The door flew open. Vincent and Isabella stormed out, trembling with fury.
Through the crack in the door, I watched Derek on the hospital bed.
"Chelsea, you'll stay with me forever, right?"
His tone dripped with pathetic excitement.
Only then did I notice the 'savior' sitting in the corner.
Chelsea curled her lip, peeling an apple. She shoved a slice into Derek's mouth to shut him up.
"Get the money first. Then we'll talk."
She mumbled the words, stood, and headed for the restroom.
As she turned, her collar slipped down her shoulder.
The sight confirmed the suspicion that had taken root a month ago.
My instincts were right.
She wasn't the beauty of the Forensic Science Department.
She wasn't even a 'she.'
That day in the corridor, when Vincent tugged at Chelsea's collar, I had seen it clearly beneath the heavy foundation and the strategically placed scarf.
A protruding laryngeal prominence.
An Adam's apple.
In the chaos of the struggle, biology betrayed the disguise.
My forensic training kicked in instantly. The bone structure, muscle density, the sheer mechanics of the body—"Chelsea," the so-called campus beauty, was a fraud. A man in a dress.
I had no intention of warning Derek Finch.