Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~12 min read
Dominick was already waiting in the Grandview Hotel lobby when Poppy arrived.
He looked terrible. Not in the polished, put-together way he usually carried himself, but genuinely haggard. His expensive shirt was wrinkled. He hadn’t shaved. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, making him look every one of his fifty-two years.
Good, Poppy thought viciously. Let him suffer.
He stood when he saw her, his expression a mixture of hope and desperation that might have moved her two days ago. Now, knowing what she knew, it just looked like manipulation.
“Poppy. Thank God.” He moved toward her, arms outstretched as if to embrace her.
She stepped back. “Don’t.”
The hurt that flashed across his face seemed genuine. But then again, he’d been lying to her for two years. How would she know what was genuine anymore?
“Can we sit?” Dominick gestured to a quiet corner of the lobby, away from the front desk and other guests.
Rochelle materialized at Poppy’s elbow. “I’m staying right here where I can see you.”
“That’s fine,” Poppy said. She didn’t want to be alone with Dominick anyway. Didn’t trust herself—or him.
They sat in facing armchairs, a coffee table between them like a demilitarized zone. Dominick leaned forward, his hands clasped, every inch of him radiating earnest regret.
“I know I owe you an explanation,” he began.
“You owe me a lot more than that.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. “God, Poppy, I never meant for any of this to happen. The wedding, saying her name, all of it. It was the worst moment of my life.”
“The second worst, maybe. I imagine watching your girlfriend drive off a cliff was probably worse.”
Dominick’s face went white. “What?”
“Rosa. The car accident. November 14th, five years ago.” Poppy kept her voice level, watching his every micro-expression. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“I… how did you…” He seemed genuinely shocked. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter? What matters is that you lied to the police. Told them you were home in the city when your phone records show you were two miles from the accident site.” Poppy leaned forward. “Why did you lie, Dominick?”
He stared at her for a long moment, something flickering in his eyes that looked like calculation. Then his shoulders sagged. “Because I knew how it would look. I knew if I admitted I was there, they’d have questions. Suspicions.”
“And did they have reason to be suspicious?”
“No! God, no. It was an accident, Poppy. A horrible, tragic accident that I’ve been living with for five years.” His voice broke. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch someone you love die and be powerless to stop it?”
“So you did see it happen.”
“I…” Dominick closed his eyes. “We’d had a fight. Earlier that night. At the cottage. Rosa was upset about something—I don’t even remember what anymore. She stormed out, got in her car, drove off. I was angry, so I let her go.”
“And then?”
“And then I calmed down. Realized I was being an idiot. So I got in my car and went after her.” His hands trembled. “I was trying to catch up to her on Highway 1. The roads were slick, visibility was terrible. I saw her taillights ahead of me, and I was gaining on her, and then…”
He paused, his breathing ragged.
“Then what?” Poppy pressed.
“Then she went off the road. One moment she was there, and the next, her car just… veered. Crashed through the guardrail and went over the edge.” Dominick’s voice was barely a whisper. “I stopped. Ran to the edge. But it was too dark, the cliff was too steep. I could see the car at the bottom, headlights still on, and I knew. I just knew she couldn’t have survived that fall.”
“So you called 911.”
“I did. But when they asked my name, when I realized I’d have to explain why I was there, why I’d been following her…” He looked up, his eyes red. “I panicked. Hung up. Made an anonymous call from Rosa’s phone—I’d grabbed it from where it fell near the guardrail. Then I drove home and pretended I’d never left.”
The story was smooth. Practiced. Either Dominick had told it to himself so many times that he believed it, or he’d been preparing for this conversation for five years.
“You grabbed her phone from the guardrail,” Poppy repeated slowly. “The phone she’d been using while driving? The phone she’d called you on right before the crash?”
Dominick nodded, not seeing the trap.
“So why were you following her if she’d just called you? If you’d spoken to her during the drive, why not just tell her to pull over and wait for you?”
He blinked. “I… the call ended badly. She hung up on me. I was trying to catch her to talk in person.”
“What did you fight about? At the cottage.”
“I told you, I don’t remember—”
“Yes, you do.” Poppy’s voice hardened. “You remember everything about Rosa. You’ve kept her clothes, her photos, her phone number. You’ve written her letters for five years. You remember.”
Dominick’s jaw tightened. “We fought about commitment. She wanted me to propose. I wasn’t ready.”
“Because of your financial problems.”
Another flash of shock. “How much have you been digging, Poppy?”
“Enough. I know about the lake house. The property deed in both your names, purchased three weeks before she died. I know about your business troubles five years ago. The development deal that went wrong. The potential bankruptcy.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“Doesn’t it? You put the cottage in Rosa’s name to protect it from creditors. And then, conveniently, she died. And you inherited it all back, free and clear.”
Dominick stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Several hotel guests glanced over. Rochelle tensed, ready to intervene.
“Are you suggesting I killed her? That I murdered the woman I loved for a piece of property?” His voice rose. “That’s insane, Poppy. You know me. You know I could never—”
“I don’t know you at all.” Poppy stood too, meeting his gaze. “The man I thought I knew wouldn’t have kept an entire relationship secret. Wouldn’t have dated someone specifically because she looked like his dead girlfriend. Wouldn’t have said that girlfriend’s name at our wedding.”
“I loved you,” Dominick insisted. “I do love you.”
“You love a ghost. And you tried to turn me into her.” Poppy felt tears threatening but pushed them back. She wouldn’t cry for him. Not anymore. “Tell me the truth. Did you approach me at that gallery because I reminded you of Rosa?”
A pause. Too long.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “But it wasn’t like that. Not entirely. Yes, you reminded me of her. The resemblance was striking. But as I got to know you, I fell in love with you for you. Your humor, your intelligence, your passion—”
“My willingness to wear her clothes and sleep in her bed and live in her shadow?”
“I never meant for you to feel that way.”
“How else was I supposed to feel?” Poppy’s voice cracked despite her best efforts. “You gave me her sweaters, Dominick. Took me to her cottage. Made love to me in the bed you shared with her. And the whole time, you were writing her letters, telling her that I was just a substitute. That it should have been her.”
“I was grieving—”
“For five years? That’s not grief. That’s obsession.” Poppy grabbed her purse, done with this conversation. “I went to see a lawyer. Did you know that? She told me some interesting things about the night Rosa died. About inconsistencies in your story.”
Dominick’s expression shifted. Something cold and calculating replaced the desperate grieving lover. “You need to be careful, Poppy. Making accusations like that.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice. From someone who cares about you.” But his tone didn’t match his words. “You’re upset. You’re hurt. I understand. But going around telling people I murdered my girlfriend could be considered defamation. Slander. I have lawyers too.”
There it was. The real Dominick. Not the charming suitor or the grief-stricken lover, but someone who led with threats when backed into a corner.
“I also got some interesting texts,” Poppy continued, watching his face. “From Rosa’s old number. The one you’ve been paying for all these years. Warning me to stop digging. Was that you, Dominick?”
His face betrayed nothing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? Because the phone company says that number is registered to your account.”
“Rosa’s phone was lost in the accident. I keep the number active because I can’t bring myself to cancel it. It would feel like losing her all over again.” He spread his hands. “If someone’s texting you from it, it’s not me. Maybe her number got reassigned. Maybe someone’s playing a sick joke.”
It was plausible. Almost.
But Poppy didn’t believe him.
“I’m going to find out what really happened that night,” she said. “I’m going to talk to everyone who knew you and Rosa. I’m going to find the truth.”
“There’s nothing to find. It was an accident.” But Dominick’s voice had an edge to it now. “Drop this, Poppy. For your own sake.”
“That definitely sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a warning. The internet has already torn you apart. Do you really want to add ‘conspiracy theorist’ to your viral reputation? Because that’s what you’ll sound like if you start spinning theories about how I killed my girlfriend.”
He had a point. Poppy was already the runaway bride, the woman who’d been replaced by a ghost. If she started publicly accusing Dominick of murder with nothing but circumstantial evidence and suspicion, she’d look unhinged.
The court of public opinion was already against her. They’d crucify her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Poppy said, even though she was. A little.
“Good. Because there’s nothing to be afraid of. I loved Rosa. I love you. I’m just a man who’s made some mistakes, and who’s trying to make things right.”
“You can’t make this right.”
“Let me try. Please. We can go to counseling together. Work through this. I know you’re angry, but we can—”
“Dominick.” Poppy cut him off, her voice final. “We’re done. There’s no working through this. There’s no us. Whatever we had—whatever I thought we had—is over.”
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Poppy, be reasonable. We’ve built a life together. You live in my penthouse. Most of your things are there. Your job gave you leave, but you’ll need to go back eventually. We’re entangled. You can’t just walk away.”
“Watch me.”
She turned to leave, but Dominick caught her arm. His grip was tight, almost painful.
“Let go of me,” Poppy said clearly.
Rochelle was already moving, her phone out and recording. “Take your hand off my sister. Now.”
Dominick released her immediately, seeming to realize they were in a public space with witnesses. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m just trying to make you understand.”
“I understand perfectly. You’re a liar. Possibly a murderer. And I want nothing to do with you ever again.” Poppy stepped back, putting distance between them. “My lawyer will be in touch about retrieving my belongings from the penthouse. Don’t contact me again.”
“Poppy, please—”
But she was already walking away, Rochelle at her side, both of them heading for the exit.
Behind them, Dominick called out one last time. “You’re making a mistake! You’ll regret this!”
Maybe she would. Or maybe walking away from Dominick Langley was the first smart decision Poppy had made in two years.
As they stepped out into the bright afternoon, Rochelle lowered her phone. “Got all of that on video. Including the part where he grabbed you.”
“Good.”
“What now?”
Poppy pulled out her own phone and opened her messages. The threatening texts from Rosa’s number were still there. Evidence. Proof that someone was trying to scare her.
But she also had a message from the unknown number that had texted her days ago. The one claiming to have worked with Rosa. The one who’d warned her about the night Rosa died.
Poppy had been too overwhelmed to respond then. But now, after confronting Dominick, after hearing his smooth lies and calculated threats, she knew what she had to do.
Poppy: I’m ready to talk. Tell me everything you know about the night Rosa died.
The response came almost immediately.
Unknown: Meet me at the Waverly Gallery. 3 PM today. Come alone. Don’t tell Dominick.
Poppy showed Rochelle.
“Absolutely not,” her sister said immediately. “You’re not going alone to meet some anonymous texter. That’s how people end up on true crime podcasts.”
“I have to know what they know.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“They said alone—”
“I don’t care. I’ll wait outside if I have to, but you’re not doing this by yourself.” Rochelle’s expression was fierce. “You’re investigating a possible murder, Poppy. The man you were about to marry might have killed his last girlfriend. You are not going anywhere alone.”
Poppy wanted to argue. Wanted to insist she could handle herself.
But Rochelle was right. This had gone beyond a simple case of heartbreak and betrayal. If Dominick really had killed Rosa, if he’d staged it to look like an accident…
What would he do to Poppy if she got too close to the truth?
I’m a bit confused here. How is she able to search all of Marks personal items? His wallet, laptop?? Did this man vanish and leave all his belongings behind? Why has he never contacted her after the fiasco wedding? Nothing adds up and you left loopholes everywhere.
Mark is away and distracted during much of Lexie’s investigation—likely managing his business or staying at another property—which gives her the time and space to search his belongings at both his apartment and the lake house. His lack of contact after the wedding is part avoidance and part arrogance; he underestimates how quickly Lexie will start piecing things together, assuming she’ll either forgive him or stay passive.