Chapter 4 No.4

The door of the limousine closed with a heavy thunk, instantly cutting off the screaming of the paparazzi and the honking of Manhattan traffic. The silence was sudden and absolute.

Hester let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for two hours. Her hands went to the back of her head, unclasping the mask. She pulled it off, revealing a face smeared with sweat and stage makeup. Her hair was matted against her forehead.

"You were ruthless out there," Isham said. He was sitting across from her, watching her with that same detached, analytical gaze. He reached into a compartment and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He handed it to her.

Hester took it. The silk was cool against her heated skin. She wiped the greasepaint from her cheek. "I was surviving," she said. "Thank you. For the save."

"It wasn't a save. It was an investment protection," Isham corrected. He picked up a tablet and tapped the screen. "Current headlines. Mckee stock is confused. The market doesn't know if Brandy Craig has reinvented herself or if she's been replaced. Brandy is trending as a 'fraud' because the body types don't match."

Hester leaned back against the leather seat, closing her eyes for a second. "Phase 2," she murmured.

"Explain," Isham said.

"Josie will leak rumors of Brandy's 'medical condition' to the blogs tonight," Hester said, opening her eyes. "Not pregnancy. Not yet. Just... vague medical issues. It explains why she couldn't walk, and it contradicts Haywood's claim that it was her."

Isham nodded slowly. "And Haywood?"

"He'll try to silence me. He'll realize I went off-script. I need a place to go. I can't go back to the penthouse."

"You have a place," Isham said. "My estate."

The car turned smoothly, leaving the city lights behind and heading toward the bridge. The destination was the Rhodes Estate in the Hamptons-a sprawling, fortress-like compound that Hester had only seen in architectural magazines.

An hour later, they arrived. Iron gates swung open. Servants were waiting at the entrance.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Rhodes," a butler said, taking her coat.

The title sent a shiver down her spine. It felt like a costume, heavier than the mask she had just worn.

Meanwhile, back at the Mckee Management office, the atmosphere was toxic.

Haywood was screaming at a junior publicist. "I don't care what Twitter says! Fix it! Tell them it was Brandy! Tell them she's... been doing Pilates!"

Brandy was curled up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, her face pale. "Look at this comment," she whined. "'Brandy's legs looked different. Did she get surgery? Or is it a fake?' They're calling me a fake, Haywood!"

In the corner, Josie sat at her desk, her face illuminated by the blue light of her monitor. She kept her head down, typing furiously. She wasn't working on the press release Haywood had asked for.

She was on a burner phone, texting a contact at TMZ.

Tip: Brandy Craig seen leaving Dr. Evans' OB-GYN clinic last week. Wearing oversized hoodie. Something to hide?

"Josie!" Haywood barked.

Josie jumped, sliding the phone under a stack of papers. "Yes, boss?"

"Stock is down 4%. Investors are asking about the 'Mystery Model'. We need to kill this story. We say it was a stunt." Haywood ran a hand through his hair. "I need to call Hester. She needs to come in and sign an NDA before she opens her mouth."

He pulled out his phone and dialed Hester's number.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

He checked the "Find My Friends" app. They shared locations-a relic of their relationship he used to track her movements.

The dot on the map wasn't at the penthouse. It wasn't at a hotel.

It was in the Hamptons. At the coordinates of the Rhodes Estate.

Haywood stared at the screen. "That's a glitch," he muttered. "Why would she be at Isham Rhodes' house? Maybe she's working a private party?"

"Boss?" Josie asked, feigning innocence.

"She's not answering," Haywood growled. He typed a text. Great job tonight, babe. We made magic. Come home. We need to talk strategy for the next campaign. I have a surprise for you.

In the master bathroom of the Rhodes Estate, Hester lay submerged in a marble tub filled with bubbles that smelled of lavender and money. Her phone buzzed on the ledge.

She read the text. I have a surprise for you.

She laughed, a dry, humorless sound. She pressed the block button.

She dropped the phone onto the bathmat and sank lower into the water. For the first time in forty-eight hours, she felt safe. But she knew the water wouldn't stay warm forever.