After reviewing the video footage from her car, the police officers were satisfied and informed Monica.
"You are free to go home for now. We will work more with local police in the Kandal II district too."
Monica stood up, a sense of relief washing over her, but the weight of the investigation still loomed in the air as she left the interrogation room.
As Monica turned to leave, the officer added,
"We may reach out for further questions when necessary."
Monica nodded, acknowledging the statement, and without another word, she left the room. The tension hung in the air as she walked out of the station, her mind racing with the uncertainty of what might come next.
***
As Monica stepped outside the station, she spotted the driver and Heng waiting for her. She took a few steps toward them, but suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her leg. She staggered, almost collapsing, but before she could fall, Dara rushed to her side, catching her.
"Are you okay?" Dara asked, his voice filled with concern as he steadied her.
Monica, still wincing from the pain, nodded weakly. "I'm fine... just a little tired," she murmured, though the strain was clear on her face.
Heng, noticing the situation, quickly stepped forward. "Let's get you in the car," he said, his tone firm yet gentle, and together, they helped Monica into the vehicle.
Monica looked at Dara with a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice strained.
Dara, sensing the tension, replied quietly, "I came to check on you."
Stepsister didn't respond immediately, but her gaze softened slightly as she leaned back against the car seat, her body still aching from the ordeal.
***
At home, Monica rested on the sofa, her exhaustion evident, while Dara and Heng sat across from each other nearby. The room was heavy with unspoken tension.
"So, you meant to apologize to your sister?" Heng asked, his voice calm but probing. Monica remained speechless, her eyes focused on the floor. Dara nodded slowly, then added,
"I'm sorry, but it doesn't mean I stopped seeking the truth."
Heng opened his mouth to respond, his tone firm.
"I hope you understand that your big sister has never liked being on social media, especially in the spotlight…"
"How come? In this digital era?"
"I mean, if it's not necessary! In the news, yes—no one can avoid that if something happens. I've even tried to block any reporters these days, too. Please understand, it's a family issue. If you want to ask or say anything, let's have an internal discussion first," Heng said. Monica and Dara listened carefully, but Dara seemed unconvinced.
"Family, bullsh*t!" he muttered, though both Heng and Monica heard him clearly.
"Saroath's case is gonna..." Heng started, but Dara cut him off sharply. "No mention of my mom, please..."
The words hung in the air, and both men froze, a rare moment of silence settling between them.
"I heard Monica was sick, and I was busy with my work, that's all," Dara continued, his tone softer now, almost apologetic, but still distant.
***
As Dara left his dad's house, he happened to notice a man parked on a motorbike next to the property. The man was staring up at the top of the house, his gaze intense and focused. Dara froze, a wave of curiosity washing over him.
The man, clearly aware that Dara had seen him, quickly started his engine and began to leave. Without thinking, Dara rushed to his car, his heart pounding with the need to find out more.
He threw the car into gear and sped off, determined to follow the man, unsure of what he might uncover but feeling an undeniable urge to know who he was and why he had been watching the house.
***
At the break of dusk, Dara gripped the wheel of his car, determination etched on his face as he tailed the motorbike weaving through the waking streets of the city.
Hours turned to miles, the sun climbing high before dipping into twilight. By nightfall, their relentless pursuit carried them far beyond the city's edge, into the desolate northwest.
There, with the hum of the motor fading, the bike sputtered and came to a halt, its tank drained of gasoline, leaving both travelers stranded in the whispering silence of the open road.
Dara leapt from his car without hesitation, slamming the door behind him as he bolted toward the fleeing figure. The mysterious man had abandoned his motorbike, darting into the darkness with uncanny speed.
"Stop, you bastard! Stop!" Dara shouted, his voice cutting through the still night air.
The chase led them past a slumbering village and into the dense embrace of a shadowy forest. Branches clawed at Dara's face and clothes, but he pressed on, adrenaline surging through his veins. Finally, with a desperate lunge, he tackled the man to the ground, both of them crashing into the damp forest floor.
Dara seized the man's shirt, yanking him back with force, his fist raised, ready to strike. But before the blow could land, the man twisted around, his eyes wide with fear.
"Don't! Please don't hit me!" he pleaded, his voice trembling.
Dara ripped the mask from the man's face, revealing a bewildered and unfamiliar young man.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
"I…" he stammered.
"WHO ARE YOU?" he barked, his patience already gone.
"I will tell you... I was told to follow the lady from that house," he replied nervously.
"By whose orders?" Dara pressed, his glare unrelenting.
"I don't know!" he blurted, shrinking under his gaze.
Dara struck him across the face, his warning clear in his narrowed eyes. "Tell me the truth, or I'll report you!"
"I swear, I don't know!" he insisted, his voice cracking.
"I'm just a delivery man. One day, I got a call from a man. He asked me to follow her—Monica, her name is—and report her daily routine to him."
"For how long?" Dara asked, his stomach twisting.
"Just a month, maybe?"
"In this month?" Dara echoed, his voice softer, yet tinged with disbelief.
"Yes," he nodded, avoiding Dara's gaze.
In a month. The timeline clicked into place, aligning eerily with his mother's death. His mind raced with questions. Why Monica? Why now?
"Why did you do it for him without even knowing him?" Dara asked sharply.
The delivery man shrugged. "He sent me money in advance, and I need money!"
Dara narrowed his eyes. "Fine. But if you lied to me, you'll regret it!"
"I didn't!"
"What's your name?"
"Khun."
"Khun? Contact that man now. I want to see!"
"Okay."
Khun pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the Telegram app. He scrolled through his chats until he stopped at a saved contact.
"Banana?" Dara read the name aloud, his voice laced with a mocking laugh.
"Yes," Khun replied, his tone flat.
Dara leaned in, his eyes scanning the chat with growing unease. The messages were clear—"Banana" had sent money to the delivery man through a transfer company, sharing only a transaction code. No bank transfers, no personal details. His Telegram account was locked down tight, no phone number, no profile in sight.
"Sh*t," Dara hissed under his breath.
"Send him everything you've gathered today. Let's see how he responds," Dara ordered sharply. Khun obeyed, forwarding the details about Monica's interrogation.
But silence followed—no reply came, not immediately, not after a tense wait. Frustrated, Dara made her decision. "We're done for now," he muttered, his voice cold as he turned his back on the delivery man.
***
In her bedchamber, a housemate was busy preparing hot water for Monica's bath, the steam rising gently from the tub. Monica stood nearby, her shirt already off, her gaze distant.
"Sister Nuth" she called the housemate, her voice tinged with worry.
"Yes?" Nuth replied.
"I can't remember where I left my notebook—the one with the brown cover and the ancient city on it. Can you find it for me?"
"I'll look for it," the housemate responded, her voice calm. "Let me just check the water temperature first."
Monica dipped her hand into the water, a triumphant smile crossing her face. "That's it, okay. You can go now!"
"Are your feet ok?"
"Yes, that's fine, no worries!"
"Yes!"
"Great, now get me a bottle of wine and a glass!" Monica added, her voice playful but demanding.
Her housemate hesitated, concern flickering in her eyes. "But Sir didn't allow it."
"Then don't let him know," Monica whispered, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Nuth... please?"
Nuth looked uneasy but nodded, reluctantly heading out.
Monica, meanwhile, began shedding her clothes, ready for a well-deserved shower.
***
Now settled in the bathtub, Monica cradled the glass of wine in her hand, the rich liquid glinting in the dim light. She took a slow sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through her.
Her unreadable gaze drifted to the window, where the night unfolded in a quiet, starless expanse. The cool, still air outside contrasted with the warmth of the water surrounding her, and for a moment, she simply lost herself in the view, her thoughts distant and undefined.
Visak's voice crackled through the phone, which Monica had placed on the desk by the bathtub. "Open a video call, I want to see you!"
She had a faint smile, her voice firm. "No, I'm in the shower."
"That's exactly what I wanted to see!" came Visak's playful reply.
"Silly," Monica laughed.
"Or because you are naked?"
"Stop it!"
"Honey, I miss you like crazy. Let me see your face now."
Monica shook her head. "Tomorrow, you'll be back."
"I know," Visak sighed. "But if you don't let me see you now, I'm sure to take you to my bed tomorrow night."
She chuckled, her heart warm at the thought.
Monica's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Dare you?" she teased, her voice light and playful.
His voice softened with a hint of seriousness. "Why not? I talked with Dad. He gave you to me. You're mine, and we'll get married very soon."
Monica laughed, teasing again, "But not as soon as tomorrow!"
"I'll make you believe it," Visak replied, his tone confident and full of promise.
"Okay!" Monica responded.
He asked. "What does 'OK' mean in your context?"
Monica smiled, her voice steady. "You said you'd make me believe it."
Visak chuckled softly. "I'm sure I will."
They fell silent for a moment, the air between them filled with unspoken thoughts. Then Visak broke the quiet.
"Honey, I trust you! I trust you that you weren't involved in her death" he said gently.
Monica's eyes glistened with emotion. "Yes."
His tone was warm. "And don't worry—just focus on your health right now, okay?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, get a shower and rest. Go to bed. I miss you, love you."
"Love you."
After hanging up the phone, she turned and rested her head on the edge of the bathtub. She reached for a notebook with a brown cover and sketch of the ancient city. Lost in thought, she stared at the drawing, her mind drifting into deep nostalgic.