We Were Family Until the Jewelry Went Missing

As soon as Cheryl and I stepped out of the villa, I was itching to ask her.

"Hey, bestie, be real with me… what do you actually think of me as a person?"

She casually looped her arm through mine and smiled.

"Girl, you're amazing! You're always so honest, you stand up for me if anyone dares to mess with me, you're not the one to pick on the weak, and you never fail to donate to charity…"

She rattled off my so-called "good qualities" like she genuinely believed it all, and honestly, that just made me feel even worse. This whole thing was starting to feel depressing.

Everything just felt… too normal.

After a while, I came up with a quick excuse and told her to go to work ahead of me.

Once she was out of sight, I secretly trailed her. I wanted to see if she'd meet someone, do something shady, anything that might feel off before heading to the company.

But nope. She just swung by a coffee shop, grabbed a cup of my favorite coffee, and went straight to work. That was it.

I decided to video-call Chuck. He picked up, his background showing clear landmarks that proved he was far from there.

If he was gonna fly back, it'd take him hours.

He must've thought I was just missing him because he started comforting me in that soft, reassuring voice of his.

"Babe, I've got so much work here, and we're short-staffed. I won't be able to come back for at least a week. But hey, how about I clear out your shopping cart to make it up to you?"

Then, he actually sent me 10,000 bucks, telling me to treat myself. Like maybe a spa day or a little shopping spree.

As he looked at me with that tender, caring expression, I felt a chill creep up my spine.

It felt like setting me up, accusing me, and dying... were just a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

But the very real, very raw pain reminded me—it wasn't a dream at all.

The more "normal" things seemed, the more certain I was that something darker was lurking beneath all this.

So, I rented a car and waited along a road my uncle usually took, tailing him just in case he'd lead me to a clue.

But he just stopped by a convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes like he always did.

With nothing to go on, I bought myself a milkshake and sat alone in a café, trying to piece my thoughts together.

Why would my family suspect me of stealing some jewelry when, in fact, they knew I had an insane dollars of inheritance?

Why would my best friend, who supposedly knew what kind of a person I was, praise me to my face yet be the first to accuse me in front of everyone?

Why would my aunt and uncle, who once gave up having children for my sake, not only refuse to defend me when others slandered me but actually go along with it?

And why would my boyfriend, who didn't know what was happening and was out of town, suddenly show up at the scene just to accuse me?

All these questions swirled around in my head, knotting tighter and tighter. Each one made me feel more trapped, with no answers in sight.

Since I was little, whenever I felt like this—lost, confused, angry—I'd paint.

So this time, I posted my finished piece in my fan group.

Pretty soon, one of my fans reached out to me with an idea.

Her speculation was completely crazy.

But the more I thought about it, the more it made too much sense.

So, I took a cab straight to Bonaforté Legal Services.

I only knew about this place because I once got a call from there.

When I mentioned it to my uncle, he brushed it off as a scam, and I didn't think about it again.

But now, something told me I needed to check it out myself.

Once I got there, I was sure I'd made the right move.

What Atty. Bonaforté told me confirmed my fan's wild guess.

My family, my best friend, and my boyfriend acting normal? It's a well-crafted lie.

That led me to call Ira in the surveillance room. I asked him to grab my bag from my desk.

And I specifically gave him an instruction.

"If anyone asks, don't say it's for me. If they won't drop it, just say you're taking it out to throw away."

Next, I went home to pull together a few pieces of evidence.

Finally, I went to the hospital with an important item. Well, some things just need official proof before anyone will believe them.

After all that, I got a call from my high school class rep.

Just when I made it to the reunion, my best friend kept blowing up my phone.

She sounded like she was freaking out.

"Bestie! Oh, god, you gotta get back here right now! Someone broke into your uncle's safe! Some jewelry worth over 13 million... it's gone! The owner's losing it, and he's demanding we cooperate with the cops! Bestie, hurry, please!"

She didn't wait for me to answer. Just hang up like that.

In my last life, I got the exact same call at the exact same time.

Back then, I didn't think twice about it. I figured if I didn't steal anything, cooperating with cops was just the normal thing to do, right?

But why was my best friend acting so nervous—like she'd done something wrong?

And really, what good would it even do for me to show up?

Oh well, this was so obviously a trap—one set just for me.