LOGINI look her dead in the eye, the pain in my cheek turning into pure, defensive defiance. "I don't care about your money! I am only here to find out the truth about what happened to your mother!" SMACK! Caroline slaps me across the face with enough force to burst my lip, the metallic taste of blood
Jake just shrugs, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes still tracking my waistline. I move down the line, my breath catching in my throat as I approach the final two seats. Georgia and Lydia. Georgia is leaning back, laughing softly at something Lydia just murmured, looking untouchable. I step up
It clicks in my brain right then—that is exactly why the mastermind chose her. She’s the perfect person to bribe because she doesn't talk. I open my mouth, trying to phrase a casual, conversational opening about Grandmother Newton’s murder, but the words dry up in my throat. I can't just blurt ou
I creep down the grand, plushly carpeted upper hallway, a damp microfiber cloth squeezed in my right hand as I pretend to wipe down the gold-leaf molding on the wall of the Newton house. My eyes, however, are locked on Caroline Newton’s back. She’s walking a few paces ahead of me, looking like a wa
The mocking sarcasm is gone, replaced by a hyper-focused, intensely protective glare. She narrows her eyes, studying my face through her oversized sunglasses. "What about Owen?" "In case you haven't opened a single app or looked at what's been aggressively circulating on the internet since this mo
I stare at the glowing screen of the TV in my room, a groan rattling the very depths of my soul. I swear to God, I cannot have a single, solitary second of peace in this godforsaken world. Right there on the screen, dominating every single social media platform, entertainment blog, and legal foru
"Again!" My voice cracks through the silence of the soundstage. I’m standing near the monitors, my arms crossed so tightly my muscles ache, but I don't care. I don't care about the collective groan of the crew or the way the lighting technicians are looking at their watches. Sydney is standing in
"My silk! My custom bias-cut silk! Sydney, what happened?!" "Lydia happened," I say, standing as still as a statue. "Can we save it? Or do I go out there and take the penalty?" Marta examines the stain, her face pale. Sarah walks over, peering at the way the coffee has dried in streaks across the
"I’m telling you, Sydney, the studio was in a flat-out panic for six months," Sarah says, dabbing a sponge near my jawline. She is the same makeup artist who handled my looks on the last film I did before the accident that left me blind temporarily—the one that never got finished. Seeing her in m
I grip the steering wheel of my car, my knuckles white but my heart lighter than it’s been in years. The drive to the studio this morning feels like a victory lap. For three years, I abandoned my career. Three years, I opted to live behind the scenes. But in a painfully amazing twist of fate, I've







