The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER SIX

When browsing the intricacies of Stanwell High's website, where Natasha Stewart spent the better of five years, succeeding academically and athletically, before she moved on to college for further education, I collected additional information about her childhood sweetheart.

The school's heartthrob, Royce Milton.

A time capsule—an online yearbook of secondary education pupils filled with faculty photographs, student portraits, sports teams, special awards, school organisations, memorable quotes and personal messages for the class of two thousand and eleven—is the only exploration of relationship dynamics I needed to understand why the loved-up couple parted ways later in life.

But first, I started with Natasha, an aspiring actress for the senior drama club, who played the guitar in her spare time and wrote lyrics for the music department. The Grade-A asset-filled student loved art, primarily painting, and achieved many awards for her leadership skills.

The role of the school's prefect was a responsibility that Natasha took seriously. If she was not assisting the management of the school or organising celebratory proms for the formally dressed students, she was in the physics department learning the fundamental scientific disciplines of the universe.

And then, I went on to Natasha's ex-boyfriend: Captain of Stanwell's Rugby Team, Sixteen-Year-Old Royce Milton, Known For His Formidable Presence As Scrumhalf, Finished The Season With A Winning Drop-Goal, Bringing Home Another Championship Cup.

Royce also failed most of his GCSEs and ended up in isolation for incorrect uniform, bad timekeeping, low attendance, persistent truancy and bullying incidents.

A popular athlete—one of the "cool kids" with more personal messages saved to the yearbook than any other boy in his year, written mainly by the female student body (so many love notes)—fell harder than a ton of bricks for the teacher's pet.

How, pray tell, did the school's nerd—pardon my French—catch the eye of the school's bad boy? I am sorry to sound cynical with this stereotypical outlook, but those individuals, with different backgrounds and social circles, did not belong in the same room together, let alone in the same bed.

Mind you, Natasha had a huge glow-up before college. Gone are the days of cute braids, reading glasses, unrevealing clothes and natural beauty. Hello to a life of waist-length hair, contact lenses, revealing dresses and full-face makeup.

By the looks of the headmaster's final report, Royce had character development, too. He matured in time for higher education and even stated in the yearbook that he wanted to be a neurologist someday. Alongside a promising rugby career, of course. Not that he achieved either. He dropped out of college, got a full-time job at the town's seafront sports bar for the minimum wage and lived in a wooden house on the sand.

Royce and Natasha went to college together that much I knew for certain, but the browser became unreliable after a few image searches. I reverted back to Instagram and rechecked Royce's profile—still private.

Luckily for me, Natasha's profile was public, and Lord, did she put my posting routine to shame. A well-organised grid, with multicoloured photos and inspirational quotes, is how she engaged on social media.

I went through each photo, looking for something, anything, that could help with the investigation of her unsolved murder case. I read every comment, which took longer than I would have liked, especially on the most recent post, because that's where avid commenters rained sympathy and condolences.

It was a lovely image of Natasha, wearing a skin-tight purple dress, high-heeled shoes and statement jewellery, and a glass of bubbly champagne in her hand. Her hair, slicked back in a tight ponytail, with loose strands by her temples, fell down her back, and her eyes, fringed with long, black lashes, so full of radiance and life, twinkled angelically for the camera person.