Chapter 1: The Red Rose

Chapter 1: The Red Rose

Detective Emma Hartley stepped carefully around the shattered glass that littered the floor of the luxurious penthouse. The body of Victoria Cross, the renowned art dealer, lay motionless near the massive bay windows that overlooked Central Park. A single red rose lay beside her, petals already wilting as if echoing the tragedy of the scene.

Emma’s sharp green eyes took in the surroundings—the expensive furniture, the abstract paintings on the walls, and the remnants of what must have been a fierce struggle. The smell of spilled wine mixed with the faint, metallic scent of blood hung in the air. She crouched down, examining the broken shards of a wine glass stained red. Julian Bishop’s fingerprints were all over it.

Julian sat on the couch, handcuffed, his eyes following her every move. He wore a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. He was leaning back casually, like he wasn’t sitting at a crime scene but rather lounging at a bar. His lips curled into a half-smirk that suggested he found the whole situation more amusing than concerning.

“So, Detective,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth. “Find anything interesting yet? Or do you need more time to play detective?”

Emma straightened up, unfazed by his taunting. “Julian Bishop, you were the last person seen with Victoria Cross. Your fingerprints are on the glass, and neighbors heard you arguing with her last night. Want to tell me why you shouldn’t be in handcuffs right now?”

Julian’s smirk widened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement. “Maybe because I didn’t do it. Or maybe because you don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle yet. But go ahead, Detective. Ask your questions. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Emma crossed her arms, refusing to be baited by his cocky demeanor. “Why were you here last night, Julian? What were you arguing about?”

He let out a sigh as if he was bored with the whole conversation. “Victoria and I had a complicated relationship. Friends, enemies, partners… take your pick. She called me because she was in trouble. She’d been receiving threats for weeks. I told her to go to the cops, but she was too worried about her reputation. We argued, sure, but I didn’t kill her. When I left, she was alive.”

“Then how do you explain the blood on your shoes?” Emma shot back, her tone sharp.

Julian’s smirk faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “I stepped on some glass when I was leaving. I didn’t realize it cut me until I was already out the door. Or are you going to say I planned that too?”

Emma kept her eyes on him, searching for any sign that he might be lying. But Julian was good—too good. His face betrayed nothing but confidence and defiance. It was like he’d put on a mask, one he wore all too well.

“You expect me to believe that?” Emma asked, taking a step closer, her eyes narrowing.

Julian shrugged, leaning back further into the couch. “Believe what you want, Detective. But I’m not the bad guy here. At least, not this time.”

“Then help me prove it,” Emma replied. “Give me something more than just your word.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You really think I’m going to make this easy for you? What fun would that be?”

Emma felt a mix of frustration and intrigue. There was something about Julian that was off—he was too calm, too collected. Most suspects, guilty or innocent, showed fear or desperation in situations like this. But not Julian. He seemed almost… amused.

“Let’s cut the crap, Julian,” Emma said, her patience wearing thin. “You know more than you’re letting on. Who else could have wanted Victoria dead?”

Julian’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading completely. “That’s a long list, Detective. But start with her business associates. Victoria wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. She had her share of enemies.”

Emma noted the shift in his tone. For a moment, he wasn’t the smug, defiant guy he had been just seconds ago. There was a flicker of something else—something real. Fear? Guilt? She couldn’t tell.

“You’re not telling me everything,” she said quietly. “Why are you playing games, Julian?”

He leaned forward, his expression serious for the first time. “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Emma held his gaze, trying to read the man in front of her. Julian Bishop was a mystery wrapped in arrogance and leather, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye.

And she was determined to find out exactly what that was.

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