The Heiress 20

Chapter 20: Fight in Heels or Flee in Flats

Brian sat, enveloped in the soft embrace of the pink armchair, lost in a whirlpool of thoughts. The quiet of his apartment was broken only by the sound of the front door opening, followed by Evelyn's voice, which was warm yet formal, greeting the visitors who had come to see him. Dressed entirely in black, his outfit marked a stark contrast from his typically vibrant outfits, symbolizing the mourning he was compelled to embody.

He gently shook his head, setting his blonde locks into motion, a gesture that had become distressingly familiar over time. His hands, now slender and adorned with acrylic nails, instinctively smoothed the satin skirt against his thighs. The cool whisper of fabric over his pantyhosed legs sent a shiver through his feminized form, a shuddering reminder of the web he was now caught in.

Evelyn's selection for Brian's mourning attire was made with care, ensuring he presented both a respectful and undeniably feminine image. The bodysuit, a blend of sophistication and vulnerability, was crafted from patterned mesh that offered coverage while hinting at the skin beneath. Its design, fastening with two discreet buttons at his tucked-away crotch, provided a seamless silhouette suitable for the day's solemn events.

The towering ankle boots, dark as the occasion demanded, added a stylish twist to Brian's ensemble, casting him as a glamorous yet grieving young widower. This fashionable balance struck a note of grace, with clear panels showcasing his nylon-clad feet - a blend of elegance and mourning's solemnity.

As the voices outside grew louder, Brian prepared for the imminent intrusion upon his carefully curated sanctuary. Suddenly, Evelyn ushered two men into the room. Brian, seated with his arms resting on his lap and legs pressed together, chose not to rise. His gaze, sharp and assessing, fell upon the suited strangers as the lead man presented a badge.

(See image 39)

"Miss Devine. I'm Detective Durand, and this is my partner, Detective Jenkins. We're very sorry for your loss," Durand began, his tone official and devoid of empathy.

Brian acknowledged the sentiment with a nod, maintaining his impeccable posture and the femininity that had been meticulously coached into him by Evelyn. "Sorry to bother you at home, but I'm afraid we need to ask you some questions," the detective continued.

"Of course, detectives," Evelyn interjected on Brian's behalf, her voice carrying a blend of hospitality and authority. "Please, take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No thank you, ma'am," Detective Durand declined politely. "We're fine."

As the room settled into a temporary silence, Evelyn excused herself with a tactful understanding of the situation's delicacy. "Okay, I'll give you some privacy," she offered, signalling her departure. "If you need anything, Roxy, I'll just be next door."

"Thank you, Evelyn," Brian responded, his tone sombre yet convincingly feminine, before he turned his attention back to the two men. "Please, take a seat, detectives," he invited, gesturing towards the adjacent pink sofa with his perfectly manicured hand. "I'm happy to help any way I can."

Durand and Jenkins slowly crossed the room, their movements deliberate as they took their seats on the sofa, their rugged appearances a stark contrast to Brian's delicate femininity. "Nice apartment, this," Detective Jenkins remarked, his gaze sweeping across the luxurious décor with an evaluative eye. "Did Mr Montgomery pay for all this?"

The directness of the question caught Brian off guard, causing a momentary panic. Yet, he recovered swiftly, his response delivered with a mix of defensiveness and poise. "Yes," he answered, a hint of indignation colouring his voice. "Charles was a very generous man. But, before you jump to any conclusions. I'm quite capable of affording this myself. Charles simply took the initiative with this place."

"Of course, Miss Devine," Detective Durand interjected smoothly, his tone meant to ease the tension. "My partner didn't mean to cause offence. Can I ask how you met Mr Montgomery?"

Brian's smile was ready, his narrative rehearsed yet delivered with an air of spontaneity. "I sold him a house, and we just hit it off," he described, managing to infuse his words with a look of fabricated nostalgia. "He was so fascinating and handsome. It's hard to imagine any girl not being charmed by him."

"And you started dating immediately after that?" Durand pressed, his inquiry pointed. "How long ago was this?"

"Six months," Brian replied, his eyes briefly meeting Jenkins's as the detective, scribbling down notes jerked upwards. The quick pop of his head would have almost been comical if not for the insinuation laced within his follow-up question. "Not long for a couple to get engaged, is it? Must have been love at first sight, hey?"

Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He crossed his smooth legs with a deliberate elegance. “And what exactly are you suggesting with a question like that?” the skirted man countered, his gaze locked onto Jenkins', a silent challenge issued with an unyielding stare. Despite the weight of his mascara-laden eyelashes, he held his look steady, determined not to show any sign of weakness. “I feel like I’m under interrogation here. Surely, I’m not a suspect in your case?”

Detective Durand, observing the exchange with a professional detachment, intervened with a softer approach. “We’re just following every thread, Miss Devine. Please forgive my partner; he can be a little blunt at times. But, given the circumstances, you must understand how this appears. A young, beautiful woman meets an older, wealthy man, and within a short period, an engagement is announced. Then, tragically, he passes under mysterious circumstances, leaving you, a relative newcomer in his life, as the sole heir to his vast fortune.”

Brian's reaction to Durand's summary was visceral, a mixture of shock and indignation. “Err… what?” he blurted out, momentarily dropping his carefully maintained persona. “He left me all his money?” The revelation seemed to hit him with the force of a physical blow, leaving him visibly shaken.

“Not bad for six months' work, right?” Jenkins shot back, his tone laden with insinuation, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

“How dare you!” Brian's retort was as sharp as the stilettos he wore, his voice rising in a crescendo that matched the dramatic flair of his posture. His initial surprise at the information revealed quickly gave way to a bold resurgence of his carefully crafted feminine persona. “I loved Charles, and he loved me,” he declared, his statement punctuated by a defiant flick of his perfectly styled blonde hair, sending a scent of his floral perfume wafting through the tension-filled room. “I had no idea what was in his will. And on the night he died, I was at an event with fifty other people if you're implying what I think you are!”

Durand offered a reassuring smile, an attempt to soften the investigative edge of the conversation. “We're not implying anything, Miss Devine,” he clarified, glancing briefly towards his partner, signalling perhaps a desire for Jenkins to temper his abrasive approach. “We're merely asking questions.”

“Well, I’ve answered your questions, and unless you plan to arrest me, I’d like to be left alone now,” Brian replied, his voice carrying a slight tremor of frustration and exhaustion. His patience was wearing thin, frayed at the edges by the probing questions and the underlying implications they carried.

“Of course, Miss Devine,” Durand acknowledged with a professional nod, standing and signalling the interview's conclusion. As he got to his feet, he cast another look toward Jenkins, who rose much more slowly, his eyes lingering on Brian with an intensity that felt like an unspoken challenge. “We may have some follow-up questions in a day or two. Don’t leave town,” Jenkins added, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, though it did little to mask the seriousness of his instruction.

Feeling the weight of their scrutiny, Brian felt a surge of vulnerability. The moment he stood, the familiar discomfort of his attire made itself known, his feet settling back into an unnatural arched position enforced by his stiletto-heeled boots. “I’ll see you out,” he offered, mustering as much dignity as he could, his arm extended in a gesture of forced courtesy.

In a silent procession, Brian elegantly tottered ahead, his movements meticulously measured to portray his learned femininity. Each step was a delicate balance between a wiggle and a stride, a ballet of sorts that he performed on the fine line of his high-heeled reality. It was more than just walking; it was a statement, a testament to the persona he had been sculpted into, all while under the watchful eyes of the detectives whose scrutiny he could feel like a physical weight.

Reaching the grand entrance, painted a vibrant shade of pink that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation, Brian pushed the heavy doors open with a practised flourish. He turned to face the detectives with a look that held an undertone of disdain. “Have a great day now, detectives,” he purred, his voice dripping with a honeyed venom, as he batted his dense lashes with exaggerated femininity. It was a performance worthy of any stage, a masterclass in maintaining his crafted identity under pressure - a final, defiant assertion of his womanhood, leaving no room for doubt in their minds.

“You too, Miss Devine. We’ll be in touch,” Durand replied, the professional detachment back in his voice as they stepped out of the apartment, leaving Brian in the looming silence of their departure.

With the door closed and the weight of the encounter pressing down on him, Brian leaned heavily against the solid wood, letting out a deep, weary sigh. The reality of what had transpired, coupled with the shocking news of the inheritance, sent his mind into a tailspin. Seeking a moment of relief, he lifted his left leg, grasping the tall stiletto heel of his boot to stretch out the cramp seizing his calf muscle.

Evelyn's sudden appearance caused Brian's head to snap around, his long, blonde hair swishing dramatically with the motion. Her concerned gaze swept over him, assessing, critical. “This isn’t good,” she murmured, shaking her head in a gesture that spoke volumes.

(See image 40)

“You heard all that, then?” Brian stated, his voice sounding weary as he lowered his leg back to the floor. His attempt to alleviate the ache from his high-heeled stance proved futile.

“Yes, and you need to be careful not to antagonize them. If they dig too deep into your background, there are going to be problems,” Evelyn advised, her tone that of a mother talking down to a child.

“Yeah! I know,” Brian retorted, the frustration evident in his voice. “You think I want to be caught? I’m just doing as you said. Acting the part!”

Evelyn sighed, a sound that carried a mix of empathy and exasperation. “I know, but just don't push it too far. Give them no reason to suspect your true identity.”

Brian's expression softened as he regarded Evelyn, his posture revealing the toll of their charade. “Evelyn, I don't think I can do this much longer. How long am I going to continue living like this?” The vulnerability in his question was palpable, a rare moment of raw honesty between them.

Evelyn offered the feminized man a small, encouraging smile. “You can and you will. At least until the case is closed. But perhaps you can do something to quicken that along.”

Brian eyed her with a blend of suspicion and curiosity. “Like what?” he asked, his interest piqued despite his apprehension.

“Well, you could continue your investigation. Don’t you think Charles’ death could be linked to Cameron’s disappearance? It can’t be a coincidence. Here, take these,” Evelyn said, extending her hand to reveal a set of keys. “These are for Charles's house. Perhaps you can find some clues there.”

Brian looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What? Go to the scene of the murder? Weren’t you the one just telling me to be careful?”

“So be careful,” Evelyn countered with a calm resolve. “It’s that or sit around here like a dolled-up, grieving widow, waiting for your true identity to be discovered.”

Brian's mind raced, grappling with the frightening implications of Evelyn's suggestion. Then, with a sense of trepidation, he moved forward, his steps measured and purposeful in his high-heeled boots. Approaching Evelyn, he reached out, his hand adorned with long, polished nails, steady as he took the keys from her.

Looking down at the older woman from atop his painfully high boots, Brian stood at a crucial crossroads. He had two choices: to flee Los Angeles and tackle the daunting task of reclaiming his male identity—a path fraught with challenges, given the transformation he had undergone to resemble a high-maintenance trophy wife, a change not easily reversed or hidden. Alternatively, he could choose to stay, to see this through to its conclusion and discover what fate had in store for him.