate as Octavian than possibly have to comfort a woman's feelings, Sarah knew she would have to be the one to take on that task.

Not that Sarah thought she would comfort Persephone, because she certainly wouldn't.

Thinking of that woman suffering with no one to pamper her warmed Sarah's heart in a way that not many things did, like the thought of seeing her in jail. But that was okay, one step at a time, Sarah had no doubt that the perfect mask of poor, perfect Persephone would fall as time went by. She just had to wait.

For now, she would content herself with watching Persephone cry over her deceased husband.

Coming out of her perhaps somewhat dark thoughts, Sarah saw that they were quickly approaching the famous Trottel Mansion, which seemed like the ideal moment for her to start gathering her things, such as the folder with everything Persephone might want to know about Octavian's murder, whether performatively or not. Sarah would make a point of showing her every little piece of evidence, the photos taken of the disfigured body being at the top of what she most wanted to rub in the woman's perfect face. 

“Well, it's either now or never,” Peter commented as he looked suspiciously at the almost haunted mansion while opening the car door.  

“I just hope we don't have to spend more time than absolutely necessary here,” Sarah added as she descended behind Peter. The comment was met with a dark look from Robert, his icy blue eyes turning to her with a mixture of amusement and deadly serious rebuke.

“Oh, great. Now you've cursed us.” 

Sarah would have laughed, if the idea of spending more time than usual in that particular house hadn't immediately drained any humor she might have had.

“Shut up, asshole,” was all she could manage to say to him at that very moment. Sarah knew, at least, that Robert hated that he might be right about that — the way his face contorted as he turned his eyes back to the mansion entrance said everything she needed to know anyway. Not that she was much better off. “Now or never, indeed.”

As they walked toward the house, the number of parties that had already taken place in that same location began to pop into Sarah's mind. The Trottel mansion was known for having hosted several different parties, at least 50 since Octavian was re-elected, if Sarah had to guess. They were always completely exclusive, and only the elite of the elite had been allowed to attend. Obviously, some parties were more important than others. Some were splashed across the front pages of every newspaper—the mansion's entrance practically turned into a red carpet, with hundreds of celebrities arriving while even more photographers tried to snap their pictures—while others were mere speculation, with guests so carefully selected that even the slightest bit of information about what happened there was practically impossible to obtain.

And at the center of it all were Octavian and Persephone Trottel. 

Looking out at the large front garden, the redhead could practically see the infamous couple welcoming their guests. Octavian in his suit that probably cost more than Sarah's old car, his blond hair perfectly styled and his shoes shining almost as brightly as his own teeth, and Persephone by his side. Ah, Persephone . Persephone was probably wearing a beautiful dress, which would become a trend around the entire world that same day, with gorgeous earrings that highlighted her annoyingly beautiful eyes, dark hair silkier than any imported fabric, and simply being herself—Octavian's tirelessly perfect wife and quite possibly one of the most important women in the world.

It was both funny and pleasurable to think that years ago Sarah would have had zero access to that huge building, but now she could walk in there and rummage through whatever she wanted. That the fate of that particular family, except for Octavian, was in her hands. 

(Sarah will purposely ignore that she technically isn't allowed to actually search the house yet, or that the fate of the family isn't really in her hands.) 

Robert's large steps reached the front door of the house first, its huge structure being more intimidating than Sarah would like to admit.

“Remember what the captain said. Behave yourselves,” Sarah said stiffly, her pale skin already showing signs of redness from the stress of the day as she watched Robert slowly ring the doorbell.

“Oh yes, ma'am - ‘Even when I'm forced to sit quietly in a room with Persephone Trottel, I make a point of looking at her as if she were the embodiment of everything that is wrong with the world’ . I'll take your advice, yeah,” Peter commented sarcastically, his tanned hands running through his blond hair in a gesture meant to convey calm. It didn't work. “ Fuck off. Jesus Christ, Jones.”

“It's not my fault I'm the only one here who isn't completely in love with her,” replied the redhead as she turned her neck toward Peter, her light blue eyes burning with fury at the mocking smile that adorned his face.

"It's okay to admit you're jealous of her, Jones. We totally get it,“ said the dark-haired man mockingly as he teased her, his eyes showing delight at how her face was probably turning red with her anger. “It’s better to admit it than to keep trying to hide it. It’s pathetic, really. I’m telling you this as your dear friend.”

One night’s sleep and she forgets how much she hated those sons of bitches. Well, Peter just reminded her.

“‘Hey, listen here-’”

“It’s okay to be jealous of her, Jones, just don’t let your personal opinions get in the way of the investigation,” Peter interrupted with an irritating smile on his face. He knew he had found a sensitive topic and wasn’t afraid to use it to affect Sarah.

“Funny you should say that, Brown,” Robert interrupted when the younger man opened his mouth to continue his speech. The red haired man's eyes remained fixed on the door, probably trying to imagine how much longer it would take for someone to open it after they had already rung the bell.

“What do you mean by that, Smith?” Peter asked sharply as he turned his head toward the older man.

Before either of them could answer, the huge wooden door burst open, and the person standing there almost made Sarah burst out laughing just to tease Peter.

Standing inside the house was Hazel Trottel. The girl, who according to the stories that were told, was technically Persephone's younger cousin, but she was much better known for having been adopted by the Trottel couple at the age of three. Sarah still remembered how all the newspapers talked about it; there was no media outlet that didn't try to get as much information as possible about the girl who obviously had the heart of America's darling in the palm of her hand.

Too bad for all of them, because Persephone Trottel proved to be like a protective mother bear with her cousin, daughter, or whatever that girl was. Regardless of what Sarah thought of it all—and what she particularly thought was that Persephone was taking advantage of the little girl to make herself look even more perfect; the charitable, kind woman who now, with her big heart, had adopted her cousin in need—one thing was certain, no one could ever say that Persephone didn't take care of her protégé.

That said, Sarah really doesn't know what Peter was thinking when he decided to corner Hazel to get some kind of information out of her. Don't get her wrong, Sarah couldn't care less about that particular girl, but it was foolish to think that Hazel wouldn't tell someone what happened or that Persephone wouldn't retaliate with something.

And now it was little Hazel who welcomed them into the house.

“Good morning,” Hazel said shyly, looking between the three of them with a kind of amazement, even though her eyes lingered a little longer on Peter than on Sarah or Robert. “How can I help you?”

Now at the age of nine, Hazel seemed much more confident than when she first appeared at the age of four in a newspaper alongside Persephone. Not only more confident, but also every inch of what a girl raised by a wealthy and influential family might look like. Her dark hair was so shiny that Sarah was sure her hair products cost more than her monthly grocery bill, her brown skin glowed with the golden light of the sun in a way that was only seen in movies, and she was dressed from head to toe in beautiful and probably very expensive clothes. Everything about her screamed money and care and attention.

“Hello, Hazel,” Sarah replied, her voice trying, and failing, to sound as friendly as possible as she remembered Jonathan's earlier warning. The girl didn't seem fooled by her fake smile, as her golden eyes looked at her almost suspiciously. “We came here to talk to your mom. It's quite an urgent matter."

“Oh,” said Hazel very eloquently. Her eyes went from Sarah to Peter, seeming to dislike what she found on both their faces.

Before the young girl could respond to anything else, two figures appeared beside her without Sarah noticing.

To the left of Hazel stood a woman Sarah didn't know, but could only assume worked in the house from her work clothes. She was an employee who hadn't been there the last few times they visited the house. She immediately placed her pale hand on Hazel's lilac blouse, her fingers clinging tightly to the girl as she pulled her further into the old mansion. The woman's brown eyes turned to the three police officers standing at the door of the house, and Sarah saw in them recognition of who each of them was, and her grip seemed to tighten on the child as she fixed her gaze on Peter.

Great, she also knew what Peter had done.

On Hazel's right was a teenager who couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. He had skin that was almost golden in the summer light, hair as blond as the sun, and light blue eyes, and even though he looked like a rather nice boy on the outside, he immediately frowned when he met Peter's gaze. The boy quickly took Hazel's hand and squeezed it firmly.

She was sure she had seen that boy somewhere before, Sarah was sure of it, but she couldn't remember where. The feeling of knowing that he was not a stranger to her and at the same time simply not being able to say why he was so familiar gave her a terrible headache. 

“Good morning. How can I help you today?” asked the woman, echoing the words Hazel had uttered just moments before.  

“Will,” Hazel interrupted, looking at the blond boy who was still holding her hand with some sort of protective force. Immediately, Will’s eyes turned to the girl, his blue eyes completely focused on whatever she had to say. At that moment, she remembered exactly where she had seen that boy's face before. He was the teenager who had been responsible for looking after Hazel when Peter tried to get her to answer his questions. “They said they want to talk to mom.”

The two young people continued to stare at each other while the dark haired woman turned her neck as if looking for Persephone right there in the living room, before turning her attention back to Sarah. 

“Mrs. Persephone was by the pool the last time I checked. I can call her for you in just a moment for you, sir,” said the woman quickly, already moving.But before she could actually go after the woman, Robert interrupted her.

“No need, Mrs. ...?” Robert said as he looked the maid up and down, as if trying to determine how important she was to the whole house.

“Lily Miller,” Lily replied as she twisted her hands behind her uniform.

“Mrs. Miller. No need to bother calling her, we'll go to her ourselves, if you'll excuse us,” Robert finished, more politely than he would normally show to any other women, but Sarah assumed that she and Peter weren't the only ones who constantly remembered the warning their captain had given them.

Before any of them could even try to answer, the three officers started walking into the house, Sarah's steps steady as she tried to figure out where Persephone could possibly be, where exactly “near the pool” was. She could feel all three pairs of eyes watching them as she kept walking through the house.

“Hazel, Will, go to your rooms and stay there,” Lily exclaimed with more force in her voice than when she had been speaking to them just moments before. “I mean it, Hazel. Your mother would not want to know that you were anywhere near that man. Will, keep her in her room.”

“Okay, okay,” said Hazel, her high pitched voice with the innocence of childhood seeming to be playing with the teenager, even though deep down she seemed concerned about whatever was going on.

Choosing to ignore whatever was happening at the entrance of the house for now, Sarah turned her attention to the path they were taking to the entrance of the outside of the house. It wasn't the first time she had been there in the midst of such wealth. Since Octavian had been reported missing, Sarah had walked those corridors on several occasions, but each time she noticed something new that she hadn't seen before.

Everything in the mansion screamed money and power, every inch of space clearly planned down to the last millimeter, probably by a luxury architect. Despite this, Sarah could also see clues of a happy family scattered throughout the house: photos showing Persephone with Hazel, more recent photos of Persephone with her newborn daughter, Aurelia, a few toys scattered around the house, and some paint stains of various colors on the edge of the expensive sofa.

Of course, all of this was quite insignificant when compared to the photos of Octavian around the house, most of which showed him by himself or with other politicians, somehow always displaying some achievement, including those in which he was with his wife.

It was notable, however, that Persephone was considerably happier in her photos with her daughters than in those with her longtime husband. Perhaps this just showed that Persephone was a very good mother, that she was always radiant around her beloved daughters, and that she was indeed the woman devoted to her family that everyone in that country seemed certain she was.

Sarah, however, was not so sure.

Something about it all smelled rotten to her, and it irritated her deeply that Sarah seemed to be the only one who could see that there was something about Persephone Trottel that was putrid.

Sarah was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt Lily approaching her from her left side, her dark hair falling out of her bun as she jogged slightly to keep up with her steps.

“May I ask what you do here, Ms. Miller?” Sarah asked, looking at the dark haired woman out of the corner of her eye as she tried to determine if the woman's nervousness was simply due to being in the presence of detectives she knew were working on her boss's disappearance, or if the woman possibly knew some information necessary for the case.

“I've been working taking care of the mansion for exactly four years and three months,” Lily replied, looking at Sarah almost a little weirdly. Apparently, cops asking questions wasn't what the woman expected. I guess you never know.

“Taking care of the mansion in what way?” Sarah asked again. “Oh, most of the time I make sure everything in the living room is tidy, but I can help the other staff tidy up the rest of the house too,” said the brunette with a slight shrug, as if talking about her role in the house helped her relax. Sarah couldn't relate less to that.

“Not taking care of the children? I thought you might be Hazel and Aurelia's nanny,” Sarah insisted once again, this time turning her full attention to Lily, who had done the same, turning her face to face the redhead. To her right, Sarah could see Robert and Peter paying attention to the conversation that was unfolding.

“No, no. Miss Hazel and little Aurelia don't have any nannies. Mrs. Persephone has always insisted on being solely responsible for them both, ” said Lily, and Sarah could detect a hint of pride in her voice, as if thinking about the perfect motherhood of the lady of the house brought her immense pride and satisfaction. “She usually spends as much time as possible with those two girls. It's really beautiful to see the way she loves them both to death."

Great, thought Sarah, another person completely in love with Persephone Trottel.

Not that Sarah believed for a single moment that what the employee was saying was even remotely true. Clearly, she said the same thing to everyone who asked about Persephone Trottel's beloved daughters. Sarah knew all too well the kind of woman Persephone was: born into wealth, married to an even wealthier man who provided her with everything she could possibly want, and lacking a single maternal bone in her entire body. Sarah doubted that woman even held her daughter long enough for her to remember her face, at least not when there weren't cameras around for her to show how much she loved those two girls.

If Persephone really cared that much about her daughters, Aurelia wouldn't be as miserable as she was.

“And Octavian?” Sarah asked, completely ignoring what the dark haired woman had said about Persephone. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Peter smile very slightly, as if Sarah’s spite for the most recent widow was a great source of amusement to him. “Did you see him around the house a lot? Did he spend much time with his daughters?”

Lily paused briefly to think about her answer, which was enough to set off alarm bells in Sarah's head. A thoughtful answer was completely different from the other spontaneous answers the woman had given.

"Mr. Octavian was a very reserved man, at least that's what I noticed during my years working in his house. He didn't spend much time at the mansion, but when he did, I didn't see him with any of the girls, not really,“ Lily finally replied, somewhat shyly. Sarah noticed that her eyes lacked the bright sparkle they had earlier when she talked about the man's wife. “Have you heard anything else about him, Officer?”

“We're here to give your wife the latest news about the governor,” Peter replied from where he had been standing. Any hint of positivity on the woman's face disappeared when she heard the man's voice. Sarah could only guess what the spoiled little brat had said about her encounter with the police officer in the past.

“Where exactly is Persephone, Mrs. Miller?” asked Robert, his voice more rigid than the last time he spoke to the woman. Only then did Sarah realize that they were already outside the main house, with a beautiful view of the pool right in front of them, but still no sign of Persephone. “We are already in the pool area, as you have informed us.”

“She's probably near the grill,” Lily replied quickly, her eyes once again showing a slightly nervous look, but answering all the same. “I'll call her over here, I'm sure she'll want to hear any news you have about Mr. Octavian.”

“Again, there's no need for that, Sarah said sharply, feeling a certain sadistic pleasure in seeing how the woman's face seemed to pale at the tone of her voice. At first, Sarah had nothing against Lily at all, but just remembering the loving tone she used to talk about Octavian's wife, any sympathy she had for the dark haired woman had simply disappeared from her entire body. “We'll go to her by ourselves, just point us in the right direction.”

Slowly, Lily raised her arm to point to where the owner of the house was supposed to be hiding. It was a slightly secluded place, with no doors but with walls, and it seemed like the ideal place for one person to grill food for a party of hungry people. It also seemed like a great hiding place.

Moving quickly forward, Robert, Peter, and Sarah left Lily behind, who didn't seem to make any effort to follow them at all, and soon they finally approached their final destination.

What they found there was something that made Sarah's face burn—later she wouldn't be able to say whether it was from hatred or from shame; she could practically see all the blood in her body rushing to her head, making her redder than her own hair. Beside her, she heard Peter and Robert holding their breath, their gasps apparently reaching only Sarah's ears and not those of the two people who made up the scene in front of them.

Across from them, Persephone and a blond man were making out. The woman — the widow — was sitting on the counter, her suntanned upper thighs spread wide so that the blond man could fit right in between them, which seemed to satisfy him immensely. They kissed as if the world would end if they were to separate, kissing hungrily, passionately, as if they couldn't think of a better place to be in the world.

The man's hands were tightly gripping Persephone's slim waist, squeezing her golden skin as if he were afraid that at any moment she would disappear from in front of him, in despair. Even from a distance, Sarah could see how Persephone's exposed skin seemed to be turning red from the man's attentions, but that didn't seem to bother the woman even for a moment — quite the contrary, Persephone made noises that made Sarah's skin crawl because of how filthy they were. Even sitting down, Persephone seemed to lean forward, her hands carelessly running through her companion's golden blond hair, her mouth opening as an invitation to a kiss that she did not want to come to an end. As Persephone's sounds grew louder, Sarah could see the way the man moved closer to her, his hips pushing forward, until the woman finally wrapped her sculpted legs around the blond man's waist.

It was almost mesmerizing how perfectly the two of them fit together, their bodies so tightly intertwined. Sarah couldn't take her eyes off the way the couple burned with passion; it seemed almost blasphemous to watch such a passionate act play out before her.

After what seemed like an eternity of the three police officers standing watching the couple have a heated make-out session, the blond man finally broke the kiss, his lips now completely focused on Persephone's already red neck. The woman immediately turned her face even further so that her partner had complete access to it. From a distance, Sarah could see the way her perfectly shaped eyebrows contracted with complete pleasure, her lips sealed in an attempt to prevent any more sounds from escaping her mouth.

Before Sarah could say anything, Persephone's eyes slowly opened, almost as if she were about to roll them back in her pleasure, before widening almost comically at the sight of Sarah, Peter, and Robert.

Persephone's hands abruptly pushed the man away from her neck, who seemed at first confused and then almost dismayed at the sight of the three police officers.

Yeah, almost.

The six remained completely silent for a single long moment, five pairs of eyes staring at each other as they tried to decide who would be the first to speak up and comment on what had just happened and been witnessed.

On the other hand, Sarah couldn't help but notice that even in her and her colleagues' presence, Persephone and the man had not yet completely separated, despite Persephone's legs having already released him, the man's hands still holding her waist.

“Good morning!” exclaimed the blond man cheerfully, and it was only then that Sarah recognized him.

That man—the man who, just moments ago, had caused Persephone Trottel to lose the perfect composure she always showed to everyone in the whole world—was Apollo Olympus.

Apollo was a well known figure throughout the country, one of the main reasons being his record label, one of the largest in the entire world. Some say that every artist that man meets, he turns into a huge celebrity. His record label has a roster of the greatest singers and bands in the business. Sarah knew very well that Apollo was known for being, surprisingly, a relatively honest man when it came to the contracts he made for his fellow artists.

But despite this, Apollo Olympus was known mainly for his closeness to Octavian Trottel.

It came as something of a surprise to everyone when, one day about six years ago, the prestigious Apollo, a gold producer beloved by almost everyone in the music industry and those who followed it, appeared for the first time supporting the governor of California, Octavian Trottel. After the first photo of the two together, it was clear to everyone that this friendship was there to stay. Apollo had donated thousands, if not millions, of dollars to Octavian's political campaign, attended every dinner, every party, and certainly every iconic moment of Octavian's career. It was funny because Apollo didn't seem like the kind of man who would fall into the good graces of the most notorious young governor in the country's history, or even the kind of man Octavian would like.

Now, not even a day after Octavian's body was found with his head cut off, Apollo—the man Octavian treated almost like a brother—was making out with the guy's wife.

In fact, considering everything, Sarah was sure that Apollo and Persephone had done much more than just make out.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, after all, Apollo had been present at various points in the investigation, he had helped the police with anything they needed, even if it was something he was obviously uncomfortable doing, but mainly he had been helping Persephone throughout the process of searching for her husband. It was not uncommon for photos of the two to appear in various places, such as when they were seen in campaigns encouraging the search for the governor. It should not have been a surprise, but it was nonetheless.

Everyone assumed that they were just two human beings suffering for a man they had mutual feelings for, the wife and best friend of the man many said was the future of the country. Others said that Apollo was taking care of the wife of the man he cared so much about. After all, Persephone had just given birth to her first biological daughter, Aurelia. The baby was less than a month old when her father mysteriously disappeared without leaving a trace behind, leaving her with her mother and multiple illnesses that her small and premature body should not have been able to withstand. It was to be expected that Persephone would need male help to care for her daughters, to care for herself, while her whole life was in a state of turbulence.

At least that's what America believed, but Sarah wasn't entirely sure. However, even she didn't anticipate that those two would be in a relationship. Not that she expected any consideration from Persephone, but Sarah thought that at least Apollo would have the decency not to engage in a relationship with Octavian's young wife.

Apparently, he was just another man who couldn't help himself and fell for the charms and spells of the most treacherous woman Sarah had ever laid eyes on.

An almost supernatural rage took hold of Sarah's entire body. How could Persephone be doing that with Octavian, in the house that the man had paid for with all his hard work, and on top of that with Apollo, whom Octavian had said in several interviews was dear to Trottel?

How dare Persephone Trottel stand there, completely and irritatingly perfect, despite having been caught in an act of lust? How dare that disgusting woman look so utterly divine while still bearing the red marks of her lover's love on her neck? Sarah wanted to scream, to rage at the universe, and she didn't even know why. How dare Persephone look so... immaculate despite the crimes Sarah knew she had committed?

There was nothing about the woman that did not fill her with a tremendous sense of disgust and revolt and, above all, hatred.

“Good morning, officers,” Persephone said, almost calmly. Almost. But her chest was still heaving excessively, as if she were recovering from a run rather than from kissing her late husband’s best friend. “How can I help you?”

Had Sarah already mentioned how much she despised that particular little bitch?

“Good morning, Mrs. Trottel,” Peter finally replied, his voice more unsteady than Sarah had ever seen it. Looking closely, Sarah was certain she hadn't imagined the twitch of Persephone's eyebrow when her surname was mentioned. Interesting. “We came here specifically to speak with you. Do you... have a moment?”

“Of course,” and it was only then that the woman finally stepped down from the counter, her body still not completely detached from Apollo. The blond man's hand still rested on Persephone's waist, the two as close as possible in front of the three police officers. Sarah didn't know why they cared, after all, she and her colleagues had seen almost everything, what would be one more conversation with Persephone on Apollo's lap? “I think it would be better for everyone if this conversation took place inside the house,” Persephone added as she pulled Apollo’s hand away for just a moment so she could tie a towel around her lower body, which was dressed only in the shortest bikini Sarah had ever seen in her life.

Was it wrong of Sarah to feel even more anger toward the woman just from looking at her body?

Sarah couldn't take her eyes off Persephone, no matter how sick it made her feel, as much as seeing her completely overcome with pleasure. The woman had what many would consider the perfect body. If you told anyone that she had given birth less than three years ago, chances are they wouldn't believe you, but no, Persephone had had her daughter Aurelia six months ago.

And it wasn't just her physique, everything about the younger woman was perfect, no matter how much Sarah hated to even think about it. Her eyes, her face, her hair, wherever you looked at Persephone, you wouldn't find a single physical flaw. She would know, she had spent so many years looking for them. In vain, of course.

“Maybe it's for the best,” Robert commented, his eyes not hiding for a moment the disgust he was probably feeling for the couple in front of him. “The matter is of the utmost importance.”

However, even so, Sarah managed to perceive with indescribable horror as Persephone's spell enveloped the man. Sarah wanted to despair, to yell at Robert that less than an hour ago he was calling her a miserable person in front of their boss, and now she could easily identify how he was softening at the sight of her. Sarah could almost see a trail of drool—metaphorical, for now.

“Ah, then we should be going soon.”

With that, Persephone and Apollo left, Sarah and her companions watching in disbelief as Octavian's widow took her lover by the hand to the mansion. The way the two walked showed their lack of discomfort as they paraded around the exterior of the mansion that had once belonged to Octavian. The couple walked almost snuggled up, but still in deep silence, as if they felt that whatever they were about to hear would impact their lives forever.

Sarah, however, couldn't help but notice that as Persephone guided Apollo to their intended destination, she resembled a siren luring her next victim to a treacherous ocean where he would meet a slow and painful untimely end.

Unfortunately, Sarah had to continue following the two to their eventual fate, her job preventing her from simply turning around and letting others deal with whatever it all was.

(Maybe it wasn't the job, Sarah thought, maybe she was just anxious enough to be present for the entire downfall of Persephone Trottel. Sarah wouldn't be satisfied until she was sure the woman was forever locked behind bars, and she would be even happier if she could witness every moment leading up to it.)

That didn't mean, however, that she wasn't squirming with hatred as she watched the annoyingly graceful way Persephone's dark hair fell over her tanned skin.

How could someone so rotten on the inside look so... beautiful on the outside? Sarah couldn't understand it.

Persephone then led them to the main room of the mansion, or at least Sarah thought it was. Sarah couldn't say the place wasn't something else, it was quite different from the houses she'd seen lately, no white that made her eyes hurt, the room was furnished with wooden furniture and other pieces in colors that almost seemed to be made for royalty. Whoever designed it was to be congratulated, although Sarah seriously doubted that Persephone had enough good taste to choose anything in that building.

As she sat in an armchair between Robert and Peter, Sarah also noticed how Apollo and Persephone had chosen to sit together on a small sofa, their legs brushing against each other, even though it was clearly unintentional. Perhaps that was the worst part about it.

“Would you like anything?” asked Persephone, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had taken over the room. “Something to drink? Something to eat? I believe Li-”

“We need to talk some serious business with you, Ms. Trottel,” interrupted Robert, his patience, known to be limited, clearly wearing thin with Persephone’s irrelevance to their presence there. “It’s about your husband, Octavian.”

The last part was said while looking almost aggressively at Apollo, who had sat up more rigidly when the name of his now dead best friend was mentioned. On the other hand, Persephone was simply sad, as if she already knew what they were going to say about her husband, whom she knew was only missing.

Funny that she didn't seem sad at all as she clung to Apollo in the house where she had built a life with Octavian.

“Yes? Did you manage to find him?” Persephone asked, her eyes slowly filling with crystal clear tears. Completely fake crystal clear tears. Sarah didn’t believe for a second in all that raw emotion, not when the last great emotion she had seen from the woman had been the unbridled pleasure written in the green eyes of the new widow. Nothing about that woman pleased Sarah, and she just didn't say that nothing about her seemed to be real because she was absolutely sure that she spent rivers of Octavian's money to buy designer clothes, the most expensive ones she could imagine.

“Yes, we managed to find him,” Sarah said, her voice dry as her composure was held together only by Jonathan’s earlier threat to them. “There’s no easy way to say this, but this morning, your husband’s body was found lifeless near the Angeles National Forest in a warehouse. I’m deeply sorry.”

Sarah couldn't say she put much truth into those last words. Well, she doubted Persephone needed her condolences at all.

“What...?” Persephone asked, her eyes wide, horror written on her face. Her hands, beautiful, delicate, and manicured, flew up to her face, covering her mouth. “I... I don't understand... I thought you were going to find him still alive,” she said, then rose from the sofa, leaving Apollo alone on the couch, the man's blue eyes following his mistress with clear concern. “It's not possible. Are you absolutely sure it was him?”

Was it hope Sarah could see in his eyes? Or was it relief?

“Of course we are, ma'am. All the tests were properly conducted,” Robert continued, his eyes softening at the woman's obvious distress. Sarah might have cried in despair if it weren't for Robert's face returning to its stiffness when he looked between Persephone and Apollo. “We have the photos, if that's something you'd like to see for yourself.”

Persephone clearly seemed disturbed by the mare possibility, her fingers moving to twirl her wedding ring as she stared at the folder Peter had taken out of the bag he was carrying around. Biting her lip, the widow finally accepted, her slightly trembling hands reaching out to take the papers halfway. Persephone was silent for a moment before saying, tears streaming down her face:

“Oh, my God,” whispered Persephone, her eyes racing over what were likely countless pieces of evidence that her husband had been brutally tortured before being barbarically killed as well. “My God, Octavian.”

Sarah looked for any sign that the woman was not surprised by what the photos showed, but found nothing at all. Persephone seemed to pay attention to every corner of the evidence before finally pushing the papers away from her view, as if she couldn't bear to look at her husband's lifeless body for another second.

She would give her that, Persephone was a great actress.

“Apollo, it's... it's Octavian,” said Persephone, her red lips trembling as she turned her head back to where Apollo was still watching her intently with huge amounts of concern. “Oh, my God, Apollo.”

“Ah, Percy.”

Percy .

And before Sarah could even comprehend what was happening, Apollo had leaped up from the couch with breathtaking speed and thrown himself into the embrace of Persephone's arms. His golden arms wrapped around his lover—around his whore— in desperation. Both of their eyes were closed, tears streaming down their faces, crying as if they hadn't been caught making out in the house of the man they now mourned—the house of Persephone's, Percy's, husband, and Apollo's best friend.

In a matter of a few moments, Persephone turned in Apollo's arms, the crumpled papers between them as she sobbed on his shoulder, the sound of her despair echoing through the ancestral mansion.

“It's okay, Percy. Breathe,” Apollo said calmly as he ran his hand through the full length of the hair of the woman crying in his golden arms. But Sarah didn't want her to calm down. No matter how fake the whole scene was, Sarah still wanted to enjoy at least a taste of Persephone Trottel's sadness and agony. Sarah wanted that woman to suffer as much as possible, wanted to watch as her perfect little facade crumbled, piece by piece. She could have smiled with joy at the sound of the new widow's sobs. “Everything will be fine. Breathe.”

The newest owner of the old mansion — but not for much longer, if Sarah had anything to say about it — didn't seem to want to calm down, despite her lover's pleas. Sarah could see the way she clung to Apollo's back, she could imagine how red that area would be later, Sarah could see all of this and had to fight as hard as she could not to break into a big smile at the scene. It was almost inevitable.

“ Mom?” asked a small voice coming from behind the two of them.

When Sarah turned toward the voice, she saw Hazel, her bright eyes looking worriedly at Persephone. Next to her was ‘Will’, his larger hand holding Hazel's small hand, his eyes watching Persephone with the same concern as the younger girl did. Both seemed completely terrified to see the woman in that condition, and only then did Sarah begin to wonder what exactly the relationship between the teenager and Persephone was like.

That is, until she turned her eyes to where the woman and Apollo were standing, their faces slightly turned to look at the children.

She had never heard anything about Apollo Olympus having a child, let alone a teenage son, but Sarah knew how that kind of thing worked with people who really wanted to cover up an unwanted child. Well, unwanted but not necessarily unloved, since Will was there, in his father's mistress's house shortly after her husband's death, and he was taking care of said mistress's daughter, daughter or cousin, Sarah sometimes got lost, with so many lies and trickery.

What mattered was that Will was clearly Apollo's son.

Sarah even tried to do some quick math, looking for clues that the boy might be Persephone's son, but her theory was quickly proven wrong. Not only because the ages didn't match, but because Apollo and Persephone met after she was already married to Octavian, probably at one of the parties he threw, and she was simply too young to have a teenage son.

“Yes, my love?” Persephone half answered, half asked Hazel as she separated her body from Apollo's, but not quickly enough for someone who was supposed to be hiding her love affair from her daughter's eyes.

She quickly turned to Peter, fast enough to see the man narrowing his eyes at the child, as if trying to decipher exactly what she knew. The small, almost imperceptible action clearly did not go unnoticed by Will and Hazel, both of whom stopped in their tracks to approach their respective parents.

“What happened?” Hazel asked, her voice slightly trembling. Her eyes darted between her mother and Peter, as if debating whether to go to the woman or stand before the police officer. “What did they want to talk to you about?”

But neither Persephone nor Apollo answered the girl immediately. Instead, they began to look at each other, exchanging glances that communicated more than a thousand words. It was irritating how they acted with much more intimacy than they should really have, even as two lovers. Sarah didn't know what was worse, whether they had built such a strong intimacy so quickly, or whether Persephone and Apollo had been together longer than she had initially thought.

Actually, she did know what was worse. The worst part was that even after a complete cry, complete with sobs that caught the attention of the two young people two floors above, Persephone remained absolutely impeccable. Her red face seemed to give her an almost angelic tone—even though she was as far from an angel as possible—and her tear wet skin illuminated her face almost supernaturally, making Sarah's soul burn like nothing before. The way the sun came through the living room window and hit Persephone made her look like a mythical being, something out of a painting depicting a goddess who graciously blessed these poor mortals with her own divine presence. 

Seeing that none of the adults were going to tell the girl what had happened to her own father, Sarah started to open her mouth to break the news for her, only to be interrupted by Peter's angry voice:

“Your father died. That's what happened.”

Sarah could see the moment when not only Hazel realized what Peter had said, but also the moment when Peter realized what he had said, how he had said it, and how he had said it.

Peter's mouth closed so tightly and so quickly that Sarah heard it from where she was sitting, her eyes slightly panicked as she looked at Persephone, who still had her eyes on her daughter but who visibly clenched her fists at the same time. If Sarah didn't hate that woman so much, she might have found it funny how just by looking at her, everyone could tell that Peter would be hearing screams from the captain that very day.

Across the room, next to the huge staircase, Hazel's eyes widened before she turned her attention to Apollo. In the girl's golden eyes, Sarah saw pure terror as she looked at him, but Sarah didn't quite understand why.

Hazel seemed to face a deadly decision as she turned her eyes from Apollo to Percy and finally to Peter. In the end, she simply let go of Will's bigger hand before running up the stairs, her small body going faster than Sarah thought she could possibly go, leaving the teenager standing still behind her.

“Dad...” Will said, the word dragging out with the confirmation of what Sarah had already suspected about him.

“Go to her, Will,” Apollo answered the unspoken question, his eyes softening as he looked at his son. On the other hand, his body moved even closer to Persephone, any distance they had put between themselves in Hazel's presence having disappeared along with her. “I'll take care of Percy,” and immediately the boy was running up the stairs behind him.

There was something in the way he said those last words that made it seem like an 'as always' was missing at the end. The way he said the name—Percy—was as if he were saying something sacred, as if she were a goddess and he were her most faithful priest. At the same time, he said the name as if it were a well known name, as if she were someone he knew, someone from his daily life, someone familiar and, more importantly, dearly loved.

It was striking how everything Sarah learned anew about the woman she already hated only made her hatred for her grow. How fair was it that, on top of everything else, she ended up with a man like that? Not that she necessarily liked Apollo Olympus, because she didn't, but the idea that the simple act of saying her name clearly affected him made her feel sick. What had Persephone done to deserve that? Sarah will answer that herself: nothing. That petty, spoiled, mischievous woman had never suffered a single day in her life, had never done anything to deserve everything she got without even trying.

Deep down, she wished, almost begging the sky, that Apollo was deceiving Persephone in a perverse way, in a way that would leave the woman even more out of control than when her husband died.

In the back of her mind, she had a disappointing certainty that it would not happen.

That was just the way things were, wasn't it? Persephone Trottel arrived in the country when she had just turned twenty, the wife of Octavian, who had captured the heart of the young politician from Fresno, the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen. With impressive speed, the whole country already loved her. It didn't matter if you supported Octavian's political career, there was no one who didn't sigh over the photos of the woman — not only because she looked like everyone's pipe dream with her poetic beauty, but also because she always managed to do something that charmed the hearts of everyone who saw her.

Apollo would be just another name on the list of countless people around the world who couldn't contain themselves when they saw Persephone Trottel. Sarah felt sorry for him, really, but not enough to try to warn him why he shouldn't even consider the idea of being with someone as twisted as Persephone.

She was pulled out of her thoughts once again when Persephone turned from where she had been staring at the two children who had run off, to look deadly at Peter.

“Did Jonathan not talk to you at all?” Persephone asked, her face still stained with tears. Not that it made her any less threatening; at that moment, she looked exactly like the kind of woman Sarah could accuse of killing her husband or at least hiring someone to kill him. “You must not speak to Hazel. You shouldn't even look at her.”

Her look of absolute scorn didn't fade even as her lip trembled again. If Sarah didn't know better, she would have said that Percy looked every inch the perfect widow mourning her beloved husband who had just realized the gravity of what had really happened that day.

But she knew better.

From where Sarah was sitting, she could clearly see the red marks turning purple on the woman's neck, the place where Apollo had placed his mouth just moments before. Sarah could remember exactly the sounds Persephone made as she satisfied herself in the arms of her husband's best friend, she could remember the way she wrapped her legs around Apollo's body and the way she arched her body toward him in desperation. There was nothing of a perfect widow mourning her husband in that woman.

“Mrs. Trottel...” Peter tried to speak, but it was in vain. Persephone immediately raised her hand and interrupted him, her face a mixture of anger and something else that Sarah couldn't quite define.

“No,” her voice was cold, looking at Peter as if he were everything bad in the universe. The irony. “I need some time. We need some time to process this information. And you need to get out of here. Now.”

She wasn't sure if the woman could do that, if any woman could kick police officers out of her house—no matter how important the woman was to the people of the country Sarah called home. Regardless of whether she could or not, that's what she did anyway, and Sarah had no choice but to obey her commands.

It wasn't because Persephone had forcibly expelled them; the dark haired woman hadn't called her security guards, whom Sarah knew were in the house, to remove Sarah and her companions from the mansion until they had an official warrant or whatever excuse she could come up with on the spot. None of that happened, but something in Persephone's voice, even though it sounded melancholic on the outside, sent a chill through the policewoman's small body. Her eyes leaked tears but seemed threatening nonetheless, as if each tear she shed was a promise of retribution.

Sarah, realizing that Persephone was watching her intently, felt like prey, ready to be killed in the middle of a hunt.

In the back of her mind, Sarah wondered if those cruel beautiful eyes had been the last thing Octavian had seen.

“We offer our condolences... to both of you,” Robert said slowly, looking between Apollo's hand still resting on Persephone's waist and the tears on the woman's face. “I hope the truth comes out soon. For the sake of all of us.”

The last part was said looking directly at Apollo, his blue eyes narrowing at the man who just nodded, as if he couldn't agree more with the man's words. Persephone just nodded, her eyes still unhappy but seeming to soften as she watched them gather their things and leave her home.

But Sarah wasn't stupid. She saw the way Robert and Peter's eyes looked at Persephone, even though Peter had just been yelled at by the woman in question. She knew that Robert, at least, didn't like the widow, but she also knew that no one could resist the charms of the dark haired woman. Sarah knew that neither of them would believe anything she said about the young woman; they would probably be more inclined to believe that, between Apollo and Persephone, it was certainly the light haired man who had killed Octavian. That is, if they even suspected the couple.

Sarah had already seen firsthand how men lost all common sense any time Persephone Trottel entered the equation—the cop's ex-husband was living proof of that. All those years ago, she didn't think she could hate the woman any more than she already did. Sarah was wrong.

They didn't know any better, but she did. Persephone was a miserable creature, cruel to her core, and Sarah would not rest until she proved that she was guilty of murdering her husband.

“See you soon, Mrs. Trottel,” Sarah said as she passed by the couple. At that moment, she couldn't hold back the venom that dripped from her words. Sarah tried to make those words sound threatening, because they were. They were a promise. It wasn't enough.

“I'm sure we will, Sarah Jones,” Persephone replied, her tone innocent. Too innocent. Sarah wasn't fooled for a second, not when every hair on her body stood on end at the way the woman said her name, slow, precise, much more threatening and sounding much more like a promise than Sarah's words. A promise of slow death. “I'll be waiting for that moment.”

Bitch.

Faster than Sarah had ever run before, she sprinted toward where her companions were waiting for her by the front door.

While they waited for Lily to open the door, Sarah could hear, even from a distance, the strangled sound Persephone made before throwing herself once again into Apollo's arms. Despite the enormous distance, Sarah could clearly see Persephone's face going straight for her lover's neck, could see the way the man's arms immediately wrapped around her body. It was laughable how it seemed like he wanted to protect his beloved from the world, as if it weren't the world that needed to be protected from her.

The sound alone invoked a deep anger in Sarah, but the thought that that wretch was being comforted by a man she definitely did not deserve—being comforted for the death of her husband while in the arms of her current lover, who had once loved Octavian—filled her with a deep fury. That feeling consumed every part of her face as she walked through the luxurious door.

For a brief moment, the redhead thought she would turn around and return to the house. Sarah could almost perfectly taste the blood she would feel the moment her body reached Persephone's. 

Closing her eyes, Sarah could imagine the feeling of ripping out the woman's vocal cords. She felt pleasure coursing through her body just from imagining the literal, physical suffering of the person she despised most in the world. She would start with the vocal cords, preventing her from ever hearing any minimally pleasurable sound coming from that mouth again, but that would only be the beginning. In Sarah's dreams, dreams she could never tell anyone about, when she was done with Persephone, the world would see that what was done to Octavian was child's play.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah forced herself to put those feelings aside. It wouldn't be worth staining her hands with blood as rotten as that wretch's. She would be content to see her mask fall, to see all those who had once admired her taste remorse and send death threats in the form of letters to Persephone in her prison cell. Sarah would be satisfied knowing that she had always been right and that everyone would see it.

Leaving that house didn't feel like defeat, even though she wasn't accompanied by a handcuffed Persephone.

It was all a matter of time, Sarah was sure of that.

And next time? Next time Sarah Jones would be eager to return to the Trottel mansion.