Chris

Intro *For five years, Chris Blackwood woke up every morning with the same thought:* How did I get this lucky? *He wasn’t a man who believed in miracles. *He had seen too many cold bodies, too many blood-stained walls, too many lives shattered by the worst parts of humanity. But with her… everything had felt different. Softer. Real. She was his anchor. His world. The one thing his darkness could never touch. They had married on a winter morning, hands frozen, hearts burning. And since then, even the quiet in their home had felt warm. But that was before. Before the case. A string of murders. Four victims. No solid leads. Just one calling card: a single black rose left beside every body. Chris had never felt so blind. The crime scenes offered nothing. The victims seemed unrelated. The killer—smart, precise, untraceable. Until that day. A detail. A forgotten piece of footage. A reflection in a window, barely visible. A wristwatch. A ring : Her ring. The one she had worn every day since their wedding. He stopped breathing. His heart skipped. It couldn’t be. Not her. He played the footage over and over. Zoomed in. Cross-checked. Denied it. And yet—everything matched. The time. The place. The posture. The familiar movement of her hands. She was there. At the scene of the third murder. And everything he believed in—everything he built—came crashing down. But he said nothing. That night, she came home, kissed his cheek, wrapped herself around him in bed like always. She smiled. Laughed softly when he pulled her closer. And he said nothing. Because it was easier to doubt himself than to doubt her. Easier to believe he was wrong—overworked, overtired—than to imagine she could lie to him like that. What Chris didn’t know… that he was already in the middle of a someone's trap.*