Chapter 9: Murder Scene

It's a murder scene... as Emma opened her eyes.

There lays a female, naked,her disheveled hair spilling across the pillow. She was probably on her mid or late 20's. Fair skinned, her eyes opened and staring blankly up...A visible streak of blood stained the mattress completing crime-drama-vibe...

Emma looked at the reflection of herself in the mirrored ceiling above the bed. Who in their right mind puts a mirror above their bed? she thought, suppressing a groan. "I swear, William's got some explaining to do," she muttered, already planning his interrogation.

She woke up alone, her body aching in unfamiliar ways. She glanced around, searching for her dress from the day before, but it was nowhere to be found. Wrapping the blanket tightly around herself, she shuffled across the room to find her bag. Thankfully, it was still there. Pulling out a pack of wet wipes, she knelt beside the bed and scrub the bloodstain on the mattress. It was a lost cause. With a sigh, she gave up and pulled the comforter over it like a guilty kid hiding a scribble or a drawing on the bed. She peeked into the bathroom, hoping to find William, but it was empty. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, her breath hitched. Hickeys dotted her neck and trailed down to her chest, vivid reminders of the night before. Her cheeks flushed as the memories came rushing back, leaving her both embarrassed and flustered.

She stepped out of the bathroom and wandered out of the room, her curiosity piqued by the rich aroma of coffee wafting through the air. For the first time, she took in William's place—the dark blue walls, modern furniture, and an understated elegance that spoke volumes about his taste.

Following the smell, she entered the kitchen and saw William standing by the stove. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and Nike jogging pants, focused on cooking something.

"Hey…" Emma said softly, her voice shy.

William turned around and froze for a moment, his eyes landing on her wrapped in nothing but the blanket. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Emma tightened her grip on the blanket and says. "Couldn't find my clothes…

Without hesitation, he pulled off his shirt and handed it to her. "Here, wear this. Then sit over there," he said, gesturing to the coffee table. "Let's have breakfast."

Emma gobsmack but unless she wanted to eat while holding the blanket, She resigned to wear it, as she turned her back to William, slipping the shirt over her head. It was oversized, hanging loosely on her frame, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious. William, however, found the sight endearing, amused by her modesty, especially since he had already seen it all.

She walked to the coffee table, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, and sat down quietly. The oversized shirt made her look almost childlike as she waited there, swinging her feet slightly, feeling an odd mix of awkwardness and comfort At the same time.

William served a plate of pancakes topped with blueberries and a perfectly blended smoothie on the side. The presentation looked like something out of a five-star hotel. Emma stared in disbelief—he could actually cook? Meanwhile, she barely knew how to fry an egg.

"Wow, you can cook, Chef," Emma teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Babe," William corrected with a smirk as he sat down. "It's not Hey, Its not Chef. It's Babe."

Emma cringed inwardly. She hated the word Babe. It was so cheesy it practically came with a side of nachos. The very thought of saying it gave her goosebumps.

"Why can't you call me that?" William pressed, leaning closer. "We already had mind-blowing sex yesterday."

Emma almost choked on her smoothie, coughing as her cheeks turned crimson. Tapping her chest, she managed to croak, "I just can't say it. Babe reminds me of… Babe the Pig."

William burst out laughing. "Alright, then. What do you suggest?" he asked, leaning toward her with a playful grin.

Emma instinctively leaned back. Desperate for an answer, she blurted, "Let's change the pronunciation. Instead of Babe, let's say it as Ba—like Bad—and Be—like Bed. Ba-Be."

William chuckled, clearly entertained. "Fine, Ba-Be," he said with a wink.

Just then, his phone rang. He stood and walked a few steps away to take the call, leaving Emma to wonder who could possibly be calling this early on a Sunday. It's probably about work… but it's Sunday, she thought, frowning slightly.

When William returned, his face lit up with excitement. "Emma, do you have plans today?"

Emma shrugged, tilting her head to the side by side. She didn't usually have plans on Sundays unless she had a travel gig. Most of the time, she went to church and then laid low at home.

"Great! Come with me," William said, his smile infectious.

"But… my dress…" Emma started, resisting the urge to add and my bra and underwear.

"I washed them. They're in the laundry area," he said nonchalantly. "Let's eat first, then shower, and we'll head out."

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Why was he so excited? Was it about the call earlier?

After they finished eating, William pointed Emma toward the laundry area. As she stood up to leave, he gave her a playful smack on the butt. She stopped in her tracks, looking back at him in shock, only to see him grinning mischievously.

Shaking her head, Emma continued on her way and entered the laundry room. Her jaw nearly dropped. Wow, this is what being rich looks like, she thought, taking in the fully equipped space—complete with a washer, a tumble dryer, and even a machine that folded clothes. What the actual hell?

There, neatly folded on a shelf, were her clothes, including her bra and underwear. She felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. William actually washed these? she thought, mortified.

When she returned to the kitchen, the table was already cleared, and the plates were loaded into the dishwasher. William must have tidied up and disappeared into his room for a shower. Emma, deciding to take her own, headed to the bathroom in the living area.

The bathroom was stunning—dark blue tiles with subtle gold accents gave it an air of elegance. Stepping into the shower area, she peeled off the shirt William had lent her, turned on the heater, and let the warm water cascade over her. The sensation was soothing, washing away her unease.

And then, the shower door suddenly slid open.

"Seriously?" Emma yelped, spinning around to find William stepping inside, his eyes locked on hers, a sly grin on his face.

Without a word, he wrapped her in his arms, his body warm against hers despite the cool air lingering in the bathroom.

"I was waiting in the bedroom shower," he murmured, steam curling around him as his breath hit the cold air. "And here you are sneaking off, trying to shower without me."

Emma blinked, her heart racing.

"Let's shower together," he said, his voice low and teasing. She stood frozen, unsure whether to laugh, protest, or just surrender as she felt William skins on her.