Page 5 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

Dominic navigates through the night as if it were any other Thursday. It feels too casual, too routine, despite the gravity of our task: escorting one of our closest mates to the station for Tony Slade’s murder—a murder that someone has slyly pinned on Arden. The whole situation teeters on absurdity.

Arden?

A murderer? In any sane story, that would be impossible.

But here in New Hope, cold, hard facts lose their meaning as soon as a man like Tony Slade dies. What counts in this twisted reality is who can be painted as guilty enough to cover the actual truth. And in Arden’s case, his larger-than-life, rule-breaking persona, his loud swagger and dramatic defiance make him an effortless target—a scapegoat.

When we finally pull up to the station, a heavy pressure settles over me—a dull ache, like an old bruise being prodded into pain. I haven’t returned here in months, not since the night Hayden was arrested for knocking out a guy who had dared to insult Millie at a party.

I had paced the sterile, humming waiting room then, anger and fear mingling inside me as I fought to keep from drowning in the thought of how young Hayden was and how desperately I was trying to protect him.

Tonight, the weight feels even more crushing.

Because Arden is one of the few souls who has seen right through me without flinching and watching him march towards the front doors of the station like a condemned criminal, his shoulders squared and eyes downcast, shreds a part of me I never knew existed.

Inside, the congestion of disinfectant and the musty aroma of old records of paperwork fill the air. The harsh buzz of fluorescent lights overhead is severe, almost hostile, against the backdrop of the misfortune of the night.

They shuttle us into one of the cramped interview rooms. Arden is given the metal chair with legs bolted fast to the floor—a hard seat that seems to reflect the gravity of the situation—while I settle into the chair opposite him.

Even though I’m technically not his lawyer, still a floundering law student stumbling through the rigours of a crippling academic load, I know Arden would prefer to have me here, especially because he has a habit of pushing the boundaries, as his money usually makes him untouchable.

I watch the detectives circle around us, their questions thinly veiled in probing and uncertainty. Their eyes dart and linger, desperate to find something solid—a shred of evidence, a witness, even a murder weapon. Instead, they have only whispers of information: a body discarded in an abandoned industrial lot and a name that someone conveniently fed into their files.

Tony Slade.

Gone.

And Arden Blakely, now wrapped in suspicion.

It’s insane.

But this town? New Hope doesn’t run on justice. It runs on power. And when men like Tony fall, someone always gets buried in the rubble.

The worst part? I know who’s about to take Tony’s place.

Jasper. Ashley’s older brother.

He’s nineteen, but no one in their right mind underestimates him. He’s colder than Tony ever was. Smarter too. And ruthless in a way that doesn’t need volume—he lets his reputation do the talking. He’s been his father’s enforcer since he was sixteen. That kind of life burns through your soul fast.

I catch a brief glance from Dominic; his jaw is set in a silent protest. He knows, deep down, that the whole charge is a charade—a farce. But knowing the truth and proving it are separated by worlds.

After what feels like hours of relentless questioning, they finally let us leave. No formal arrests, no redress or apologies—only a murmur of a warning, barely audible, that “this isn’t over.”

Stepping back into the chilly night air, I draw a deep, shuddering breath as if the icy wind might wash away the grim residue clinging to me from the station. Ralph waits by the car, the engine idling like a low purr of anxious anticipation.

“Are you okay?” I murmur to Arden as we sink into the backseat.

He lets out a bitter scoff. “Fucking peachy,” he replies, the sarcasm thick in his tone.

Silence falls again as we drive home, the only sound the hum of tires on wet pavement.

“I've got people digging,” Ralph announces eventually, his voice a blend of resolve and fatigue. “We’ll find out who set up this whole scene.”

Arden stares out the window, lost in spiralling thoughts. “Could’ve been worse,” he mumbles, eyes distant. “They could’ve hauled Rhys in instead. He’s got more reason to despise Tony than I ever did.” Even in his monotone, there’s a bitter logic to it, though the words slice through me with painful clarity.

Inside me, the guilt churns. I know deep down that tonight; I should have been the one stuck inside that station room. I should have taken the brunt of this investigation, not him.

“I just can’t believe they’d ever think you’d be that reckless,” I say, trying to break through the tension. “If you intended to kill someone, you’d be the kind of person who meticulously erases every trace.”

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