Fragile Heart Iron Will Novel by WriterLola _ Novel




Fragile Heart Iron Will Chapter 01

Maverick Hayworth, the serial killer who murdered 19 people across six states, was finally in custody.
Now, his head shaved clean, he was being interviewed live on air.
When asked which victim left the deepest impression, he went silent for a long beat. Then, he laughed.
"Number fifteen," he said. "I didn't actually want to kill her. But someone put up 300 grand for her life, and that money came straight out of her husband's bank account.
"The one who hired me was probably a former student of his—a secret admirer. Now she's pregnant, and the two of them are blissfully together."
800 thousand people were watching the livestream the exact second those words left his mouth.
Meanwhile, my husband, Rylan Emery—a criminal psychology professor at a top-tier university and a special consultant for the city PD—sat in his office, totally oblivious to the broadcast.
He was on a video call with his new wife, who was seven months pregnant.
***
On the screen, Julissa Nicholl stood there, heavy with child, struggling to angle the camera to show off the crib she'd just bought. "Honey, do you like this color?"
Rylan's voice was incredibly soft. He looked at her with naked affection. "Whatever you pick is perfect. Don't wear yourself out, Julie. I'll put it together when I get home."
I hovered right behind him, watching the whole thing play out in silence.
I'd been dead for three years. In that time, I'd watched Rylan grieve, grow completely numb, and eventually welcome Julissa into his life without a single ounce of guilt.
He'd even forgotten that exactly three years ago today, I vanished.
His desk phone rang. Rylan frowned, holding up an index finger to Julissa to ask for a second. "Prof. Emery," the voice on the line said. "Maverick requested you specifically. He says he won't give up the location of the fifteenth victim's remains to anyone else."
Rylan's face hardened. "I'll be right there."
He hung up, gave Julissa a quick rundown, and grabbed his jacket. On the screen, she looked rattled. "Honey, is Maverick... that serial killer?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about it, I'll handle it." Rylan ended the call and hurried out the door.
I shadowed him all the way into the interrogation room. In the dim light, Maverick flashed a bizarre, knowing smile the second he saw Rylan. "Prof. Emery. A pleasure to finally meet you. I've watched your public lectures on criminal psychology. You're a fantastic teacher."
Rylan didn't even look up from the folder in his hands. "Maverick Hayworth, male, forty-one. Between 2019 and 2024, you committed nineteen murders in six states—"
"You can skip the rap sheet," Maverick cut in. "I want to talk about number fifteen."
"Go ahead."
"Aren't you curious why I asked for you specifically?"
"No," Rylan said flatly. "Criminals often try to dictate the conversation to seize control during high-pressure interrogations. It's basic psychological profiling. It's not going to work on me."
Maverick barked a loud laugh. "Prof. Emery, you've studied the criminal mind for years, and you don't even know the true nature of the woman you sleep next to. It's incredibly ironic."
Rylan snapped the file shut, glaring at him with open disgust. "Like I said, these basic psychological tactics don't work on me."
"Is that right?" Maverick leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. "What if I told you the fifteenth victim was Brittany Milborne?"
Rylan froze. His grip on the manila folder tightened until his knuckles went dead white.
"See?" Maverick smirked. "The second I dropped her name, all that casual page-turning completely stopped."
"Nothing's changed," Rylan said, finally slapping the file down on the table. "She was a jealous, hyper-sensitive, paranoid woman. She threw a fit if I didn't answer my phone, if I came home late, or if I was simply polite to my students.
"Every time we had a fight, she'd storm out and refuse to come home until I went crawling after her. Thirty years old, and she acted like a teenager.
"So, the last time she walked out, I didn't go looking. There was no point. I was exhausted, and she could go wherever she wanted.
"Let me guess—what happened? Did she run out of cash? Does she want to come back now? Tell me, how much is she paying you to pull this stunt on me?"
Maverick let out a short laugh. "Prof. Emery, I'm a murderer, not a liar. I put her in the ground with my own two hands."
"You're making this up," Rylan said, his voice hard with certainty. "You have a strict profile for your victims. They live alone, stay out in remote areas, and work high-risk jobs. Brittany doesn't fit a single one of those criteria. You'd never pick her."
I stood behind him, gripped by a crushing sense of sorrow.
"She paid you to say this in front of everybody, didn't she? Just to frame Julie. She really went all out," Rylan continued.
He unlocked his phone and held down the button for a voice memo.
"Brittany, stop faking your own death. When you posted all that garbage about Julie online, I let it go. Now that we're finally happy, you're trying to ruin it again. Is this your new game?
"Honestly, if a manipulative woman like you actually died, I'd feel nothing but relief."
I watched the message turn to "Delivered," then couldn't help but think, "Rylan, do you really think I'd fake my own death just to screw with you?"
Maverick stopped laughing. A look of genuine pity crept into his eyes. "But Prof. Emery, somebody paid me 300 grand to kill her. 300 thousand in cold, hard cash, wired straight out of her husband's bank account.
"Does that number ring a bell, Professor?"
Rylan stood up, his jaw set with anger. "We're done here. I'm sick of listening to your lies."
"Check the West Park Avenue," Maverick said suddenly. "Under that old oak tree. You know the spot."
Rylan froze.
It was the exact spot where we'd first met.

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