Adrian’s eyes shifted once. Quick recalculation.
“Of course,” he said. “I want to help. Natalie’s not herself. I know this must be confusing to her mother, but—”
I took one step toward him. Not enough to touch. Enough that he had to decide whether to retreat.
He didn’t.
That was his last good decision.
“She is herself now,” I said. “That’s what ruined your plan.”
He held my gaze, and beneath the polish I finally saw it plain: the contempt men like him reserve for women they cannot seduce, bully, or confuse.
“I think you’re upset,” he said softly.
“Interesting,” I said. “That seems to be the diagnosis you reach for whenever a woman notices what you’ve done.”
For the first time since I had known him, Adrian looked unprepared.
Natalie was released that morning.
He was not.
Not because justice always arrives that quickly. It doesn’t.
But because once his story broke, it broke everywhere.
The officers had to amend their reports. The district attorney’s office had to be notified. A judge signed a rapid warrant based on the video, documented injuries, the 911 recording, and the evidence of premeditation in the email exchange.