I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, the kind that makes my skull look smaller than my brain.
Last night... Last night was more crazy than I was ready to admit.
The tangy taste of wine still lingered in my throat, and worse, the ghost of his smoky lips remained on mine, a stain I couldn't remove.
I shook my head vigorously, trying to banish the memory and staggered to the bathroom.
My stomach lurched violently, and before I could think twice, I was hunched over the toilet, vomiting up the remains of what had been in my body.
When I finally stood up, sweating and shaking, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection through hazy, tired eyes.
As I stumbled back to my room, my eyes landed on my computer.
After returning home yesterday, thinking I'd finally get some rest, I found an email waiting for me.
I'd been assigned a new case.
I could have refused, but God knows my heart was screaming not to after reading the horrors in that file.
The ugliness of it all... the ugliness of what happened to that poor victim triggered something inside me.
So, I accepted it.
I spent the rest of the night poring over documents, reviewing every pathetic and heartbreaking detail.
Between pages of testimonies and forensic reports, sleep overtook me without warning, dragging me down like a merciless tidal wave.
And here I was now, a mess of exhaustion.
It was 12:00 p.m.
At any moment, I knew the maid, or worse, my mother, would knock on my door, asking why I hadn't come for breakfast.
I couldn't deal with either of them right now.
Quickly, I threw on a loose sweatshirt over my pajamas, tied my disheveled hair into a bun, and grabbed my laptop and the stack of papers I'd piled up from the night before.
I hugged it to my chest like a shield as I descended the stairs.
Today wasn't about me, and I had to focus.
I carefully laid everything out on the long dining table and chose the chair closest to the window to get the most natural light.
I opened my laptop and laid out the documents, ready to organize every piece of information related to the case. Every word and every detail was important.
Next, I had to interview the victim herself.
Ask her and get her full statement...
I took a deep breath and began typing, forcing my heart to stiffen with every keystroke.
My mother had already passed by several times, hesitant enough to announce her presence without saying anything.
I knew her well; she'd certainly noticed that I didn't get home until 3:00 AM last night.
Knowing my mother, I could almost hear her thoughts.
Maybe she was imagining that things between Alexander and me had finally improved, that I'd spent the night laughing with him, cuddling, and maybe even kissing under the stars.
If only she knew the truth.
But I wasn't going to satisfy her curiosity, nor was I going to explain anything to her.
Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the computer screen, pretending to be the perfect, obedient daughter working diligently on my case, and pretending that yes, maybe, just maybe, I'd been with Alexander all night.
It was easier and safer that way.
The maid placed a tray in front of me, some breakfast, and two cups of hot coffee.
Oh my God, if only that second cup wasn't for my mother.
And sure enough, a moment later, she sat across from me, grabbed her cup, and gave me a look that suggested she was about to delve into my personal life under the pretext of casual conversation.
"How are you and Alexander?" she asked, her voice careful low.
I smiled politely and said "It's good."
Then she opened the door of her mouth wide open, and she began babbling about how we were the perfect couple and how fate had kept me single all this time just to bring Alexander and me together.
All I could do was sigh, nod, and shake my head slightly as if I agreed with all the nonsense she said, while my mind desperately tried to focus on the case files in front of me.
When her chatter began to escalate, filled with dreamy predictions and wedding plans I hadn't even asked for, I finally looked at her with a patient smile and said,
"Mom, I really need to focus. I'm working on a case."
She stood up a little reluctantly, but she was understanding enough not to insist.
Before she left, she playfully pinched my cheek as if I were still ten years old.
"You're smart, sweetheart... but you really need to get rid of that hideous wardrobe of yours."
Then she quickly left the room, leaving me alone with my coffee and papers.
I first got to work gathering evidence, sorting through the documents, photos, and official reports sent by the authorities.
Every piece mattered; every little detail could change the course of this case.
Once I felt everything was clear, I changed course and moved on to analyzing the evidence.
I read each line twice, sometimes three times, connecting the dots, questioning the inconsistencies, and highlighting the phrases I didn't like.
Slowly and methodically, I began to paint a picture in my mind.
A horrible, painful picture, but one necessary if I wanted to achieve justice for the girl who had been harmed.
As I placed the last page and closed my laptop, a deep breath crept into my chest.
The hours slipped through my fingers, and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall reminded me that it was time to go to my appointment with the victim and hear her testimony.
"Let's go," I muttered to myself as I stood up, relaxing my stiff muscles.
My body protested with every small movement, but there was no room for complaint today. I needed to focus on my job.
Without wasting another second, I gathered my scattered papers into a neat pile, tucked them under my arm, and climbed the stairs.
My feet clattered lightly on the polished wooden steps.
As soon as I entered my room, I threw the files on the bed and headed straight for the bathroom.
The mirror caught my reflection.
My hair somehow detached from the bun I'd tied earlier.
I splashed cold water on my face and let it fall to restore some vitality.
I patted my skin dry and quickly headed to my closet, opening the doors a little more forcefully than necessary.
I sifted through the hanging clothes, skipping over jeans and sweaters.
I picked out a pink suit and put on the blazer and matching trousers. The fabric was soft and comfortable against my skin.
Underneath, I wore a simple white silk blouse that peeked thin through the lapels.
I completed my look after brushing my hair and grabbed my white high-heeled shoes from the bottom of the closet.
They weren't too high, just enough to add a touch of elegance without sacrificing comfort.
I put them on, gathered the necessary documents and my laptop into a thin black folder, and took one last look at myself in the mirror before heading downstairs.
My mother's voice echoed faintly from the kitchen, but I didn't stop to chat this time or say goodbyes.
I arrived at the café where I was supposed to meet the victim. It was a small one.
The place wasn't crowded, so I headed to the corner, scanning the empty chairs.
I sat down and ordered a cup of coffee, vowing to myself that if I kept this up, I'd drink coffee all day until I passed out from the caffeine.
The minutes passed slowly, longer than they should have.
I glanced at my watch every now and then, the ticking seconds reminding me just how much time had passed.
I scanned the café, unable to help but notice a couple sitting a few tables away.
A boy and a girl, probably in high school, immersed in a world only teenagers could inhabit.
They looked cute together, their hands clasped.
This made me think of Alexander for a moment, but the thought quickly faded as I reminded myself why I was here.
I took another sip of my coffee, barely tasting it when I heard a voice.
"Miss Aurora?"
I looked up, and there in front of me was the victim.
Try as she might, it was hard to ignore the bruises on her face, partially concealed by makeup.
The glasses she wore looked more like armor than an accessory.
She stood there hesitantly for a moment before sitting across from me.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and gave her a gentle smile, trying to ease her tension.
"Marica, right?"
I said pulling out my notebook.
She nodded, nervously adjusting her glasses.
"I'm Aurora. I'm here to help you, and you're safe here, okay?"
Marcia's hands shook as they gripped her cup of water refusing to order anything.
"Thank you for meeting me..."
She whispered her voice cracking and I leaned down slightly.
"Can you tell me what happened? Start from the beginning."
Marica stared at the water for a long moment before speaking.
"It was after the party," she began, her voice low. "Everyone was drinking... I wasn't even that drunk, and I swear, I wasn't."
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"He... called me to his house and said some friends would be staying longer to party. I trusted him and thought it was safe."
Her fingers tightened around the cup
"But when I arrived, he was the only one there."
"He poured me a drink and I didn't even finish it. I said I wanted to go, but..."
Her voice trailed off and she wiped her eyes violently.
"He pushed me to the ground. I fought back, but he was stronger... and then he..."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn't continue.
"Marica, you're okay," I said, my voice gentle and steady.
"Take your time."
She gasped and nodded.
"He raped me,"
She whispered, as if the words themselves were painful.
"After that,... he asked me to leave, as if nothing had happened, as if I was nothing."
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to remain calm. "Do you know his full name name?" I asked gently.
She nodded stiffly.
"Logan, Logan Hal... he's... he's older, I don't even know why I trusted him..."
"Marica," I interrupted firmly but gently. "It's not your mistake, it's not any of this your mistake."
Then she collapsed sobbing silently, and I let her.
I just stayed there, present, giving her space to grieve the violence she'd experienced.
When she finally looked up, her eyes red and broken, I cautiously reached out and gently rested my hand near hers without squeezing it.
"We'll build your case, and I'll be with you every step of the way."
Marcia nodded again, her lower lip trembling.
"I just... I just want him to pay for what he did."
"He will," I said in a firm, determined voice. "I swear."
As I carefully wrote down Minji's statements, jotting down every detail she could provide, and reviewed the few photos and location tags I could muster, my phone suddenly buzzed loudly on the table, breaking my attention.
I looked down—Alexander.
Without thinking, I quickly hung up and looked at Marcia with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, please continue."
She nodded in understanding, she finished talking and I continued taking notes patiently and intently, determined not to miss anything that might help her against him.
When we finally finished, Marica stood up, thanked me and left the cafe.
I sat there for a moment, then gathered my things and got up to leave as well.
I had barely taken a few steps outside when my phone buzzed again, buzzing loudly in my pocket.
I took it out—Alexander again.
I pressed the answer button, preparing to apologize politely telling him I was working and hadn't meant to miss his call—
But as soon as the call connected, his voice exploded in my ear.
"Are you kidding me, Aurora?!"
He shouted, his voice raging.
"You've ignored me for a whole week, and now you've cut me off like I'm nothing?!"
I pressed the phone closer to my ear, trying to calm him down.
"Alexander, please," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I didn't mean to ignore you! I was just... working, that's all."
But he didn't listen.
His sharp, bitter voice cut me off.
"I wanted to ask you out for dinner, you know? For a date, but since you prefer your work over me, don't bother and stick to your own important matters."
"Alexander, no, that's not—"
I quickly and desperately started to explain, to tell him how sorry I was and how none of this had anything to do with choosing work over him.
But before I could finish my sentence, I heard the sharp ringing of the call disconnected.
I stood there for a moment, staring at my phone screen, a heavy feeling of regret filling my chest.
With a deep sigh, I lowered my hand, the phone still between my fingers, wishing things hadn't gotten so messed up.