(Serena)We are armed with snacks, hot cocoa, high-speed Wi-Fi, and the fully unhinged conviction of two women in pajamas with a vendetta.Haylee’s curled up on the other end of my couch in pink fuzzy socks and a floral sleep set. Her laptop’s perched on her knees. “Alright, babe,” she says, flexing her fingers like she’s about to crack into the Pentagon. “If you’re going to fight for this man—and for the record, I say ditch his ass—you need to know what you’re up against. Let’s stalk this bitch.”I smother a grin. “You’re so romantic.”“I am, I know. What’s her last name?”“Blake. I overheard it at the gala.”“Right. Let’s do this.”Haylee types “Savannah Blake James Hale” into the search bar and hits enter with a flourish. Instantly, the screen floods with photos. Glossy, glowing, too perfect to be real.I lean in, eyes scanning.There’s James at eighteen, clean-shaven, wide-eyed, arms around a younger Savannah in a sundress. They’re both beaming.“She looks like a Ralph Lauren ad,
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