Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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**NYPD Precinct, Interrogation Room**
"Skylar Madden, you dirty little slut! Think you can steal my husband? I'll rip your fucking face off!"
When Timothy walked in, Mrs. Kowalski had me by the hair, slamming my head against the concrete wall.
My face was already a mess of red welts and fingermarks.
"Hey! Cool it!" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "This is a police station, not Jerry Springer."
God, that voice. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
I looked up and there he was—Timothy in full uniform, radiating that cold authority that made everyone in the room shut up and listen.
My heart stopped. I could barely process that this intimidating stranger was the same guy who'd stood in the pouring rain five years ago, begging me not to walk away.
The same guy I'd destroyed because I loved him too much to let him watch me die.
A female officer dragged Mrs. Kowalski toward the door. But she wasn't done with me yet.
"Officer Goldstein!" she screeched over her shoulder. "That whore goes after anything with a dick—even my fifty-year-old husband! She's probably fucked half the city by now!"
Her eyes burned with pure hatred as she spat her final words: "She's a disease, corrupting decent people. Lock the bitch up!"
Her voice echoed down the hallway until a door slammed shut.
Then it was just Timothy and me. The silence felt like it could crush my ribs.
Shame washed over me in waves. My hands were shaking as I tried to explain.
"Tim, this is all wrong. I'm not sleeping with anyone's husband. Her husband was harassing me at work, and when I rejected him, he—"
"Ma'am." The word hit me like a slap. "Please stick to the facts of the case."
*Ma'am.* Not Skylar. Not Sky. *Ma'am.*
I felt something break inside my chest.
"Mrs. Kowalski assaulted you. Do you want to press charges or handle this through mediation?"
We'd known each other for ten years. Loved each other for three.
The only other time he'd used my full name like that was the night I ripped his heart out.
That storm. Him standing outside my family's estate, soaked and shivering, refusing to leave.
"Skylar Madden, if you're gonna destroy us, at least tell me why."
And I'd looked him dead in the eye and said: "Timothy Goldstein, what future do we have? You're broke. I'm not. Do the math."
I'd watched the light die in his eyes. Watched him crumble.
Now those same dark eyes stared at me with nothing. No love, no hate. Nothing.
He drummed his fingers on the metal table. "Miss Madden? Charges or mediation?"
I opened my mouth to answer, and that's when it happened. The metallic taste, the sharp sting—and then blood. Bright red drops splattering across the police report.
"Shit, sorry—" I pressed my palm against my nose, but it was already soaking through my fingers.
"Here." Timothy slid a box of tissues across the table, his expression unchanged.
"Thanks." The word came out muffled. Within seconds, the tissues were completely saturated.
This wasn't stopping anytime soon.
"I need to... bathroom. Just give me a minute."
**Restroom**
I gripped the sink, watching my blood swirl down the drain in pink ribbons.
My reflection looked like a ghost—hollow cheeks, gray skin, dark circles that no concealer could hide anymore.
I dry-swallowed three pills from the bottle in my purse. The new medication wasn't working. My body was rejecting everything now.
*How much time do I have left?*
I splashed cold water on my face and forced myself to breathe. I could fall apart later. Right now, I just needed to get through this.
When I walked out, Timothy was leaning against the wall, all 6'3" of him radiating that quiet intensity that used to make me feel so safe.
My eyes went straight to his left wrist, where his sleeve covered the scar. The scar that cost him everything.
The day I flew to Switzerland for treatment, he'd chased my car to the airport. Crashed his motorcycle trying to stop me. Nearly bled out on the asphalt.
That injury destroyed his West Point dreams. Turned what should've been a decorated military career into... this. A precinct cop in Queens.
All because of me.
"You ready to finish this?" he asked. "If you're pressing charges, I need to get the paperwork started—"
"No." The word came out too fast, too desperate. "No charges. Mrs. Kowalski's my boss. It's just a misunderstanding."
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then called out to another officer.
"Hanks! Can you handle the mediation paperwork? I gotta head out."
"Sure thing," Kevin Hanks replied with a grin. "Hot date with the fiancée?"
Timothy didn't answer, just grabbed his keys.
The word 'fiancée' hit me like a freight train.
"Timothy." My heart sank as I heard my own trembling voice ask:
"Are you... are you getting married?"
"Skylar Madden, you dirty little slut! Think you can steal my husband? I'll rip your fucking face off!"
When Timothy walked in, Mrs. Kowalski had me by the hair, slamming my head against the concrete wall.
My face was already a mess of red welts and fingermarks.
"Hey! Cool it!" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "This is a police station, not Jerry Springer."
God, that voice. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
I looked up and there he was—Timothy in full uniform, radiating that cold authority that made everyone in the room shut up and listen.
My heart stopped. I could barely process that this intimidating stranger was the same guy who'd stood in the pouring rain five years ago, begging me not to walk away.
The same guy I'd destroyed because I loved him too much to let him watch me die.
A female officer dragged Mrs. Kowalski toward the door. But she wasn't done with me yet.
"Officer Goldstein!" she screeched over her shoulder. "That whore goes after anything with a dick—even my fifty-year-old husband! She's probably fucked half the city by now!"
Her eyes burned with pure hatred as she spat her final words: "She's a disease, corrupting decent people. Lock the bitch up!"
Her voice echoed down the hallway until a door slammed shut.
Then it was just Timothy and me. The silence felt like it could crush my ribs.
Shame washed over me in waves. My hands were shaking as I tried to explain.
"Tim, this is all wrong. I'm not sleeping with anyone's husband. Her husband was harassing me at work, and when I rejected him, he—"
"Ma'am." The word hit me like a slap. "Please stick to the facts of the case."
*Ma'am.* Not Skylar. Not Sky. *Ma'am.*
I felt something break inside my chest.
"Mrs. Kowalski assaulted you. Do you want to press charges or handle this through mediation?"
We'd known each other for ten years. Loved each other for three.
The only other time he'd used my full name like that was the night I ripped his heart out.
That storm. Him standing outside my family's estate, soaked and shivering, refusing to leave.
"Skylar Madden, if you're gonna destroy us, at least tell me why."
And I'd looked him dead in the eye and said: "Timothy Goldstein, what future do we have? You're broke. I'm not. Do the math."
I'd watched the light die in his eyes. Watched him crumble.
Now those same dark eyes stared at me with nothing. No love, no hate. Nothing.
He drummed his fingers on the metal table. "Miss Madden? Charges or mediation?"
I opened my mouth to answer, and that's when it happened. The metallic taste, the sharp sting—and then blood. Bright red drops splattering across the police report.
"Shit, sorry—" I pressed my palm against my nose, but it was already soaking through my fingers.
"Here." Timothy slid a box of tissues across the table, his expression unchanged.
"Thanks." The word came out muffled. Within seconds, the tissues were completely saturated.
This wasn't stopping anytime soon.
"I need to... bathroom. Just give me a minute."
**Restroom**
I gripped the sink, watching my blood swirl down the drain in pink ribbons.
My reflection looked like a ghost—hollow cheeks, gray skin, dark circles that no concealer could hide anymore.
I dry-swallowed three pills from the bottle in my purse. The new medication wasn't working. My body was rejecting everything now.
*How much time do I have left?*
I splashed cold water on my face and forced myself to breathe. I could fall apart later. Right now, I just needed to get through this.
When I walked out, Timothy was leaning against the wall, all 6'3" of him radiating that quiet intensity that used to make me feel so safe.
My eyes went straight to his left wrist, where his sleeve covered the scar. The scar that cost him everything.
The day I flew to Switzerland for treatment, he'd chased my car to the airport. Crashed his motorcycle trying to stop me. Nearly bled out on the asphalt.
That injury destroyed his West Point dreams. Turned what should've been a decorated military career into... this. A precinct cop in Queens.
All because of me.
"You ready to finish this?" he asked. "If you're pressing charges, I need to get the paperwork started—"
"No." The word came out too fast, too desperate. "No charges. Mrs. Kowalski's my boss. It's just a misunderstanding."
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then called out to another officer.
"Hanks! Can you handle the mediation paperwork? I gotta head out."
"Sure thing," Kevin Hanks replied with a grin. "Hot date with the fiancée?"
Timothy didn't answer, just grabbed his keys.
The word 'fiancée' hit me like a freight train.
"Timothy." My heart sank as I heard my own trembling voice ask:
"Are you... are you getting married?"
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.