Part Four: The Evidence She Built
The police station smelled like stale coffee and bureaucracy.
Serena sat in a hard plastic chair, her statement typed out on the form in front of her.
Her hand still trembling slightly as she signed her name at the bottom.
Detective Sarah Morrison had been patient. Professional.
Asking questions without judgment as she outlined the financial abuse alongside the physical assault.
The bruises on her wrists had faded to yellow-green.
But the photographs Dr. Caruso had taken that first night were timestamped and clinical. Undeniable evidence.
“This will take time to investigate,” Detective Morrison warned her, eyes kind behind steel-rimmed glasses.
“Financial fraud cases are complex. We’ll need to subpoena bank records, credit applications, establish patterns. Mr. Silva will likely claim you authorized these transactions.”
“I know,” Serena said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“But I didn’t. And I’m willing to testify to that.”
The detective nodded, gathering the papers into a folder.
“I’ll be in touch as the investigation progresses. In the meantime, you should consider filing for a restraining order. The assault alone justifies it.”
She’d already done that.
With the help of the lawyer Masimo had retained for her.
Henrique was prohibited from coming within five hundred feet of her, her workplace, or Masimo’s building.
Not that a piece of paper would stop him if he was truly determined.
But it was something.
Masimo waited for her in the lobby.
His presence drawing curious glances from the officers moving through the station.
He wore his business armor today. A dark suit that screamed wealth and power. His expression carefully neutral until his eyes found hers.
“How did it go?” he asked quietly as they walked to his car.
“She said it will take time. They have to build the case.”
She buckled her seat belt, exhaustion settling into her bones.
It had been a week since she’d left her apartment.
A week of statements and lawyers. Of slowly piecing together the extent of Henrique’s deception.
The loan documents had arrived yesterday. Obtained through her attorney’s requests.
Her signature on them.
Or what looked like her signature, though the handwriting analysis would prove it was forged.
Applications she’d never seen. References she’d never provided. Employment information that had been falsified.
Henrique had been thorough.
He’d built an entire financial house of cards using her name as the foundation.
“Have you eaten today?” Masimo asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
She tried to remember.
Coffee this morning? Maybe some toast?
“Not really.”
He made a disapproving sound.
“We’re stopping for lunch. No arguments.”
The restaurant he chose was quiet. Upscale.
The kind of place where conversations stayed private and waiters moved like ghosts.
They were shown to a corner booth, menus presented with muted efficiency.
“You need to eat,” Masimo said, studying her across the table.
“You’ve lost weight this week.”
“I’ve been stressed,” she replied, scanning the menu without really seeing it.
“Surprisingly, discovering your boyfriend has been committing identity theft and funding a gambling addiction kind of kills the appetite.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” he corrected quietly.
Right.
Ex-boyfriend.
The word still felt foreign on her tongue.
Three years of her life. Gone. Not just gone, but revealed as a calculated con.
“Serena.”
Masimo’s hand crossed the table, stopping just short of touching hers.
“You’re allowed to grieve this. Even if he was using you, even if everything was a lie, your feelings were real. That loss is real.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. Unexpected.
“I don’t know what I’m grieving. The relationship I thought I had. The person I thought he was. My own stupidity for not seeing it sooner.”
“You’re not stupid.”
His voice was fierce.
“You’re trusting. You’re loyal. Those are good qualities, cara. The fact that Henrique exploited them doesn’t make them weaknesses.”
She blinked back the tears, reaching for her water glass instead of his hand.
Maintaining that careful distance they’d both observed for a week.
Living under the same roof. Seeing each other at breakfast and dinner. Working in the same office.
And still maintaining the professional boundaries that had defined them for four years.
Except it was getting harder.
Every kindness from Masimo. Every protective gesture. Every moment of genuine care.
It made her more aware of what she’d been missing with Henrique. What she’d settled for.
“I went back to the apartment yesterday,” she said, changing the subject.
“With Dante and Marco. Like you suggested.”
His expression sharpened.
“Was Henrique there?”
“No. But he’d been there.”
She took a shaky breath.
“He destroyed my things, Masimo. Everything I’d left behind. My clothes shredded. My books torn apart. Photographs burned in the sink. The walls had holes punched in them. It looked like a war zone.”
Masimo’s jaw tightened.
His hands flexed on the table.
“Did Dante photograph it?”
“Everything. The lawyer said it would help with the restraining order. Prove his volatile mental state.”
She laughed bitterly.
“As if the bruises weren’t enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Masimo said quietly.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not.”
She met his eyes, letting him see the anger she’d been carefully banking.
“I’m glad I saw it. Because now I know exactly who he is. Not the charming photographer who swept me off my feet. Not the boyfriend who claimed to love me so much it made him jealous. The real Henrique. The one who would destroy anything he couldn’t control.”
Something flickered in Masimo’s eyes.
Approval, maybe. Or recognition of the steel he’d always suspected existed beneath her professional courtesy.
The waiter appeared, and they ordered.
The moment breaking.
But the intensity lingered between them. Unspoken questions and careful boundaries wearing thinner with each passing day.
“I’ve been looking at apartments,” she said once the waiter had gone.
“Small studios. Mostly within my budget. I can’t stay at your penthouse forever, Masimo. It’s not fair to you.”
His expression shuttered.
“You’re not a burden, Serena.”
“I didn’t say I was. But I need to rebuild my independence. That means my own space. My own life. You’ve been incredibly generous, but—”
“Stay.”
He interrupted.
“At least until the legal matters are resolved. Until Henrique is dealt with and you know you’re safe. The penthouse has more than enough room. You’re not inconveniencing anyone.”
“Masimo—”
“Please.”
The word was quiet. Almost vulnerable.
“Let me know you’re protected. Just until this is over.”
She should have insisted.
Should have maintained the distance. The propriety.
But the thought of being alone in some studio apartment, jumping at every sound, wondering if Henrique had found her…
She wasn’t that brave yet.
“Okay,” she agreed softly.
“Until it’s over.”
