Chapter 3

The Star Awards bathed the Dolby Theatre in blinding white light.

Camera flashes exploded like strobe lights across the red carpet.

Abigail sat in a VIP box on the second tier. The lights inside the booth were turned off.

She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved black gown. Her dark hair was swept to the left, deliberately hiding the scar on her cheek.

She looked down at the floor.

Preston and Lorelai were sitting in the front row. Lorelai wore a glittering, custom-made dress. Preston had his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The perfect, supportive brother.

The ceremony dragged on. The television ratings hit their absolute peak.

A veteran actor walked up to the microphone on the main stage.

"And now, the award for Best Actress in a Leading Role."

Abigail opened the small laptop resting on her knees. The blue light illuminated her cold, unblinking eyes.

She hit the enter key.

The pre-programmed override deployed. It seamlessly hijacked the control room's mainframe using her high-level security clearance.

Behind the presenter, the massive LED screen split into four boxes to show the nominees.

When it was Lorelai's turn, the screen violently glitched.

A loud, piercing screech of static ripped through the theater's sound system.

The audience gasped. People shifted in their seats.

In the control booth, technicians were screaming, slamming their fists against locked keyboards.

Abigail's code had frozen the master override.

The LED screen went black for a fraction of a second.

Then, the high-definition security footage from Preston's office filled the massive display.

Preston and Lorelai were on the screen. Naked. Tangled together on the leather sofa.

The audio was pristine.

"As long as I have that scarred, ugly bitch playing the perfect shield..."

Preston's voice boomed through the Dolby Theatre's state-of-the-art surround sound.

The entire auditorium went dead silent. Two thousand people stopped breathing at the exact same time.

Then, the room exploded.

Screams, gasps, and shouts tore through the air.

Down in the front row, all the blood drained from Lorelai's face. She looked like a corpse. She threw her hands over her face and tried to slide down into her seat.

Preston leaped to his feet. His face was purple with rage. He pointed at the stage, screaming at the producers to cut the feed.

Every single camera in the room whipped away from the stage. The red recording lights zeroed in on Preston and Lorelai.

Abigail's phone vibrated against her leg. Twitter had just crashed.

She sat in the dark box. She watched the absolute destruction of their lives.

She picked up a crystal flute of champagne from the side table and took a slow sip.

Her phone began to ring endlessly. PR executives, journalists, board members.

She switched the phone to airplane mode.

Security guards rushed down the aisles, but it was too late. The paparazzi had already swarmed the front row, trapping the fake siblings in a cage of flashing lights.

Abigail closed her laptop. She pulled the connector cable out and shoved the machine into her bag.

She stood up. She didn't look back.

She pushed open the door of the VIP box and walked down the private exit corridor.

She stepped out into the back alley of the theater. The cool night air hit her face.

She expected to feel triumphant. Instead, a hollow, gaping emptiness clawed at her chest.

A sudden, vicious spike of pain shot through her left cheek.

The nerve endings in her scar screamed. It was a blinding, agonizing throb.

Abigail gasped. She slammed her hand over her face, leaning her weight against the rough brick wall.

Her knees buckled slightly. She needed to numb this. She needed alcohol. Now.

She lifted her head and looked across the street.

The Grand Elysium Hotel loomed against the night sky.

Abigail pulled her coat tight around her shoulders and walked toward the underground bar.