Chapter 4

“You used me.”

Leon’s voice was low, tightly controlled, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. The words didn’t ask; they accused, declared, demanded acknowledgment. In the dim hallway tucked behind the ballroom, shielded from the buzz of celebration and the false laughter of socialites drunk on gossip, we stood like two opposing forces locked in a stillness too heavy to last.

I didn’t deny it.

There was no point pretending with a man like Leon.

I met his gaze, the glacial blue of it pinned to mine with such intensity it felt like drowning beneath the surface of something bottomless. My back was pressed against the cool, polished marble, and yet my skin burned with the awareness of him—his nearness, his presence, the palpable weight of his scrutiny. I crossed my arms, forcing stillness into limbs that itched to tremble.

“I used you,” I admitted, my voice calm, steady, almost careless—like the truth didn’t taste like acid on my tongue. “To get rid of Caden.”

I let a breath pass between us before I added, with a tilt of my chin and a flicker of cold defiance in my tone, “Don’t take it personally.”

Leon took a single step closer, the movement unhurried. It felt like I was being cornered by a starving lion. 

He studied me in silence for a long moment, and I knew he was searching for weakness—an opening, a shift in breath, a tremble in my voice. But I gave him none of it.

“You said something earlier,” he continued, stepping into the narrow pocket of space between us until his body blocked out everything behind him—until he became my horizon. “About a tattoo. Between my shoulder blades.”

My blood turned cold.

“How do you know about that?” he asked, every word clipped and slow.

I blinked once, trying to keep my face blank, trying to push back the rush of memory that slammed into me like a freight train. Trying my best not to think about how he looked… For goodness sake, I couldn’t tell him that! That I really did see him naked, like I playfully claimed earlier. “I…” I started, but the lie stumbled on my tongue.

He waited, not moving, nor blinking.

“Caden told me,” I lied.

Leon's disbelieving expression said everything. “No.” He shook his head once with brutal certainty. “He didn’t. No one’s seen it. Not him. Not anyone.” He tilted his head to the side. “That tattoo is well hidden,” he added, each syllable pronounced intently. “I don’t show it. I don’t talk about it. So tell me again—how do you know?”

I looked down because I had to, because the truth sat just behind my teeth and threatened to spill out. I bit my lip hard enough to sting, as if pain might keep the past locked away where it belonged.

Because I couldn’t tell him.

“I guessed,” I whispered, the words paper-thin.

He exhaled, slow and cold. “Try again.”

I looked up, caught in his gaze, and for one heartbeat I swore he could see through every wall I had ever built, every lie I had layered into my skin. I wanted to turn away, to retreat, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Whatever story you decide to believe,” I stated, voice low but iron-steeped, “doesn’t change the fact that it’s over. I used you to shake Caden off, and now I’m done. There’s no reason for us to keep talking.”

He said nothing. But he didn’t move either, his face still inches from mine.

And then—like divine intervention—my phone began to ring.

I flinched, already knowing who it was.

My father.

Leon stepped back so I could answer. With numb fingers, I pressed the phone to my ear.

“What the hell did you just do?” His voice slammed through the receiver with brute force.

Before I could answer, my stepmother’s voice joined in, syrupy-sweet in tone, but with the intent of a venomous snake. Just like her daughter. “Scarlett, are you trying to ruin us? That stunt at the engagement—it’s everywhere. The livestream’s gone viral. Everyone’s watching you humiliate yourself.”

Their voices blurred together, a cacophony of rage and reputation and control. I barely heard the details—only the anger, their bruised dignity that wasn’t theirs but projected onto me like I was a smudge on their delicate image.

“You think you’re better than us now?” my stepmother hissed. “Throwing away the Rosenthal name like it’s trash? Do you even know what you’ve done?”

I looked up and saw Leon still watching me. Something inside me cracked wide open.

I’d been quiet too long. Too obedient. Too desperate to belong to a family that had never wanted me for anything more than appearances and convenience. In my past life, I tolerated their neglect, their cruelty, their carefully masked disdain—but I was not that girl anymore.

“I said no to a man I don’t want to marry,” I snapped into the phone, my voice vibrating with something raw. “If that’s a crime to you, then fine. I’ll plead guilty.”

“Scarlett,” my father barked. “You’ll fix this. You’ll call Caden. You’ll—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I’m not fixing anything. I’m cutting ties.”

Dead silence. A heartbeat of a moment passed, before, “What?” he demanded.

“No. You heard me,” I bit out, my throat tight. The painful memories unfurled inside my head, bitter and blistering.

You and her—Dahlia—you destroyed what little family I had left. You refused to pay Mom’s hospital bills while you bought that bitch a new car. You gave my tuition money to your favorite daughter and let Mom die alone. And when she passed, you didn’t even mourn her—you threw Dahlia a birthday party instead of burying your wife.

I didn’t bother saying it out loud. Maybe because I knew it wouldn’t matter. Monsters never recognize their own cruelty.

I felt the tears burn in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. “I’m so done. I’m not your daughter anymore.”

I hung up.

My hands shook. My breath came fast and uneven. I hadn’t realized how much weight I’d been carrying until I dropped it all.

Leon was still there, watching me with that unreadable look in his eyes.

I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

“I need to leave,” I breathed out, my voice quieter now, but firm.

This time, he let me go.

As I’m about to walk out, another message came through. It was from my best friend—Olivia. Meet me at Rouge tonight. Like, what the hell? We need to talk!

My shaking fingers moved too fast—and I’m forced to erase more than I typed with all the typos I made, before pressing the send button. Be there at eight, sharp.

I then hesitated, stealing one final glance over my shoulder at Leon before crossing the threshold.

He was slightly lowering his head, deep in thought. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but well, I had changed something that would have led to his death. And it was just the first step. 

Rouge was dim, loud, and crowded—the kind of place where no one looked too closely at anything. The music pounded through the floor, lights flashing red and gold across walls. I found Olivia near the bar, where half-empty glasses lined the counter and strangers leaned too close to talk over the noise. Conversation pulsed around us, sharp and fast, everyone trying to be heard over the music.

I told her everything.

Well, except the part where I somehow, miraculously, was reborn. I knew she’d support me through anything and everything—but I might get booked into a psych ward for that tidbit of information. I wouldn’t blame her for it, either.

Olivia listened, not once interrupting. Her hand covered mine halfway through, and I felt steadied in a way that made my chest ache.

“You’re not alone,” she said quietly. “I know it feels like you are—but you’re not. You’ve got me.”

I nodded, swallowing past the knot in my throat.

She was the only one who stood by me, ever—the only one who showed up at the hospital after my mother died. And like always, she was here now, steady and solid when everything else was falling apart. The weight on my chest eased, just a little.

“I need to use the restroom,” I said, slipping off the barstool. “Guard my drink. Okay?”

She gave me a mock salute, but I was already walking away.

The hallway curved behind the bar, dim and narrow, filled with the low murmur of voices not meant for me. I moved quietly, hoping to go unnoticed after today’s fiasco.

I froze. That’s when I saw it.

A private booth. The door hung half open, with three men lounging around the table—two of which I didn’t recognize—and then, Leon. He was impossible to miss even in a crowd of men dressed in matching suits. He leaned back, calm, unaware.

One of the men laughed too easily, then reached for the wine bottle, pouring into Leon’s glass with a casual flick of his wrist.

But I caught it.

The glint of metal—a small, silver vial, emptied in seconds.

Leon didn’t see them slipping in the drug.

But I did.