Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~11 min read
Sabrina Novak’s office was nothing like Poppy expected.
Instead of the sterile corporate space she’d imagined, the law office occupied a renovated brownstone in the historic district. The waiting room featured exposed brick walls, comfortable leather chairs, and original artwork that actually looked good.
Poppy sat on one of those chairs at 9:47 AM, thirteen minutes early and running on three hours of sleep. Rochelle had insisted on coming along, and currently sat beside her scrolling through her phone, occasionally gasping at new developments in the #RosaMystery saga.
“They’re calling you the Ghost Bride now,” Rochelle muttered. “That’s actually kind of cool in a morbid way.”
Poppy didn’t respond. She couldn’t stop thinking about the text from Rosa’s number. Stop looking. You don’t want to know what happened.
Who had sent it? And what didn’t they want her to know?
She’d tried calling the number back immediately, but it went straight to voicemail again. Rosa’s cheerful voice, offering thirty seconds to leave a message. Poppy had hung up without speaking.
Then she’d tried texting again. Nothing. Just like before, the message failed to deliver.
Someone was messing with her. But who? And why?
“Ms. Knight?” A woman appeared in the doorway—tall, mid-forties, with sharp eyes and silver-streaked hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun. “I’m Sabrina Novak. Thank you for coming.”
Poppy stood, shaking the offered hand. Sabrina’s grip was firm, confident. The grip of someone who’d fought battles and won.
“This is my sister, Rochelle.”
“The maid of honor from the video. I remember.” Sabrina nodded to Rochelle, then gestured toward her office. “Please, come in. We have a lot to discuss.”
The office was just as stylish as the waiting room, but with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with legal texts and case files. Sabrina’s desk was organized chaos—neat stacks of documents, a laptop, three coffee mugs in various states of empty.
A woman who worked too much. Poppy recognized the type. She’d been one herself, before Dominick swept her into a whirlwind romance that left no time for sixty-hour work weeks.
“Coffee?” Sabrina offered.
“Please.”
Once they were settled with fresh cups of expensive-smelling coffee, Sabrina pulled out a thick folder and set it on the desk between them.
“My private investigator has been busy. Very busy.” She tapped the folder. “Dominick Langley is a fascinating study in compartmentalization. On the surface, he’s a successful real estate developer with a spotless reputation. But dig a little deeper…”
“And you find he’s been running a shrine to his dead girlfriend while dating her lookalike,” Poppy finished bitterly.
“That. But also some interesting financial anomalies.” Sabrina opened the folder, pulling out property records. “You mentioned the lake house. The one in both Dominick’s and Rosa’s names.”
“I found it in your file. I went there yesterday.”
Sabrina’s eyebrows rose. “Did you now? What did you find?”
Poppy told her. All of it. The photos, the clothes, the laptop with hundreds of images of Rosa. The letters written to a dead woman. The proposal that never happened.
“Jesus,” Sabrina muttered when Poppy finished. “That’s worse than I thought.”
“It gets worse.” Poppy pulled out her phone and showed the lawyer the text from Rosa’s number.
Sabrina’s expression darkened. “Someone’s trying to scare you. The question is whether they’re protecting Dominick or protecting themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there are some questions about Rosa’s accident that were never satisfactorily answered.” Sabrina pulled out another document—the police report from the night Rosa died. “Single vehicle collision on Highway 1. Car went off a cliff during a storm. Rosa was the only person in the vehicle.”
“I know. I read the news articles.”
“Did you read the police report?”
“No. How did you get that?”
Sabrina smiled thinly. “I have excellent resources. And this report has some interesting details that didn’t make it into the news. For instance, Rosa’s blood alcohol content was zero. She wasn’t intoxicated. No drugs in her system. Her car had been serviced two weeks prior and was in perfect working condition.”
“So? She lost control in the rain.”
“Maybe. But here’s where it gets interesting.” Sabrina pointed to a section of the report. “The accident happened at 11:47 PM. Rosa’s phone records show she made a call at 11:34 PM that lasted eight minutes. The call was to Dominick.”
Poppy’s stomach dropped. “He was on the phone with her when she crashed?”
“Not when she crashed. The call ended at 11:42. Then there’s a five-minute gap before the accident.” Sabrina pulled out another document—phone records. “But look at Dominick’s location data from that night.”
Poppy scanned the document, not understanding what she was seeing. “What am I looking at?”
“Cell tower pings. They show where your phone was when you made or received calls. Rosa’s phone pinged off a tower on Highway 1, which makes sense—that’s where the accident happened.” Sabrina’s finger moved to another column. “But Dominick’s phone? It pinged off a tower less than two miles from that location.”
The room felt like it was tilting. “He was there? He was near the accident?”
“Either near it, or heading toward it. And yet, when police interviewed him the next day, he claimed he was at home in the city. Said Rosa had called him upset, but he’d tried to calm her down. He never mentioned being anywhere near Highway 1.”
“Why would he lie?” But even as Poppy asked, her mind was racing ahead. “Unless…”
“Unless he knows more about that accident than he’s let on. Or unless the accident wasn’t an accident.”
No. That was insane. Dominick was obsessed with Rosa. Grief-stricken over her loss. He’d built a shrine to her, for God’s sake. People didn’t murder the people they were obsessed with.
Did they?
“There’s more,” Sabrina continued. “The property deed for the lake house. You said it was in both their names?”
“That’s what you told me on the phone.”
“Right. But what I didn’t mention is when Dominick purchased that property. He bought it three weeks before Rosa died. Paid cash—$847,000. And he put it in both their names immediately.”
Rochelle leaned forward. “So? Maybe he was going to propose there. Make it their place.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he was protecting an asset.” Sabrina pulled out more documents—financial records that looked complicated and official. “Dominick’s real estate business had some serious problems five years ago. He’d over-leveraged on a development project that went south. Was facing potential bankruptcy.”
“But he’s rich,” Poppy protested. “He’s worth millions.”
“Now, yes. But five years ago? He was in deep trouble. And there’s a legal maneuver called fraudulent conveyance—when you transfer assets to avoid creditors. If Dominick was worried about losing everything, putting property in someone else’s name would protect it.”
“Rosa’s name,” Poppy whispered.
“Exactly. And if she died…” Sabrina let the implication hang in the air.
“He’d inherit it back. Because they weren’t married, but he was the co-owner.” Rochelle’s voice was tight with horror. “Oh my God.”
“Wait.” Poppy’s head was spinning. “Are you suggesting Dominick killed Rosa to protect his assets?”
“I’m suggesting there are questions that were never asked. Inconsistencies that were never explained. A man who lied about his whereabouts on the night his girlfriend died. Financial motives that weren’t explored because everyone assumed it was just a tragic accident.”
“But the police investigated. They ruled it accidental.”
“The police investigated a single-vehicle crash on a rainy night. They had no reason to suspect foul play. Why would they? Dominick was the grieving boyfriend. There was no life insurance policy, no obvious motive. Just a sad, straightforward accident.”
Sabrina leaned back in her chair. “But now we know Dominick is capable of sustained deception. He’s been lying to you for two years, Poppy. Creating an elaborate fantasy, manipulating you into playing a role. If he’s capable of that…”
“He could be capable of anything,” Poppy finished numbly.
Her phone buzzed. Another text from Rosa’s number.
Rosa’s Number: I’m warning you. STOP DIGGING. This isn’t a game.
Poppy showed it to Sabrina, who immediately pulled out her own phone and made a call.
“Miles, it’s Sabrina. I need you to trace a number for me. Urgently.” She rattled off Rosa’s old number. “Someone’s texting my client from it and I need to know who. Yes, I’ll hold.”
While Sabrina waited, Rochelle gripped Poppy’s hand. “This is insane. This is actually insane. We’re talking about murder.”
“Maybe,” Poppy said. But the pieces were clicking into place in her mind. Dominick’s obsession with Rosa. The letters he’d written, full of grief and regret. The way he’d kept everything exactly as it was.
Guilt. All of it could be explained by guilt.
Not the guilt of a man who’d lost his love in a tragic accident.
The guilt of a man who’d caused that loss.
Sabrina’s expression shifted as she listened to whoever was on the other end. “You’re sure? Okay. Thanks, Miles. Send me everything you’ve got.”
She hung up and looked at Poppy with an expression that was half vindication, half concern.
“The number is still active. And it’s registered to Dominick Langley’s account. He’s been paying for Rosa’s phone service for the past five years.”
The room went silent.
“He’s been texting me,” Poppy said slowly. “Dominick has been texting me from Rosa’s phone, trying to scare me into stopping my investigation.”
“Which means he knows exactly what you’ve been doing. And he’s worried about what you might find.”
Poppy thought about the laptop at the lake house. Had it had tracking software? Had Dominick been monitoring her searches, reading the files she’d opened?
Or had he simply guessed? Knew her well enough to predict that she’d go looking for answers?
“What do I do?” Poppy asked. “Go to the police?”
“With what evidence? Everything I’ve shown you is circumstantial. Cell tower data that could be explained away. Financial transactions that aren’t illegal. A man keeping his dead girlfriend’s phone active, which is weird but not criminal.” Sabrina drummed her fingers on the desk. “We need more. Something concrete that connects Dominick to the crash.”
“How do we get that?”
“We keep digging. My investigator is already looking into the accident report more thoroughly. There might be photos from the scene, witness statements, mechanical inspections of the vehicle. And we need to talk to people who knew Rosa and Dominick back then. Find out if there were problems in their relationship. Arguments. Anything that might suggest a motive.”
“The gallery,” Poppy said suddenly. “Rosa worked at the Waverly Gallery. Someone there might remember her. Might remember what she was like in the weeks before she died.”
“That’s good. Yes. Start there.” Sabrina made a note. “And Poppy? Be careful. If Dominick is capable of what I think he might be capable of, and if he thinks you’re getting too close to the truth…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t have to.
Poppy stood, her legs shaky but her resolve firm. “I need to know the truth. Even if it’s terrible. Even if it destroys whatever I thought I had with him.”
“You didn’t have anything with him,” Sabrina said gently. “Whatever relationship you thought you had was built on lies. The man you loved doesn’t exist. He’s a fiction Dominick created.”
The words hurt, but they were true. Poppy had loved an illusion. A carefully crafted performance designed to fill a Rosa-shaped hole in Dominick’s life.
Or to replace the woman he’d killed.
As Poppy and Rochelle left the office, stepping back into the bright morning sunshine that felt obscenely cheerful, Poppy’s phone buzzed one more time.
Dominick: We need to talk. I’m at the penthouse. Please come. I can explain everything.
Poppy stared at the message. The penthouse. Where they’d lived together. Where she’d built dreams of a future that was never real.
Where Dominick was waiting, knowing she’d been investigating, trying to figure out how much she’d learned.
Poppy: I’m not coming to you. If you want to talk, meet me somewhere public.
The response was immediate.
Dominick: The Grandview Hotel lobby. One hour. Please, Poppy. Let me explain.
She showed Rochelle, who looked skeptical. “You’re not seriously considering meeting him.”
“I am. I need to look him in the eye and hear what he has to say.” Poppy’s voice was steady. “And I need to watch his face when I ask him about the night Rosa died.”
Because Poppy was done being lied to.
It was time for Dominick to tell the truth.
Even if that truth was murder.
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