"So, tell me," Neuvilette repeated himself once more, his voice bearing a tone of disapproval and impatience. "How'd you murder your late husband?"

You fidgeted with your fingers underneath the table-cloth of the dining table, your eyes wide with fear. The food you had prepared for this supposedly "romantic" evening for you and your current lover — Neuvilette — suddenly became repulsive, causing a wave of queasiness to churn in your stomach.

As the color continued to drain from your face, swallowing suddenly became very difficult.

How did he find out?

You were certain you had gotten rid of all of the evidence that appointed to you as the murder. Better yet, you were certain you played the role of a grieving spouse perfectly when you first encountered Neuvilette.

You knew sooner or later he'd somehow manage to find out, you were just in denial about it. After all, he was the Chief Justice of Fontaine; the judge could always tell who was guilty or innocent at first glance. This was your karma for what you've done.

"Answer me." Neuvilette demanded, setting down his fork on his plate.