Isabelle was the first one to see the maid's body, and automatically she called nine one one frantically, hands shaking as she tried to tell them what happened. It took Decker to pull her away from the scene and hand her over to her father, forgetting about Rosalie. Rosalie stared at the dead maid's body, and in a flash of a moment, she was taken back to when Elijah died, and how everyone screamed when they found his dead body-just like now. She just stood there, frozen in time as she looked at the body, her eyes roaming over them.

Olivier came over and instantly cursed, seeing the dead body and the ominous message. Turning to see Rosalie just staring, he turned and called for Decker. "Get her out of here," he told her before the blue and red lights appeared outside. Cursing under his breath, he gently grabbed Rosalie and tried to drag her away from the body until they heard the Bartow County Police calling for everyone to stay where they were, and the crime scene investigators come in and started taking photos and the police placing the barricade tape on the doors while telling people to go back inside the ballroom.

Rosalie went back to the ballroom and straight to the bar, hands shaking. "Tanqueray gin gimlet, stat," she requested, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. The drink was sat in front of her a moment later, and she took a very large sip of it as her brother came towards her.

"How you doin'?" he asked, sliding next to her and ordering a glass of water.

She shook her head, still seeing Elijah's office that day he died, murdered and killed, facedown on his desk. Seeing the maid like she did felt like déjà vu about everything-Elijah's murder, the maid's murder-it all...scared her. As if someone was coming after her or pulling some damned horrible prank they want her to relive over and over again. "I feel like someone's coming after me," she told him in a soft voice. "Like someone is playing a sick and cruel joke to scare the hell out of me."

Decker shook his head again, sighing. "No one is after you, Rosie," he promised, watching her take another long gulp of her gin gimlet. "If someone was after you, dad would have security all over the place and no one will touch you."

"Schäiss," Olivier cursed once he made his way over to them. He had just been questioned by the police, and he was ready to go home and go to bed, but something about the message nagged him. He turned to see Rosalie shaken and cursed once more. "I thought I told you to take her home," he growled at Decker. "She's going to drink to forget what the fuck happened, and then turn it around and blames me for it-"

"Why would Rosie blame you for something you didn't do, my guy?"

"You forgot that she blamed me for Eli's murder, right?"

"Oh yeah-"

"STOP IT." Rosalie shouted, slamming her glass down on the bar. Standing up, she went to grab her clutch and went back to them, sniffling. "I'm going to go home with one of you," she told him in a small voice, opening her clutch to pull out her compact mirror to check and see if her makeup is ruined. "And I choose Olivier to take me home. Now stop it and come on, Olivier," she demanded, grabbing Olivier by the wrist and pulling him towards the front when they were stopped by the queen bitch herself, Lily Hamilton.

A sneer was on her face when she saw them together. "You did this, didn't you?" she snarled when she blocked their way. "You someone killed the maid to ruin this party. Admit it, Rosie, and I'll tell the police right now."

Rosalie rolled her eyes at the accusation. "First off, you dumb bitch, I didn't do a damn thing," she said calmly. "Secondly, I was here the whole entire time, enjoying my friends and the party before it happened. So don't go pointing fingers at me when everyone, including Olivier and Decker, that we did it. We didn't do a damn thing. Where the hell were you when all of this was going down?"

The reverse question made Lily pause for a bit, her mouth opening to come up with something before she closed it. "I was with my husband and our friends," she spat back. "I was enjoying the party, unlike you, killer."

Oh dear god...Lily just wants to pin the murder on them..."Well keep blaming me for something I didn't do," she shot back. "I'm going home to pack and leave tomorrow morning."

"I'm afraid," a voice said, making all three of them turn to see where it was coming from, "You can do that, ma'am."

A man with a light brown short spiky hair with a side fade, green eyes and a beard walked in, his trench coat open to reveal a white oxford shirt and pants, his badge pinned on one of the lapels. He tugged on his collar and pointed at it. "Detective Michael Dexter," he introduced. "Is there a Lady Rosalie Darlington-Whit here? I would just like to ask a couple questions."

Taking a deep breath and releasing Olivier's wrist, she nodded and held up her hand. "Here, detective." She answered, making Lily smirk. "Where would you like to have this conversation? Hopefully not here." She hoped not. Right now she was light headed and wanted to go home before something bad happened.

Michael chuckled, shaking his head once. "Don't worry, it's not here. I squared off a little room for us to have a nice little chat."

She nodded as she gave Olivier a quick kiss on the cheek before motioning him to lead her to the room.

Detective Michael lead her to a small room that only had a table and a chair. He motioned for her to sit and asked the normal questions-what were you doing when the murder was taking place, where were you when it happened. Rosalie answered them as calm as she could before Michael says, "Did you know that there was a letter addressed to you?"

The question startled Rosalie. "I'm...sorry?" she asked, confused.

"A letter addressed to you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the freshly crisp letter that was still folded it and pushed it towards her. Confused, Rosalie took the letter and opened it to read only a sentence addressed to her:

To Lady Rosalie Darlington-Whit,

YOU'RE NEXT.

Hands shaking again, she folded the letter back and placed it down on the table. She couldn't even speak, let alone say something.

"Is something wrong, Lady Rosalie?" she heard Michael ask, making her look up at him.

"I didn't know." She answered softly.

Michael nodded, taking the letter and placing it back in his coat. "Since you have a alibi and was no where near the maid, then you're free to go. I suggest that you stay with a friend until all of this is cleared up." He suggested to her, making her nod.

"I will, Detective," Rosalie assured him. "Thank you."

She grabbed her things and walked outside to see Olivier standing there, arms crossed. "Ready to go?" he asked. With a nod, Rosalie took his hand and led him out of the ballroom and into the waiting car, where they didn't say one word during the drive home. Rosalie stared out of the window, not wanting to talk about the letter or anything else right now. Olivier just wanted to go to sleep, since it was a long day, but something about that murder scene bothered him...

Pulling out his phone, he scrolled a bit until he found Decker's number. He shot him a text, asking if they can see each other for coffee tomorrow-Rosalie doesn't need to know-and he leaned back on the seat, looking over at her. "Rosie," he said quietly. "Are you-"

"No talking." She said flatly. "Home."

He only nodded as the driver drove up Rosalie's neighborhood and parked in front of the house. He opened Rosalie's door and let her out, and she snatched off her shoes and went inside, thanking the driver before she walked up the two steps and unlocked the house. Olivier was behind her, and he closed the door and tried to call her name, but Rosalie went to her room, and closed the door.

With a deep breath, he raked a hand through his hair and went to his room. He whipped off his sunglasses and tossed them on the vanity. The way Rosalie looked when she saw the body bothered him-like he wanted to go over and hold her and tell her that it wasn't like Elijah's murder, but he couldn't even do that, no matter how hard he wanted to. So he sat on the edge of the bed for a while and undid his Versace watch and placed it on the vanity table. Then he started to take off his shirt when he heard the door open. Turning, he saw Rosalie wearing only a golden flowered-printed silk robe from Versace and glasses of Chambord in her hands.

"Drink and cake?" she offered.

Olivier just nodded as he put his shirt back down and went over to her, taking the glass of the black raspberry cognac and following her into the small kitchen, where she set her glass down and pulled out a Strawberry Basket cake that Irena made her after she tided up the house. She placed it down in the middle of the table and grabbed two cake plates and forks to set them down, and then she cut into the cake.

Sitting down across from her, the burn of the French cognac warming him up, he took the offered plate and dug in, stopping when Rosalie only took one bite of hers and set the fork down. "What?" Olivier asked. "What is it?"

"The killer," Rosalie started again, picking up a fork and cutting a little piece of her cake before eating it. "Sent me a little letter with only two words...and I think he or whoever it is...is after me."

That stopped the cut piece from going into the Luxembourgish man's mouth. "Waat?" he asked softly, watching her eat some more. "What letter?"

The question made her get quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath. "The killer left me a damned letter," Rosalie repeated, taking another bite of her cake. "And he said that I'm next. I'm next on their list of murder." Just saying it made her shiver, and the suggestion of Detective Michael, that she stay with a friend..."I didn't do jump shit to them. Why are they after me?"

Olivier's finger curled up. He will not let anyone take or kill Rosalie for the love of fucking god. Whoever this killer was, he wanted to see them in jail and fry for what they were doing to her. "I don't know, mäi Schatz," he told her gently, reaching over and placing a hand over hers. "But I'm going to make sure you're not going to die."

Looking up at him, her head swimming from the alcohol, tears came to Rosalie's eyes. She stood up and went over to him, sitting down on his lap and finishing off the French cognac.

Fuck this. Fuck the killer, fuck her damn life...

She took his face and tilted it up so he can look at her. Brown eyes fell to his lips as she drew her head closer to his, and kissed him. Rosalie nudged her tongue to his lips, trying to get them open, and with a low moan, he kissed her back, opening his mouth to her, yielding himself to her. She pulled him in closer and groaned at the taste of him, the sweetness of the cake and the black raspberry cognac mixing with hers as she tugged his other hand to the belt of her robe.

For once in Lady Rosalie's life, she wanted to take over-she wanted him to touch her, fondle her...or was it her fuzzy, dunk-mental mind that she wanted him to do this? She didn't know as she felt him pull back from her.

"No," she whined softly. "No, please-"

"I'm not making love to you," Olivier murmured, taking her hand and pulling her hands away from his face. "When you're drunk, scared, and broken...and you want me to be your husband once again." Rosalie shook her head, tears swimming in her eyes as she reached to take off her robe, but he stopped her once more, taking her wrists in his hands. "It's the truth, Rosalie. You want me to be Eli and make love to you over and over again till you forget tonight." Picking her up, he stood up and placed her down, pulling her hands towards him and kissed her knuckles. "I'm not going to do that. Not until we talk about-"

His head snapped to the side as Rosalie slapped him as hard as she could. "Don't you fucking dare bring up Elijah!" she screamed. "I don't want Elijah! He's dead! I want you!"

Blinking back the stars that formed from his eyes, he turned to her, hearing what just came out of her mouth. "What you want is a replacement Elijah," Olivier told her coldly. "What you want is a fuckboy that you can call on when you feel like this-drunk, scared, and want sex. Well guess what, mäi Schatz, I'm not gonna be that fuckbo-"

Olivier's head snapped again as Rosalie slapped him hard once more. "Who the hell do you think you are, saying that I want a 'replacement Elijah'?" she screamed louder. "I loved Elijah with all my heart, and if he was here, he would do everything he could to make me feel safe, because some goddamn killer is after me! He would call up some bloody security to come here on the double to protect me, and you can even do that!"

"STOP BRINGING HIM UP AS IF HE'S STILL ALIVE!" Olivier roared. "If he was, he would do all those things. But in all honesty, Rosalie, do you really know your husband you love so much?"

"What?" The question made her look at him confusingly. "I-I do know Eli-"

"Then did you know that he slept with many women before he met you? That he may or may not have a child out there?" he asked, watching her shake and shiver. He didn't know why he was saying these things, but Olivier was drunk as well, and god he wanted this fight to end before he does make love to her on the table, then the floor. "No, you don't know. Because he kept all of these a secret from you because he loved you so much. Though I don't know what he saw in a bitter woman like you. Now I'm going to bed-and don't you dare follow me. Good fucking night, Rosalie." He growled, turning around and going to his room, the taste of ash in his mouth.

Rosalie stood there, tears falling down her cheeks at Olivier's horrible words. She sank down in the chair and cried for what felt like hours before she put the cake up and drowned Olivier's glass of Chambord.

"Fuck you," she cried out, throwing the glass. It crashed against the wall, and she stared at the glass on her floor. "Fuck you, Olivier!" she screamed again, getting up and getting the broom and dustpan to clean it all up, tears falling down her cheeks.