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Married Before Midnight

Chapter 55: Enemies, Allies, and Alibis

The café was quiet, the kind of place where the hum of distant conversations and the occasional clink of porcelain cups filled the air. Charlotte sat at a corner table, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched cappuccino. The foam had long since dissolved into the dark liquid, much like her patience.

Who would do this? The question had haunted her since the flyers had appeared, plastered across campus like some twisted form of advertising. The accusations—that she’d slept with the director to secure her lead role—were ludicrous. But lies had a way of spreading faster than truth, and now whispers followed her everywhere. The bell above the door chimed, and Jamie strolled in, a manila folder tucked under his arm. He slid into the seat across from her with the ease of someone who owned every room he walked into. "You look like you’re plotting murder," he remarked, setting the folder down between them.

Charlotte arched a brow. "Maybe I am." Jamie grinned, unfazed. "Good thing I’m here to be your alibi." She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the flicker of curiosity. "What’s in the folder?" "Intel," he said, flipping it open. "A list of people who had motive, means, and opportunity to smear you." Charlotte leaned forward, scanning the names. Some were expected—disgruntled stage techs, jealous understudies—but others surprised her. "You did this?" she asked, skepticism lacing her tone. Jamie shrugged. "I have connections. And contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend all my time partying." She snorted. "Could’ve fooled me." "Admit it, Carter. You’re impressed." "Not even close." But she was. A little. They spent the next hour narrowing down the list, debating possibilities.

Jamie’s insights were sharper than she’d expected, his observations cutting through the noise. "Okay," Charlotte said finally, tapping a name. "Let’s start with the stage crew. They had access to the theater after hours, and a few of them weren’t happy when I got the lead." Jamie smirked. "Time to play detective." --- The theater was empty when they arrived, the stage bathed in the dim glow of work lights. Charlotte led the way backstage, where the tech crew usually lurked. "Look who it is," a voice drawled. Derek, one of the lighting techs, leaned against a prop table, arms crossed. His smirk was infuriatingly smug. "Hey, Derek," Charlotte said smoothly. "Funny running into you here." "Not really. I work here." Jamie stepped forward, his tone deceptively light. "You hear about those flyers going around? Real nasty stuff." Derek’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. "Yeah, sucks for Charlotte, I guess." Charlotte tilted her head. "You don’t seem too broken up about it." "Why would I be? Not my problem." Jamie clucked his tongue. "See, that’s the thing.

Rumor has it someone from the crew might’ve had a hand in it." Derek stiffened. "That’s bullshit." Charlotte stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You sure about that? Because I heard the original photo was taken backstage.

By someone with a grudge." Derek’s eyes flickered. "You don’t know what you’re talking about." Jamie crossed his arms. "Then enlighten us." For a moment, Derek looked like he might bolt. Then his jaw tightened. "Fine. Yeah, I took the photo. But I didn’t make those flyers. Someone else did." Charlotte’s pulse spiked. "Who?" "How should I know? They just paid me for the picture." Jamie’s expression darkened. "Who paid you?" Derek hesitated, then muttered, "I don’t know their name. They wore a hat, kept their face hidden. But they had this red bracelet—one of those woven ones." Charlotte’s breath caught. She knew that bracelet. She’d given it to someone. Her best friend.

The revelation sat like a stone in her stomach as they left the theater. Jamie was quiet beside her, his usual bravado replaced with something more thoughtful. "You okay?" he asked finally. Charlotte exhaled sharply. "No." Jamie nodded, as if he understood. Maybe he did. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She opened the message—a video clip. The security footage showed a figure in a baseball cap slipping flyers into student mailboxes. Their face was hidden, but on their wrist—clear as day—was the red bracelet. Charlotte’s fingers tightened around her phone. Jamie glanced at the screen, then at her. "You know who that is." She swallowed hard. "Yeah." Her best friend. The one person she’d trusted.