Chapter 5 5

The suffocating scent of spilled perfume hung heavy in the air. Beth stood in the center of the ruined room. The sharp edges of broken glass dug into the soles of her feet, but the stinging pain only sharpened her focus. It proved she was real. It proved she wasn't crazy.

She walked over to the bed and stared down at the vibrating phone.

Lachlan's name flashed aggressively on the screen.

She didn't pick it up. She reached out with one finger, tapped the green accept button, and immediately hit the speaker icon.

She pulled her hand back as if the device might burn her. Her entire body was trembling, fighting the heavy lethargy of the sedatives and the sheer terror of what she was doing. But she locked her knees and stood tall.

"Are you completely out of your mind?!"

Lachlan's voice exploded from the phone's tiny speaker. He wasn't using his polished, media-trained tone. He was roaring, his breath ragged with pure fury.

Beth's hand shook violently as she reached out, gripping the heavy wooden bedpost to keep herself upright. Her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. She closed her eyes, forcing the panic down into a tight little box in her chest.

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaking, but not with weakness. It shook with a mixture of raw adrenaline and venom.

"But Lachlan," she said, the words tasting like poison. "I must be out of my mind. Isn't that what your PR team is telling the whole world right now? I just got out of the psychiatric clinic, remember? Crazy people do crazy things."

The line went dead silent.

Beth could hear Lachlan's heavy, furious breathing through the speaker. She had used his own weapon against him, and it choked him.

"Take the auction down," Lachlan growled, his voice dropping to a lethal threat. "Take it down right now, Beth. Or I swear to God, I will freeze every credit card in your name, and I will have my lawyers sue you into the ground for defaming Zara."

Beth's eyes snapped open. The fear in her chest solidified into ice.

"You can't freeze my cards, Lachlan," Beth said, her voice dropping the frail act entirely. It was sharp as a razor. "Because I bought that dress using the trust fund my mother left me. It is pre-marital property. You touch my accounts, and the SEC will be crawling up your ass by morning."

She heard a muffled curse from the other end.

"As for defaming your little actress," Beth continued, her tone relentless. "That suit jacket you draped over her shoulders in Beverly Hills? I bought that for you on Savile Row last month. It's a limited edition. It has your initials embroidered in gold thread on the inside left pocket. I have the receipt. Should I post that on Twitter too?"

"Beth-" Lachlan started, his voice suddenly laced with panic.

In the background of the call, Beth could hear the frantic, clicking heels of K. Holloway rushing into Lachlan's room, likely shoving a new damage-control script into his hands.

Lachlan took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he tried to sound magnanimous, like a king offering mercy to a peasant.

"Listen to me," Lachlan said smoothly. "If you cooperate with K. Holloway's team, if you quietly go to the private sanitarium in Switzerland for a few months to 'rest,' I will make sure you are taken care of. You will still be Mrs. Langley."

Beth's stomach physically revolted at the sound of his condescension. She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing the cold metal of her phone where the voice memo was saved.

"Lachlan," Beth said, her voice trembling so hard she almost choked on the words. She was terrified, but she pushed through it. "Dr. Finch left his office door open today. While he was on the phone with K. Holloway. Discussing my fake diagnosis and the offshore wire transfer."

A horrifying, suffocating silence fell over the line.

"What?" Lachlan breathed, the bottom dropping out of his voice.

"I recorded it," Beth lied about the length, her heart hammering wildly. "I have the audio file. And I am going to email it to TMZ in exactly five minutes if you don't back off."

"Beth, don't you dare-"

Beth reached down and hit the red button. The call disconnected. She immediately blocked his number.

Her legs finally gave out. She collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, gasping for air. The bluff had worked for now, but she had just painted a massive target on her own back. Lachlan wouldn't just send lawyers now; he would send fixers.

She grabbed the television remote from the nightstand and pointed it at the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

She hit the power button. She needed noise. She needed to know what the outside world was doing.

The screen flared to life, tuned to CNN's breaking news coverage.

The camera was zoomed in on a podium in South Bay. Standing behind the microphones was a man in a sharp navy-blue suit. His jawline was rigid, and his dark eyes stared into the camera lenses with the predatory focus of a hawk.

The chyron at the bottom of the screen read: ARNETT LANGLEY, ILLEGITIMATE SON OF LANGLEY DYNASTY, ANNOUNCES INDEPENDENT RUN FOR GOVERNOR.

Beth stared at the screen. Her heart began to beat a different rhythm.

Arnett Langley. The bastard son. The outcast. The man who hated the Langley family as much as she did.

He was a rogue element. A variable Lachlan couldn't easily control. He existed to provide political friction for Lachlan's corporate expansion, but right now, to Beth, he looked like a weapon.

On the TV, Arnett was delivering a ruthless, eloquent takedown of corporate monopolies controlling state politics. The crowd was roaring.

Beth looked at Arnett's fierce expression. A reckless, suicidal plan crystallized in her mind. The enemy of my enemy is my shield.

"Since I'm going to die anyway," Beth whispered to the empty room, her eyes locked on the screen, "I think I'll just tear your whole empire to shreds."

But as she tried to stand, the room violently tilted. The floor rushed up to meet her. Finch's sedatives finally overwhelmed her exhausted nervous system, dragging her down into darkness.