The Wife Before

I walked to the window and peered out. The grass was bright and shimmered with dew from the glowing sun. I checked my phone and it was four minutes to one.

Several yards away, I saw Roland standing in his practice attire and Dylan was at his side, toting his golf clubs for him. Dylan was talking and Roland was nodding, and then, as if they’d both sensed someone was watching them, they turned their heads and looked directly at the shed.

I backed up, hitting the edge of the desk. They looked away, and after Roland brought his stiff arms up and whacked the golf ball off the tee, they walked the green. As soon as they were out of sight, I collected all of the journals, placed them in the bottom of one of the boxes, covered them with some of Melanie’s clothes and scarves, and then left the shed to get back to the mansion.

After finishing all the journals, I needed to act normal. Instead of selling anything, I was going to pack up all of Melanie’s things in the car and drive it to town to donate all of it. I didn’t have time for taking pictures and posting it to sell. I just needed to make a move.

I didn’t want him to catch on to anything I was doing in there while her personal belongings were still around, because if he had anything to do with what’d happened to her, I needed to collect as much proof as possible.

But first, I needed to find Miley.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

I cleared out the shed in two days and got rid of everything but the journals. I kept those stored in a small box and put them next to the bin of photos that I now realized were most likely taken by Felipe.

Roland had a meeting with his agent in California, and when he flew out, I was relieved. I had the mansion to myself, other than a quick visit from Yadira, who had made me dinner. When she was gone, I locked every door, then went to Roland’s office to get on one of the laptops.

I read more articles that had deeper details of Melanie’s death. There was one website with images of Roland and Melanie together in Hawaii and it was reportedly the last time they were seen together—a whole year before she passed away. The person who’d written the article claimed it was suspicious that they’d stopped going out together, stopped going on trips and being seen in public. Another reason to blame Roland for her death.

I sighed and sat back against the leather seat, and my phone rang, “Gold Digger” playing.

“Kell?” I answered.

“I’ve got bad news for you, sis.”

“No, please don’t tell me that,” I groaned.

“I had one of my guys do a deep search and I mean deep. Like you said, Miley isn’t on social media. Melanie never posted a photo with her sister on her socials, which I found odd since she was her only sibling. Nothing came up for Miley Raine other than an apartment connection, but I called the landlord and he said her apartment was cleared out two days after Melanie was reported deceased, and that a man turned her keys in for her. I asked him if he knew who the man was and he said he couldn’t remember, but that he was in a rush to go. That was a dead end, so I had my guy search deeper into Melanie and he found an old newspaper clipping on a website that mentioned her and Miley’s name in the comments.”

“Okay.” My back straightened. “What was it about?”

“I’ll send you the link. But, Samira . . . I have to tell you, none of this feels right. All of it feels shady as hell and I don’t think it’s safe for you to be there. You need to come back to Miami. You can stay with me and Ana for as long as you need to. I just don’t want you in that house anymore.”

My heart was beating harder, faster, but I was in too deep to leave right now. “Send me the link.”

After a little griping, Kell hung up and sent the link to my email and as soon as it appeared in my inbox, I clicked it. It took me to a website for a local newspaper based in Raleigh, North Carolina.

I scrolled down to the header.

Man Sentenced to Prison for Raping Fifteen-Year-Old Girl and Molesting Sister

There was an image of a man below the header. He was Black with dark brown skin and steely, empty eyes. He had an afro, scraggly beard, and his brows were deeply furrowed. I could feel the anger radiating off him from that image alone.

I had to collect my thoughts and breathe before reading the article.