close to the edge on her own.
She would say she hadn’t touched her.
Not really. Not on purpose. But rehearsed lies fall apart quickly when real evidence exists.
The detective placed a tablet on the table between them and pressed play. The footage was grainy, partial, shot from an odd angle through a reflective window, but it clearly showed two figures on the balcony, one gesturing angrily, and then unmistakably the motion of one pushing the other.
Victoria’s face went pale.
“I was scared,” she finally said, her voice cracking.
I thought he was going to leave me for her.
I’ve spent my whole life being told my worth ends where my beauty and my money end.
I panicked.
I wasn’t thinking.
You tried to kill someone, the detective said flatly.
Panic doesn’t explain that.
While Victoria faced her own reckoning, something quieter and more important was happening back
