Chapter 7 - The Final Confrontation
The apartment was pitch black when I slipped through the front door. The air inside felt thick, heavy with the scent of pine cleaner and impending doom.
I didn't turn on the lights. I stood quietly in the center of the living room, listening to the relentless drumming of rain against the windowpanes.
At exactly 9:15 PM, the front door clicked open.
Marcus stepped inside, silhouette framed by the hallway light. He didn't bother turning on the lamp. In his right hand, a heavy glass tumbler gleamed dully in the dark—filled with fresh, poisoned water, identical to the one from the night before.
"Playing in the dark now, Dani?" Marcus’s voice cut through the shadows, dripping with sickening amusement. He closed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt with a heavy, final click. "You really disappointed me today. Running away like a coward. Did you really think you could outrun a million dollars?"
"You didn't earn that money, Marcus," I said, stepping out from the shadows near the kitchen archway. My voice was completely steady, devoid of fear.
Marcus stopped, squinting through the gloom. A cruel smile spread across his face as he raised the glass. "Well, you won't need money where you're going, honey. Just drink up. Make it easy on yourself, just like Sarah did for you."
"Sarah didn't drink it, Marcus," a voice echoed from the hallway closet behind him.
Marcus whirled around as the closet door flew open. Sarah stepped out, holding a live police radio tuned to dispatch, while three uniformed officers and Detective Miller from the homicide division surged past her into the apartment, guns drawn and flashlights blindingly bright.
"Marcus Vance! Federal and local warrant! Drop the glass and put your hands behind your back!" Detective Miller roared, closing in with tactical precision.
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For a split second, Marcus froze. His eyes darted from the officers to me, realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. The mask of charm completely shattered, replaced by a feral, cornered rage.
With a wild snarl, Marcus lunged forward, not toward the police, but straight toward me with the poisoned glass raised like a dagger.
