LOGINMy heart drops into my shoes, a sickening wave of nausea swirling in my stomach. He sharply pulls away after a beat, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, his face a mix of shock and discomfort. "Camille, what are you doing here? How did you even get past the gates?" "Oh, Owen, I came the sec
I lean in across the dark wood, my jaw tight, waiting for the genius to drop some mind-blowing corporate strategy. Owen slides his glass entirely out of the way, his eyes tracking mine with a sudden, sharp intensity. "The first thing we need to do," he says, leaning his forearms on the table, "is p
I don't wait to hear another word. A blinding, white-hot rush of pure adrenaline and rage explodes in my chest. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my arm whips forward. I throw my phone across the bedroom with every ounce of strength I have left. It hits the far drywall with a sickening smack,
I sit on the edge of the mattress, the silence of my locked bedroom pressing in from all sides. My scalp still burns from where I was aggressively pulling at the tangles earlier, but I barely care. I slowly run a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath that shudders against my teeth. The r
But the sheer weight of the guilt, the fear of her rejecting me, and the ticking clock of a murder charge lock it all down. Instead of baring my soul, I choke it back and retreat to the safety of the facts. "Tobias and I know that it was someone with easy access to my mother who killed her," I say,
Before Sydney can take two steps toward that grand staircase, I lunge forward and catch her by the arm. I don't squeeze—God knows she’s had enough of that today—but my grip is firm, anchoring her right where she stands. She immediately pulls against me, her muscles tensing up as she tries to resist
A sack of potatoes. That’s how Owen carried her. He had the audacity to tell me she’d had too much to drink. He thinks I’m an amateur? I know what a drunk actress looks like. They’re giggly, they’re messy, or they’re catatonic. They don’t look dead! I saw the way her head lolled against his shoul
I’m standing in a dim corner, the shadows of a drape acting as my only companion. On the surface, I'm sure I look very present in the room, but internally, I'm nowhere there. My mind keeps drifting, slipping back to three years ago—back to the rain, the screech of tires, and the sudden, violent end
The shock wares off, and instead, I feel a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in my throat. I look up at Deckard, my head tilted, and I let the laugh out. Then, the rage hits. The fucking audacity of this man to ruin my night and spread disgusting lies! Before he can tighten his hold on me again,
"Sydney! To your left, darling! Look at Vogue!" "Sydney, over here! Smile for Billboard! Just one more!" I’m pivoting in my heels, feeling less and less confident in the thin straps of my dress, but I still try to show my confidence in front of the camera. "Over here, Sydney Newton! Give us a pro







