MasukBETTY
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I stare at the silver sequin gown Harriette sent earlier with a note that read, Wear this tonight.
The gown is beautiful, and it’s hugging me in all the right places.
For a moment, I almost don’t recognize myself. My waist looks smaller, my figure elegant, making me look like I belong, but when I lift my gaze to my reflection, the illusion fades.
Even with the makeup, my face looks pale and tired, like I haven’t slept in days. And the truth is, I haven’t. Not since I heard Nathaniel in his office, saying things no wife should ever hear.
I still can’t get his words out of my head, and every time my eyes close, I hear his voice. “I don’t love her. I will never love anyone as i loved you.”
My hands tighten around the edge of the dresser, taking a deep breath, forcing myself to look up at my reflection again.
“I wish I didn’t have to go downstairs,” I mutter out loud to myself.
It’s Harriette’s birthday tonight, and she’s the only reason I still have a place in this family. So no matter how I feel, I have to attend.
I smooth my dress one last time and grab the black and silver masquerade mask from my bedside table. “Just make sure Harriette sees you, then you can slip away,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath.
I put on the mask, tying the ribbons carefully at the back of my head, and somehow, the mask gives me a strange kind of courage. Maybe tonight I can pretend to be someone else.
I step out of the room, and the music and laughter hit me instantly. The house feels alive with gold lights everywhere, soft chatter, and perfume floating through the air.
I walk down the staircase slowly, the hem of my gown brushing the steps, every chandelier sparkling like the night sky.
I keep my head low and head straight for the bar, the only safe place in a room like this.
“Champagne, please,” I tell the bartender quietly, and he nods, sliding me a glass.
The first sip burns a little, but it helps, giving the courage to pretend to admire the room while scanning for Nathaniel.
I spot him near the far wall, surrounded by men in suits, drink in hand, mask perfectly in place.
I turn away quickly and take another sip, hoping, praying he doesn’t notice me. I would appreciate it if he kept his distance tonight because I don’t know what I might say to him when my head is filled with champagne.
“Fuck!” I gasp under my glass when my eyes spot Eleanor striding from the kitchen with a bunch of waiters following her.
She looks stunning, of course, wrapped in diamonds and a navy blue gown, but she has that same cold expression she always wears.
I turn quickly, pretending to order another drink before she can see me, and she passes behind me, leaving a trail of her expensive perfume.
“That was close.” I breathe out slowly, before a small smile tugs my lips. “First win of the night.” I whisper to myself and finish the rest of the drink in one go.
I grab another one, and another, starting to feel a little buzzed, and before I know it, I begin to enjoy myself.
“I can see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” a cold, calculated voice comes from behind me, and I blink dramatically, letting out a frustrated sigh.
Figures. Joy is always short-lived around here.
He grabs my hand, and I turn to face him, his eyes fierce behind the mask.
“I’ve been watching you,” he mocks, leaning forward to make sure no one hears him scold me. “That’s your fifth glass. Planning to get drunk and embarrass us tonight?”
I pull my hand away, my eyes darting around the room. “I’m not drunk, Nathaniel.”
“You better not be.” His tone hardens. “If you make a scene, I swear…”
“What, Nathaniel?” I cut him off, surprising us both. “What could you possibly do that you haven’t already done?”
He blinks, stunned, not expecting me to push back, and his face softens for a split second before hardening again as he clenches his jaw and steps toward me.
“Go back to your room. You already reek of alcohol.”
I shake my head quickly, the bubbles giving me courage I don’t usually have. “I’m here for Harriette. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’s about to say something else when the entire room quiets.
The music fades, conversations stop, and all eyes turn toward the grand entrance.
A woman steps inside. She is tall, beautiful, graceful, and every inch of her is glowing under the chandelier’s light, her red gown flowing behind her like fire.
The crowd parts for her without a word, like she is royalty, and she begins walking towards where Nathaniel and I are standing.
I follow the movement, and when I turn to Nathaniel, his jaw is tight, and his eyes are fixed on her like he’s seen a ghost.
“Amanda?” he breathes.
My heart stops. I know that name.
It’s her. His ex-fiancée. The woman he has refused to let go after all these years.
NATHANIEL.Trent Prescott. An unremarkable name for an even more unremarkable man.Age thirty-eight. Divorced. No children. Owner of a failing garage and a gas station that looks like it should have been shut down years ago.A couple of arrests for drunk driving and speeding, nothing major, just enough to tell me exactly the kind of man he is.Careless. Desperate. Cheap.I stare down at the file resting on my lap, my thumb pressing against the edge hard enough to bend the paper slightly.It took the private investigator three days to find him. Three days to dig through whatever pathetic life this man has built for himself and hand me everything I needed, including an address.I am parked across the road, my engine off, my eyes fixed on the gas station in front of me.It looks abandoned. The paint on the walls is chipped and fading, the signage is barely hanging on, and the windows are dusty enough that I have to squint just to see inside.In the forty-five minutes I have been sitting
BETTYLucy is halfway through describing all the places she wants to visit in London, her hands moving animatedly in the air as she talks about it like she is already there.“I swear, Betty, if I don’t take pictures outside Buckingham Palace, then what is even the point?” she says, her eyes lighting up in a way that makes it impossible not to smile.I shake my head, leaning back in my chair as I watch her. “You are such a tourist,” I tease.“Excuse me,” she shoots back immediately, placing a hand on her chest. “I am going to be a cultured tourist.”I laugh, everything feeling light again.She goes on to tell me about the parties George has mentioned, the people she might meet there, and the circles he moves in.I can hear the excitement in her voice even as a layer of nervousness sits just beneath it.“I don’t even know what I’m going to wear to half of these things,” she admits, her brows pulling together slightly. “What if I don’t fit in?”I reach across the table and tap her hand l
BETTYIt has been days, and I still cannot get Rhys’s words out of my head.They loop endlessly, repeating themselves at the most inconvenient moments, slipping into my thoughts when I am working, when I am driving, even when I am trying to sleep.“You are a shareholder at Blackwell Enterprises.”“They are still yours even after the divorce.”“And knowing my family, they would do anything to get them back.”“You could trade them for Grace.”I press my lips together as I stare down at the condensation forming on the outside of my glass, my fingers tracing the faint line of water that drips slowly onto the table.He handed me a solution. A way out. A way to fight back. And yet, for some reason I cannot fully explain, I have not been able to act on it.I lean back slightly in my chair, my mind circling the same questions it has been asking for days.Is it because Grace is a Blackwell, and making a move like that could affect her future in ways I cannot predict? Or is it because of Harrie
NATHANIELI shove my chair back so violently it slams into the bookshelf behind me.The sudden movement sends a sharp echo through the study, but I barely register it. My body is already moving before my mind can catch up, pacing across the room like a man who has been set on fire.“No,” I growl under my breath, shaking my head. “That’s not possible.”But the footage behind me keeps playing in the background, the truth sitting there on that screen waiting for me to face it.I turn back to the desk, my fingers trembling slightly as I lean forward and rewind the footage. It plays from the moment Betty and I collapsed in that booth.For several long seconds, we remain exactly where we are, our bodies slumped against the leather seat, completely unconscious.Then, suddenly, two figures enter the frame.The men move with unsettling efficiency, as if they have rehearsed this moment beforehand. One of them slides his arms beneath Betty’s shoulders while the other grabs me, lifting us both fr
NATHANIELThe tapes are proving much harder to face than I thought they would be.I imagined organized footage, clearly labeled files, maybe even a timestamp that would guide me straight to the moment I was looking for, but instead I received chaos.The footage is tangled together across dozens of files, each one hours long, recorded from multiple cameras that overlap and loop back into one another.So I have been forced to go through them one by one. Frame by frame. Hour by hour. Today is the third day.Empty coffee cups now crowd the corner of my desk, and the muscles at the back of my neck ache from hours of leaning toward the screen.I drag a tired hand across my face and stare at the paused footage in front of me.The temptation to stop presses heavily against my chest. To close the laptop and shut the tapes back inside the box. To leave the past exactly where it has been for the last six years.My hand moves again before the thought fully settles, reaching for the next tape in t
BETTYWe step out of the car into the cool night air to stretch our legs, both of us needing a moment to recover after that ridiculous make-out session.The sky above us is clear, scattered with stars, and for the first time all evening, the world feels quiet.I stretch myself along the hood of Rhys’s car, leaning back until my shoulders rest against the warm curve of the windshield.The metal beneath me still holds a trace of heat from the engine, and the night air carries the faint scent of grass and asphalt from the empty field around us.Rhys lies beside me with one arm folded behind his head, his other hand intertwined loosely with mine as we both stare up at the sky.“It’s a beautiful night,” I murmur, the words slipping out without much thought as my eyes follow a cluster of stars scattered above us.I feel him shift slightly beside me. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That fucking horn button though. I should rip it out.”“Yeah, you should.” I scoff, playfully.There is a small pause







