Chapter 4

"He'll never believe you," Savannah repeated, savoring the words. "He loves me. He thinks you're a manipulative little snake who trapped him."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Because I want you to know how hopeless your situation is," she said, her sweet facade completely gone. "I wanted to ruin you. Originally, I was going to frame you with some sleazy producer to destroy your reputation. But then I found out Liam was Silas Vance's grandson, the heir to Stetson Records. So I changed my plan."

She smiled, a cruel, triumphant expression. "I played the victim. I made him think you were the monster who tore us apart. And it worked perfectly."

I felt a surge of rage, a rare and unfamiliar feeling. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything."

"Go ahead," she taunted. "He's on his way back. He forgot his phone."

Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a heavy, ornate letter opener on Liam's desk. In a flash, she grabbed it.

"What are you doing?" I cried, stepping back.

"Giving him a reason to hate you even more," she hissed.

Before I could react, she dragged the sharp edge of the letter opener across her own forearm, creating a long, bloody gash. She cried out in pain, a theatrical, convincing sound.

The front door burst open. Liam stood there, his phone in his hand, his face a mask of fury.

He saw Savannah, clutching her bleeding arm. He saw me, standing frozen a few feet away. He didn't need to ask what happened. He had already decided.

"You bitch," he snarled, rushing to Savannah's side. "You actually attacked her."

He scooped a crying Savannah into his arms, cradling her like she was made of glass.

"Liam, she's lying," I said, my voice shaking. "She did it to herself."

"Shut up," he spat, his eyes burning with contempt. "I knew you were crazy, but I never thought you were violent."

He glared at me over Savannah's shoulder. "You're coming with me to the hospital. And you're going to apologize to her."

I stood rooted to the spot, the injustice of it all crashing down on me. He looked at me, his wife, and saw a monster. He looked at the real monster and saw a victim.

He returned a moment later, his face grim. Savannah was presumably in a treatment room.

"Get in the car," he said, his voice cold and final. "You're going to apologize."

The words were a command, not a request. He didn't care about my side. He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about protecting Savannah. The last bit of hope inside me died.