Clark wasn't on Instagram because he thought it was a waste of time and was for the jobless people who just wanted to flaunt stuff. On the other hand, I was initially quite pleased and flattered to be somewhat popular. Somehow the people had managed to discover my Instagram account because I got over twenty thousand followers liking my silly memes and embarrassing pictures. After all, I was the 'billionaire's girlfriend.'

The people expected Clark's girlfriend to be well dressed, elegant and sophisticated, but I was quite the opposite with my usual grin in most pictures sporting my brother's old clothes. However, the people did start to like me because of how relatable I felt to them, just a commoner in love with a billionaire and blah blah, all that fairytail nonsense. I had even posted some pictures of Clark and me, the one with the most number of likes was where I was pulling Clark's cheeks in London and he was glaring at the camera. People were fangirling in the comments like we were some lame characters in a romance novel or movie. Eventually, it got very irritating to receive so many unnecessary sweet likes and lovable comments that I switched my account to private.

I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I came across my dear grandmother's post. She was quite popular on Instagram for someone her age with over fifty thousand followers. Her latest post was of her in her workout clothes showing off her surprisingly big booty.

I was following her in all social media platforms to keep a close look on her. Back in London, I had talked to her about my mum and she just dismissed me like she didn't care about my mum's death. Even Robert had talked about my mum sadly quite a few times, but my dear grandmother was acting as savage as she could ever be. So, I suspected her as my mum's possible murderer. I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be her, after all, I did hate her for some reason, right?

I was hanging out with Clark in his house because I barely got any job to do. Clark had just finished off his work in his laptop and was sprawled on the couch. He looked exhausted with his eyes shut, his dark hair tousled and dark circles evident beneath his pretty eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily.

I sat on the couch and scooted closer to him. He immediately pulled my body closer to him, nuzzling his head in the crook of my neck. His tense body relaxed for a while and I wrapped my arms around him. His breath fanned my neck and he hummed quietly. I could smell his manly cologne and I gently rubbed his back. It felt good and warm with none of us uttering a single word and just holding each other in silence.

He was the only peace in my chaotic life.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated on the couch and I glanced at the screen. It was from my dad. Clark let go of me slowly and I quietly picked up my dad's call.

"George," I heard him say solemnly and my forehead creased.

"What happened dad?"

"We found the person who crashed into your mum's car that night," he said quickly and I heard Clark inhaling sharply.

I was frozen, my back stiff and my body rigid like a stone. All the thoughts of possible suspects and the sweet memories of my mum were spinning in my mind and I felt my hands turn clammy. I stared at the floor blankly, it felt like I had stopped breathing for a moment.

"George?" My father's voice snapped me out of my trance, bringing me back to reality. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Y-Yes," I breathed and clutched the phone tightly. "W-Who is it? Who is it, dad?"

"I can't tell you on the phone, you need to come here," he said and paused. "Where are you?"

"I-uh . . . I'm at Emily and Peaches' place," I lied considering how my father never liked me hanging out more often with either Clark or Ian. "Why, what happened?"

"Nothing. We haven't arrested the criminal so . . . Anyway, you come at the station safely, okay?"

"Sure," I murmured, still recuperating from the shock that finally the criminal was caught. "And dad?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know that this one is the one who killed mum?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but we found an evidence box early this morning at the doorstep of the station," he whispered and I laughed lightly. "It sounds silly, George, especially after all the efforts we took and this box just appears --- "

"It's not that! I mean anybody could have plotted that box of evidence and to actually believe it just like that, it can be a prank or a-a joke or-or even a conspiracy! The evidence can be fake dad," I blurted out and I could hear him sigh.

"It's not fake, George. We have been monitoring the suspect for weeks and it does add up to the evidence we found. All the documents of the car that crashed into your mum's car is authentic, none of it is fake," he said with deliberate emphasis to convince me that finally the criminal was caught.

"Oh, okay. My god, I-I can't believe this," I said tremulously and with a hint of happiness. "We caught him, dad! We won! We can finally bring mum to justice!"

"Not yet, George. Not yet." With those words, he cut the call and I sprang to my feet.

"Let's go to the station!" I cried out and Clark nodded, understanding quickly since he had heard the entire conversation.

I hurried outside his house then I saw Ian standing right by the gate.

"Wow, it's you! What are you doing here?" I asked Ian in a high-pitched voice since I could barely contain my excitement and nervousness.

"I was just coming in to drop these files for Clark," he said while handing the files to Clark who was standing behind me. "Where are you both going?"

"To the station, there we will find out who killed my mum." I got in Clark's car and rolled down the window. "You can tag along too, Ian."

"It's not a picnic, Georgia," Clark grumbled while getting in the driver's seat.

"Yeah, I know. But I need moral support, hop in Ian!" I exclaimed enthusiastically and Ian wasted no time getting in the backseat of the car.

I leaned my body against the door, half of my head hanging outside the window as Clark started to drive. The murky sky full of grey clouds which hid the sun gave us the indication that it would rain heavily soon. I watched the tall trees and old buildings pass by, nervousness bubbling inside me.

The gloomy weather made the perfect, cliché scene as my frizzy hair started to fly with the wind and I could feel my body shaking in trepidation. I felt Clark's large hand squeezing my hand in reassurance and support. I glanced at him and flashed a shaky smile. He closed the windows and kept his one hand on the steering wheel while the other hand never left mine.

Soon, we arrived at the police station and Clark pulled the car over. I hopped down the car and rushed inside the station, my chest heaving up and down due to my anxiety.

"Uncle Desmond, w-where is dad? Oh, dad!" I wheezed and spotted my dad approaching me. "W-Who is it? Tell me quickly before I pass out! I can't handle myself getting all jittery!"

My dad swallowed and pointed his index finger at the notice board. I could see a picture stuck up there, it was the picture of the murderer! I couldn't see it clearly, just the vague outline of the head of a man who appeared to wear a hat or a cap or some cloth on his head along with spectacles. My dad patted my back and whispered, "Don't freak out, okay? It'll be alright."

I nodded faintly and walked towards the picture, my hands balled into fists by my side. My legs were trembling and cold sweat trickled down my forehead. My heart hammered against my chest, my eyes widened and my breath hitched when I saw the picture. The familiar face sinking in my mind as I gasped.

"B-Brownie?"

* * *

A/N :

Well . . . I'm sorry. I didn't want this book to be full of silly humour, but also have some decent plot. So, whoop! There it is.