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“Uh… yes.” I was numb, waiting to hear more.
“Sir, a person has come forward confessing to the crime.”
“What?”
“And the car she was driving is consistent with the car that sped away from the accident the morning your wife was killed.”
Still silent, my mind reeled. They had caught the person who killed Isla. Four years later, the personfinallyconfessed. I couldn’t express what I felt. Was it excitement? Relief? Sadness? I didn’t know.
“Mr Worthington?”
“I’m here, Detective Powers. I… I am trying to process this.”
“I am sure it is both a relief and a surprise.”
“That is an understatement, yes. Why would this person speak four years later?”
“The situation is complicated and emerging. The prosecutor’s office is in the process of handling it but would like to speak to you. There is a possibility at sentencing that they will want victim impact statements. You can write to have someone else read, or you can attend the hearing. I will get you the details. Sentencing might be a ways off, but… many people find it brings closure to speak up.”
I rubbed my temples nervously. “Yes. I want to speak to the prosecutor in person to know more. I… I need a moment.”
“Of course. I left my information with your assistant. Feel free to call me back anytime to let me know your plans. Her preliminary hearing will be next week, and she’ll enter a guilty plea.”
“Thank you.”
Stephen immediately appeared in my doorway. “What was it?”
“They caught the person who killed Isla,” I said, tears welling. “I’m going to need more than a minute.”
“Of course.”
Stephen disappeared back to his desk. I turned on the privacy filter and let out a sob. Everything flew through my head at once. I put my head between my legs, trying to combat the feeling that I might pass out at any moment. My phone buzzed beside me. I ignored it. After a good cry, I asked Stephen to get more coffee. He sent for more liquid energy. I tried to push through the rest of my day, refusing to talk about it.
Then, matters worsened as I pulled up theNeandia Gazette, its English-language newspaper.
Wyette is Fake
Speculation has run rampant for the past week that Wyatt Worthington and Princess Odette are dating. The rumours began when inside sources said Mr Worthington attended the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Westnedge three weeks ago as the guest of our fair Princess. Photographers then caught the two cosily chatting and laughing at a birthday party thrown for the billionaire’s son.
After over a week of speculation and constant scrutiny during Princess Odette’s tour of The Netherlands, the Palace finally released this statement:
Rumours of a relationship between Her Royal Highness Princess Odette and Mr Wyatt Worthington are nothing more than conjecture. Mr Worthington is a friend of the family, and his son is a friend of the Queen’s children. Princesses Ingrid and Odette attended the party with the Prince Consort and his children, as any friend might have done. We ask that you grant Mr Worthington and his son privacy at this time.
My blood boiled, and I saw red. What was wrong with Odette? Why the fuck would she have them print that—to deny our relationship? I felt like I suddenly didn’t matter at all to her. Before I could even speak, I dialled Odette on my work phone.
She answered immediately. “Wyatt, thank God. I saw photos of Theo this morning, and I’ve been trying?—”
“Odette, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked.
“Wyatt, I’ve been calling you. Are you okay?” She sounded worried.
“I asked a question. Don’t answer with a question.”
“Wyatt, I am fine. The press has been atrocious, but I can do nothing about that—for myself. For Theo?—”
“Don’t talk about Theo. If we’re not together, Theo isn’t of concern to you.”
“Wyatt, I adore Theo. And… are we not together?”