It had been so freakishly, unmistakably obvious that the scene was staged.


    I had taken a closer, more scrutinizing look and noticed the shabby, amateurish work that had been done. The attention to detail wasughable at best, insulting at worst.


    Till today, I still remembered how the seemingly careless drape of the ridiculous dress and lingerie had looked intentional on a closer look, as if arranged by someone with no concept of natural disarray. Even the shoes, carelessly strewn about, had been of different sizes and simr colors, a rookie mistake in staging infidelity.


    The male shirts weren''t mine; neither were they my size or my aesthetic. They hung limply, like props in a bad y. The suffocating smell that I suspected was supposed to be the man''s cologne filled the space, an assault on the senses that smelt nothing like mine. And if it was supposed to be for thedy, Ana should know that I''d hate that overpowering scent with every fiber of my being.


    If only Ana had taken a closer look, if only she had paused for a moment of rity. If only she had not jumped to conclusions, her keen eye would have noticed that the cologne was not her favorite of mine.


    But even still, the whole scenario was a puzzle piece that I could not make into anything sensible, no matter how I turned it over in my mind.


    Why would anyone do this? What exactly was the motive behind such an borate ruse? To ruin the beautiful, cherished rtionship I had with Ana?


    But then came the same nagging question, who?


    Neither Ana nor I had anyone in our lives who would want us apart, no nemesis lurking in the shadows. Well, except ra but ra, with all her sharp words and disapproving res, would never stoop so low.


    She was always so vocal and intentional about her dislike for me that sometimes I thought that she was just all bluff and was just very protective of her friend, a lioness guarding her cub.


    I had followed the trail of multiple thongs and garter belts and more shirts into my room, each step feeling like I was walking deeper into someone else''s twisted fantasy.


    My room was also messed up but it was minimal, notpared to the big mess in the living room, as if the perpetrator had run out of steam or creativity.


    My usually bedsheet was rumpled on my bed like a mockery of passion that never urred, and some of the contents on the nightstand were ced on the floor to look like they had been mindlessly knocked off In the throes of nonexistent passion.


    It wasn''t until a secondter that my brain picked up the glimpse of someone sneaking out from the kitchen, a shadow darting away from the scene of the crime. Immediately, the door to the living room mmed close, the sound echoing in the empty apartment like a gunshot.


    The intruder might be ahead of me but I knew this ce like the back of my hands. I ran into the kitchen, went through the rarely used fingerprint secured door there and burst out of the garage. Just as he was about to run past the garage to the gate, my hands shot out and I grabbed him by the shirt.


    He was a young boy and he immediately started to scream as he struggled to get out of his shirt, ready to


    flee without it.


    #


    He was the missing puzzle piece, the one thing I needed to make sense of everything and perhaps, tender. my exnation to Ana and get her back so I was not about to let


    1. go.


    "Let me go!" He would not stop screaming.


    I cupped his mouth and dragged him all the way from the garage into my kitchen. I did a quick, efficient job of tying him down to the countertop.


    "I''m gonna call the cops!" He babbled as he struggled to free himself.


    As he struggled and screamed and threatened me, I regarded him for a while. Definitely, a junior high schooler.


    "What''s your name?"


    "You have no right to question me! Untie me."


    I gripped him by his nape, pressing my fingers firmly into his skin to send the right message, "Why did you mess up my apartment?"


    "I don''t know, please let me go," his voice quivered and he stopped struggling.


    Tightening my hold, I repeated my question.


    "I swear I didn''t mean to," he rushed out, his face contorted in pain, "I only did what I was paid to do."Content from N?velDr(a)ma.Org.


    "Who sent you?" I gritted out, hating the fact that I had to ask each question before he''d give me the


    response.


    "I can''t," he said in a small voice, his cheeks pressed to the countertop.


    +