Chapter 17: Testing the Alibi

Although I kept telling myself not to suspect Marcus, once the seed of doubt is planted, it takes root and grows. And that doubt, after Natalie messaged to say she was working late and wouldn’t be home for dinner, grew into a towering tree.

Her text pinged on my phone, casual as ever. She used to at least offer an excuse—now it was just “Working late. Don’t wait up.”

Just a coincidence? Marcus called to reassure me this afternoon, and now Natalie is ‘working late’ again?

It was too neat. Too rehearsed. The pattern was unmistakable. I felt cold all over, like the thermostat had dropped ten degrees.

I forced myself to recall past clues. That’s right, Natalie was transferred to Marcus’s marketing department two years ago, and now Marcus is her direct boss. Whether she works late or goes on business trips, isn’t it all up to Marcus?

The more I replayed their work history in my head, the more obvious it became. He controlled her schedule. He made her travel. If anyone had the means and motive, it was him.

My palms went cold.

I wiped them on my jeans, pacing the living room, the old hardwood creaking underfoot. My thoughts were racing, every memory suddenly suspect.

After it was completely dark, I messaged Natalie:

[When are you coming back?]

I kept it short, testing the waters. The kitchen clock ticked away ten slow minutes before she answered.

More than ten minutes later, Natalie replied:

[Still busy, writing an analysis report at the company. Later there’s a marketing meeting. You go to sleep, no need to wait for me.]

I read her words three times. The same old excuses—overly detailed, as if she’d rehearsed them. But the house was too quiet, too empty. I knew what I had to do.

When I saw that message, I was already downstairs at their company building. Whether Natalie was telling the truth, and whether Marcus had betrayed me, I’d know as soon as I went upstairs.

I zipped up my jacket against the chill, the winter wind biting at my ears. I stared up at the glowing office windows, hoping for a sign—any sign—that I was wrong.