Chapter 170: Into the Shadows

Justin’s POV

"Hey, babe. Why does your face look like that?"

Harper was standing right in front of me, extending her hand to give me my phone back. She had just finished talking to my grandparents, and judging by the lingering, soft smile on her face, the phone call had been every bit as warm and chaotic as I expected from my grandmother.

I reached out and took the phone from her hand. "What do you mean?"

She slid onto the couch right beside me, her gaze holding mine. "You’ve been so distant."

I looked at her, the room suddenly feeling quiet and fragile.

Harper reached out for my hand, gently threading her slender fingers through mine. "You’ve been distant ever since you came back into the apartment. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you really don’t want to, but..." She paused, her grip tightening around my fingers with a gentle, grounding pressure. "I’ve never seen you look so sad before."

I frowned, a knot pulling tight in my stomach. "Sad?"

"Not just sad," she corrected softly, her voice heavy with deep empathy. "You know what I mean, Justin. I’ve never seen this look in your eyes before, and it’s honestly breaking my heart."

I lowered my eyes to our joined hands, watching her thumb trace over my knuckles.

"I just..." The words instantly caught somewhere in my throat, thick and painful.

I didn’t even know how to begin explaining the storm raging inside my head. There was this dark, suffocating feeling a horrible sense of impending dread that had settled deep within the hollows of my chest. It felt like I was standing right at the edge of a steep cliff, knowing that the moment I took one step forward into that dark folder, there would be no going back to the life I had before.

"I don’t know," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a breath. "There’s just... this feeling I can’t shake."

"What kind of feeling, Justin?"

"Dread," I whispered, looking up into her warm eyes.

Her fingers tightened around mine even more, holding me anchor-steady. "Is it because of the court case?"

I gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Yeah. Probably." I leaned my head back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling as the grief surged back up my throat. "My mom has been gone for years, Harper. I thought... I genuinely thought I was ready for this. I thought I had already felt all the pain there was to feel."

I swallowed hard, my throat aching.

"But now that it’s actually here, right in front of me..." I stared ahead into the empty room, my voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face the full truth."

Harper didn’t interrupt me. She didn’t offer empty platitudes or try to sugarcoat the horror. She just sat close, letting her presence absorb my fear.

"It’s one thing to hear rumors or to hear that the police found evidence," I continued, my jaw clenching tightly. "It’s a completely different thing knowing there are hard documents sitting in the very next room... documents that will tell me every graphic detail of what happened to my mother."

I shook my head, fighting back the burn behind my eyes. "What they gave her. What they did to her while she was helpless. How long it really went on for... What she knew about it, and what she was kept completely blind to..."

I pulled my hand back to drag a palm down my face, my voice tight with unbearable weight. "I just don’t know if I’m mentally ready to see all of that laid out on paper."

Harper shifted closer, wrapping both of her arms around my arm and resting her cheek lightly against my shoulder. "Then what would make you ready?" she asked softly. "Is there anything I can do for you right now, Justin? Anything at all?"

I looked down at her, taking in the fierce loyalty shining in her eyes. I shook my head quietly. "I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do."

Her expression fell slightly, a faint shadow of helplessness crossing her features.

I hated seeing that look on her face. I hated bringing my dark clouds into her bright world. I stared at her for a long beat, and then a sudden, soft idea flashed through my mind.

"Well... there is one way you can help," I murmured.

I paused, holding her gaze.

Harper raised an eyebrow, a flicker of hope returning to her eyes. "What is it?"

A tiny, rare smile broke through the tension on my face for the first time all evening. "...You can sit right beside me, look beautiful, and help me kill this mountain of food."

Harper stared at me for a split second, processing the shift, before she let out a sudden, breathless laugh.

"You are so ridiculous, Justin!" She smacked my shoulder playfully, though her eyes were shining with emotional relief. "Okay. Fine. No problem."

I chuckled softly, the heavy air in the room lifting just enough for both of us to breathe.

She stood up from the couch, wiping a stray tear of laughter from her eye. "I just need to keep working on my video anyway. I need to figure out the exact cuts I want to change before I officially upload it tomorrow."

"Okay, babe."

She picked up her laptop from the coffee table and headed back toward the kitchen island.

I watched her walk away, her presence lingering like light in the dark hallway. The exact moment she disappeared around the corner, the small smile faded from my face.

My eyes drifted toward the dark hallway.

Toward the bedroom.

Toward the thick, unmarked folder sitting on the dresser.

I sat there on the couch in complete silence for several long seconds, the clock on the wall ticking loudly.

Do I really want to touch that file tonight?

I already knew the honest answer. I didn’t want to. I wanted to burn it. I wanted to pretend the monsters didn’t exist.

But wanting and needing were two completely different things.

And I needed to know what happened to my mother.

I stood up slowly, my feet heavy against the floor. I walked down the dim hallway into the bedroom and stopped right in front of the folder.

It was sitting exactly where I had left it hours ago. Thick. Heavy. Waiting like an open wound.

I stared down at it, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"God..." I muttered under my breath, dragging a trembling hand down my face. "Please give me the strength."

I reached out and picked it up. For one terrifying second, the weight of the paper felt so heavy I almost slammed it back down onto the wood.

Instead, I sank down onto the edge of the mattress, pulling a deep, shaky breath into my lungs.

I flipped open the cover.

The first few pages were packed with dense text investigative notes, legal dates, names of toxicologists, official medical records, and autopsy summaries.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my eyes to lock onto the first line. I slowly turned the first page.

Then another.

And another.

I didn’t rush through it. I forced myself to digest every single sentence, every terrifying medical term, every piece of evidence compiled over the years. I needed to understand what had already been investigated and what had been conveniently overlooked by my father’s corporate legal team.

If there were gaps in the investigation, I needed to know where they were hiding them. If there were questions nobody had dared to ask my stepmother, I was going to find them.

Because I wasn’t going to walk into that courtroom next week as a helpless victim. I wasn’t going to sit in a back row while high-priced lawyers spun lies about what happened to my mother.

I was going to do my part. I was going to fight for her.

I wanted the absolute truth. Every gruesome, agonizing piece of it.

Even the parts I was completely terrified to see.