AN: I appreciate you all! :)

Rosalie tightened her grip on the wheel, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror where Seven Domani sat handcuffed in the back seat, soaking the interior of her car. He didn't seem remotely fazed.

"So, do you guys always ride around in such luxury?" Seven quipped, leaning as far back as the cuffs would allow. "I mean, I was expecting plush seatsat least. Maybe a built-in masseuse."

Emmett snorted from the passenger seat. "Yeah, sorry we left the champagne and caviar at the station."

"Next time, okay? I've got standards," Seven replied, flashing a grin.

Rosalie sighed, her patience already wearing thin. "Maybe try shutting up for five minutes. Your right to remain silent is practically begging to be exercised."

Seven gasped theatrically. "Shutting up? Me? You wound me, Detective."

"Not yet," Rosalie muttered, her fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.

Emmett chuckled. "Careful, Rose. This guy's got jokes for days."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," Seven said, winking at Rosalie through the mirror. "By the way, what's your skincare routine? You're glowing. Is it all the rage and adrenaline?"

Without missing a beat, Rosalie muttered under her breath, "It's called restraint, and you're testing it."

Seven laughed, clearly undeterred. "I like you, Detective. You're feisty."

The rest of the ride seemed to drag on, Seven keeping a steady stream of commentary as though he were the star of a live podcast.

"So, Detective, tell me—do they make you special-order your shirts, or do you just Hulk out of them when you're mad?" Seven quipped, nodding toward Emmett. "I mean, those biceps—pure intimidation factor, right?"

Emmett sighed, staring out the window. "Seven, if you keep talking, I might just show you what happens when I hulk out."

Unperturbed, Seven turned his attention to Rosalie. "And you, Rose—can I call you Rose? Your cheekbones could cut glass. Is that a prerequisite for being a detective?"

Rosalie didn't even glance back, her knuckles tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "Prerequisite is restraint. Don't make me regret passing that test."

"Touché!" Seven said with a grin. "Though, if you're ever looking for a side hustle, modeling agencies would eat you up. Just saying."

Emmett groaned, tilting his head against the window. "How much longer until we can throw him in a holding cell?"

Rosalie smirked faintly, eyes still on the road. "Not soon enough."

Seven didn't stop. "Oh, and this radio static? Classic. Really sets the scene. Do you guys ever tune it to a music station? A little jazz would really elevate the vibe in here."

When they finally pulled into the precinct parking lot, Emmett sighed dramatically. "Thank God. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see this place."

"Aw, don't be like that, big guy," Seven said as Rosalie opened his door and pulled him out. He grinned over at Emmett. "I, for one, had a great ride over here with you two. I felt a connection."

"Yeah, well, I'm about to disconnect your jaw," Emmett muttered, rubbing his temples.

Inside the precinct, the steady commotion of activity faltered as Rosalie and Emmett pushed Seven through the main floor. The moment the flamboyantly dressed man entered, handcuffed but utterly unbothered, heads turned. A ripple of whispers ran through the room as people exchanged glances—part curiosity, part disbelief.

Seven, never one to shy away from an audience, grinned like a showman stepping onto a stage. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he declared, his voice carrying over the chatter. "Don't worry, I'm not here to cause trouble—just to clear my name and spread a little charm. You're welcome!"

A low groan rose from Emmett as he exchanged a look with Rosalie. She shook her head, her lips twitching as though she were torn between irritation and reluctant amusement. Her and Emmett made quick work to head up the stairs to the Intelligence bullpen with Seven stumbling clumsily behind them.

Once inside the room, Seven's gaze swept around until it landed on Bella, who was leaning over Edward's desk, flipping through a file. She was mid-sentence when she felt his stare and looked up, locking eyes with him. His grin widened.

"Whoa," Seven said loudly, pointing in her direction. "And who's that? Detective, you can interrogate me anytime. I insist."

Bella raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but clearly fighting a smirk. "Tempting," she said dryly, flicking her eyes back to her file. "But I'm busy."

Edward, sitting beside her, let out a soft huff and muttered, "God help us." He turned back to his monitor without giving Seven a second glance.

Seven, undeterred, clutched at his chest theatrically. "Shot down already? Brutal."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and shoved him forward, her hand firmly gripping his arm. "Keep moving, Domani. You're not here to flirt."

Seven stumbled slightly but recovered with a flourish, tilting his head back toward Bella. "You hear that, Detective? She's jealous. It's fine—I've got enough charm to go around."

"Try not to make me regret cuffing you in the front," Rosalie muttered, her voice low enough for only him and Emmett to hear.

"Regret?" Seven quipped, grinning at her. "You're just lucky these bracelets don't come in gold. They'd really bring out my eyes."

"Buddy, you keep running your mouth, and Rosalie might add a matching gag. Just saying."

"That sounds oddly specific, Detective," Seven shot back, smirking as Emmett's ears turned faintly red.

Before Rosalie could respond, she pulled Seven through the door into the interrogation room. As it closed behind them, the squad room's tension broke, and scattered laughter rippled through the desks.

Bella glanced at Edward. "I'm guessing this is going to be a fun one."

Edward didn't look up as he smirked at his screen. "Define fun."

Bella shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not boring, at least."

Across the room, Solomon stood near the board, arms crossed, after watching the commotion with mild exasperation. "I hope they manage to get something useful out of him," he muttered. "For everyone's sake."

In the interrogation room, Emmett pushed Seven down into the chair with a controlled force, eliciting a wince from the man. Seven's smirk returned almost instantly, his cocky demeanor firmly in place as he shifted in the seat to get comfortable. "Easy, big guy. Maybe we should establish a safe word first. Rose, you guys handle all your guests this rough, or am I special?"

Rosalie didn't respond immediately. She stepped forward and leaned over the table, her piercing gaze locked onto his. "Special," she said flatly, her voice as sharp as a blade. "And not in a good way."

Seven chuckled, unbothered. "Ouch. Starting with the tough love already?"

Rosalie slammed her hands onto the table with a loud crack. The sound echoed through the room, and Seven flinched slightly before recovering, though his grin wavered. "Alright, Domani," she said coldly. "Enough with your shit. What were you doing this morning, around eight?"

Seven blinked, his smirk faltering slightly at the abrupt shift. "Whoa, slow down, Detective. What's this about? You're acting like I'm on trial or something."

Rosalie leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "You don't know?"

Seven's brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Know what?"

Emmett, standing behind him with his arms crossed, loomed closer. "Your ex-wife, Catherine. She's dead."

The room fell silent. Seven's cocky facade cracked, his grin completely gone as his eyes darted between Rosalie and Emmett. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "What?" he said, his voice quieter now, laced with disbelief. "No… No, that can't be right. I—"

"It's right," Rosalie said bluntly. "She was attacked in her home. We found her this morning."

Seven slumped back in his chair, his hands tightening into fists. His eyes darted to the table as he processed the information. "I… I didn't know. I hadn't seen her in months. We… we weren't exactly on speaking terms."

Rosalie didn't let up, her tone as cold as ice. "Convenient. Yet your name came up as someone with plenty of motive. A messy divorce, public accusations, financial disputes—you don't exactly come off as a grieving ex-husband." Emmett watched the interaction carefully, his mind reeling. Seven truly didn't come off as a killer, either. His shock seemed genuine, and just based on the dumb shit constantly spewing from his mouth, he'd be the last one would accuse of murder— but he'd been in this job long enough to know that you could never truly rule anyone out, not this early on.

Seven's head snapped up, his expression twisting with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You think I did this?" His voice cracked, and for the first time, the bravado was entirely gone. "Are you serious? Look, I know we had our issues—hell, we had every issue—but I'd never hurt her. Never."

Emmett unfolded his arms, his voice low and deliberate. "Then why'd you run when we came to your door?"

Seven's eyes flicked to Emmett, the cockiness flickering back for a brief moment like a reflex. "Because I've never been in a police chase before," he said, his tone tinged with nervous humor. "It's one of those things you joke about, you know? Like bucket list stuff. Besides, my security footage? All I could think about was that I can pull it, edit it, and boom—next video's going to hit twenty million views, easy." Seven sighed, his eyes swinging low, regret seeping into his features. "And I just… I panicked, okay?"

Rosalie's lip curled in disgust. "You panicked because you thought it'd be good content?"

Seven winced under her glare. "No—look, it was stupid, alright? But I didn't know this… I didn't know she was…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. "Jesus."

Rosalie straightened, her arms crossed as she studied him. "If you're innocent, you'd better have a solid alibi."

"Yeah," Seven said, his voice gaining strength as he leaned forward slightly. "Around 8:15 this morning, I was filming in my backyard. Duct Tape Dodgeball. Dumb, but I was there the whole time. Time-stamped footage. Check it."

Rosalie pulled his phone from his robe pocket and unlocked it, scrolling through his recent videos. Sure enough, there it was—a ridiculous clip of Seven duct-taped to another man, flailing on a trampoline while dodging foam balls. The timestamp placed him at the exact time of the attack.

Rosalie handed the phone to Emmett, her jaw tight. "That's… airtight."

Before she could press further, the door burst open, a man in a sharp, tailored suit strolled in, his polished shoes clicking against the tile. He carried an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Jenks," Seven said weakly, his expression shifting to one of both relief and dread. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up, Domani," Jenks replied smoothly, his voice clipped. He turned to Rosalie and Emmett, his sharp eyes assessing them. "This interrogation is over. My client won't be answering any more questions."

Rosalie's frustration boiled beneath her calm facade. "We're not finished."

Jenks offered a thin, condescending smile. "Oh, I think you are. Unless you have something concrete to hold him on, this conversation ends now."

Rosalie exchanged a glance with Emmett, who gave her a subtle shake of his head. They had no choice. "Fine," she bit out, stepping back from the table. "For now."

As they left the room, Seven's voice followed them. "Hey, thanks for the chat. Let's do it again sometime. Drinks on me?"

Emmett rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable."

Rosalie clenched her jaw, the fire in her eyes evident. "Next time, I'm bringing the fucking duct tape."

Rosalie and Emmett exited the interrogation room, frustration evident in their every step. They rejoined the team, who were all gathered in the squad room, waiting for the update.

Edward, who'd been meticulously peeling an orange slice at his desk, was the first to speak after taking a good look at their defeated faces when they approached. He arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. "Judging by your faces, I take it Domani wasn't a treasure trove of information?"

Rosalie dropped into her chair, her movements heavy with exhaustion. She rubbed her temples and let out a sharp breath. "Don't. Even. Ask."

Emmett flopped into the chair beside her, dragging a hand through his hair. "Let's just say, if this case hinged on Domani's personality, we'd have solved it five minutes in. Guy's a walking circus."

Edward smirked, popping a perfectly peeled orange slice into his mouth. "That bad?"

"Worse," Rosalie muttered, glaring at the ceiling like it owed her answers. "He's got an alibi, and it's airtight. The man was duct-taped to another guy, playing dodgeball on a trampoline, when his ex-wife was murdered."

Bella, sitting a few desks away, swiveled her chair toward them, her brows shooting up. "You're joking."

"I wish I was," Emmett replied, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "We've got the timestamped video to prove it. Him, his duct-taped buddy, and a trampoline. It's all there, in HD glory."

Jacob, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, snorted. "Leave it to Seven Domani to turn a murder investigation into a viral video opportunity. Guy's a legend—for all the wrong reasons."

Rosalie shot him a sharp look, but her frustration was mingled with reluctant amusement. "Legend or not, he's not our guy. Unless he's got a secret teleportation device stashed in his mansion."

Edward's smirk widened, and he leaned back in his chair, popping another orange slice into his mouth. "So, what you're saying is, it's still a mystery. Guess it'd be boring otherwise."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. "Boring sounds great right about now. Next time, can we interrogate someone who doesn't feel like a reality show audition?"

Solomon suddenly appeared from his office, holding a stack of papers in his hands. "Domani's not our guy?"

Rosalie shook her head, her tone resolute. "No chance. He's obnoxious, but he's got a bulletproof alibi."

Solomon let out a slow, measured sigh. "Alright, then. Back to square one. Bella, Edward—dig deeper into Catherine's life. We're missing something. Jacob, Jasper—keep pressing the neighbors. Alice, see if you can do some more digging on Peter Mitchell. Someone has to know more than they're letting on."

He turned back to Rosalie and Emmett, his tone softening slightly. "Good work. Even if it wasn't what we wanted, ruling him out gets us closer."

Rosalie leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes briefly. "If you say so."

Edward threw her a sidelong glance. "Hey, look at the bright side. At least you weren't duct-taped to a trampoline."

Rosalie opened one eye and shot him a withering look. "Careful, Masen. I'm dangerously close to taping you to something right now."

Emmett grinned, clearly enjoying the banter despite the frustration hanging in the air. "Can I film it? I hear duct tape's trending."

…

Thirty minutes later, the team was still trying to work through the little bit of information they'd acquired when Seven emerged from the interrogation room, his lawyer hurrying behind him.

"Alright, detectives, your favorite suspect is back!" Seven announced as he sauntered into the room, now dressed in a designer hoodie and ripped jeans, his swagger as intact as his irreverent attitude. In his hand was a stack of glossy headshots of himself, which he signed with an exaggerated flourish as he walked.

He first stopped at Jacob's desk, slapping down an autographed photo with a wink. "For the biggest fan in the room."

Jacob stared at the picture like it might spontaneously combust. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, tossing it into the trash can without a second glance.

Seven didn't miss a beat, moving on to Emmett, who raised a hand before Seven could say a word. "Don't even think about it."

"Suit yourself," Seven said with a dramatic shrug, moving toward Solomon, who stood by a desk with his arms crossed, his expression darkening with each passing second.

"For the fearless leader of this fine establishment," Seven said, holding out an autographed headshot.

Solomon didn't move. Instead, his gaze sharpened into a glare so intense that Seven froze mid-motion. He lowered the photo, taking a cautious step back."Not a fan of souvenirs. Got it."

Jenks, Seven's perpetually exasperated lawyer, grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the exit. "We're leaving," Jenks hissed. "Now."

Seven allowed himself to be dragged away, but not without calling over his shoulder, "Don't forget to like and subscribe! You guys are gonna love the video I'm posting later!"

As the door closed behind them, a collective sigh rippled through the squad room.

"Next time," Rosalie muttered, rubbing her temples, "we put him in a soundproof box."

"Seconded," Emmett grumbled, leaning back in his chair.

Before anyone could fully recover, Alice spoke up urgently, "Guys, over here. I've got something big."

The team quickly gathered around her desk as she brought up a series of text messages on the main screen.

"These are messages Catherine received over the past six weeks," Alice explained. "Five of them. They all say the same thing: You talk, you die. I can't trace the phone, so I'm assuming it's a burner."

The room fell silent as everyone processed the chilling messages.

Bella frowned. "Five messages, all from an untraceable number?"

Alice nodded. "Yeah. The last one was sent two weeks ago, but the harassment spanned about six weeks. Catherine even made a police report about it, but it was dismissed as a prank."

Rosalie's jaw tightened. "Looks like it was more than a prank."

Alice continued, "That's not all. I dug into any recent messages sent by Catherine. Three days ago, she texted someone named Ash Fullerton, saying,We need to talk.She also made seven calls to him yesterday."

Solomon leaned forward. "Who's Ash Fullerton?"

Alice worked her magic, pulling up a database. "Here's where it gets interesting. I couldn't find an 'Ash Fullerton' directly linked to Catherine or Seven. But after digging deeper, I found an Ashton Fullerton."

She hit a key, and a picture appeared on the screen. Rosalie's eyes widened and she shared a brief look with Emmett. "That's Seven's manager. The guy who tried to stonewall us earlier. He introduced himself as A."

"Bingo," Alice confirmed, folding her arms.

Emmett straightened, his face hardening. "So Ashton's not just Domani's manager. He's got ties to Catherine."

Before anyone could respond, Jasper walked in, a file in hand. He placed it on the table and flipped it open to reveal a photo of Catherine's injuries. "Preliminary findings from the ME just came in. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head. Based on the wound patterns, they believe the weapon was a heavy, blunt object—possibly a tire iron or a metal bar."

Edward frowned, studying the photo. "That doesn't scream premeditated. Could've been a crime of passion. Or something improvised."

"Or it was deliberate, but the weapon was chosen for convenience," Jasper added. "The ME is working on narrowing it down, but whatever it was, the attack was vicious."

Solomon rubbed his temples, frustration etched into his face. "We don't have enough to pin him down. Ashton's got motive, but we need more—something concrete."

Alice resumed typing, pulling up Ashton's social media profiles. "He's got a public event tonight, downtown. One of his classic parties where he mingles with influencers and talent. According to his posts, it's invite-only, but he's always scouting for the next big thing."

Solomon's eyes sharpened. "That's our way in."

Rosalie tilted her head. "What's the angle?"

Solomon paused for a beat, eyes roaming over his team, his gaze stopping and switching back and forth between Edward and Bella. "That's where you two come in. Bella, you're the up-and-coming influencer. Edward, you'll be her hype man—social media manager, PR guru, whatever gets you in the door."

Emmett smirked, nudging Bella. "Hope you've been working on your selfie game, Bells. Maybe throw in a duck face or two."

Bella rolled her eyes, but smirked. "Don't worry, Em. I'll make sure to tag you in every single one."

Jacob, leaning against a desk, eyed them skeptically. "And what happens if Ashton catches on? You're walking into his world. He's got the home-field advantage."

Solomon's tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt. "That's why they'll be wired cammed up. We'll be monitoring everything in real time. If Ashton so much as breathes the wrong way, we'll know. But we need this shot, and we need to work fast."

Undercover with Bella and Edward is coming next...

Hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving if you're celebrating! I help host Thanksgiving, so there most likely won't be an update tomorrow. I have the story fully written, but I'm constantly changing, altering and refining each chapter before I post. If I don't post tomorrow, you'll hear form me on Friday :)