Chapter 3

A week later, Liv was still at her brother' s apartment, living in a numb haze. She' d cancelled her flight to Europe, telling Liam she wasn' t ready. The truth was, she felt paralyzed. Jake had been calling and texting relentlessly, a confusing mix of apologies, declarations of love, and angry accusations. She had ignored them all.

Then he showed up at the door. Liam answered, blocking the doorway with his body.

"She doesn' t want to see you, Jake," Liam said, his voice hard.

"This is between me and Liv," Jake said, trying to push past him. "Liv, baby, please. Let' s just talk. I miss you."

From inside, Liv could hear the pathetic, pleading tone in his voice. It was another performance. She knew she had to end it, but the thought of facing him, of having that conversation, was exhausting.

"Just get rid of him, Liam," she called out, her voice trembling.

But Jake was persistent. He started sending gifts, massive bouquets of flowers that Liam immediately threw in the dumpster. He had her favorite food delivered. Finally, he played his trump card.

"It' s my company' s annual gala tonight," he said in a voicemail. "Everyone is going to be there. All our friends. If you don' t come, people will talk. It will look bad for both of us. Please, Liv. Just for one night. Let' s pretend everything is normal. For me."

The subtle threat was clear. If she didn't play along, he would make her life difficult. He was a powerful music producer. He could ruin her reputation with a few phone calls. Reluctantly, feeling a familiar sense of dread and powerlessness, she agreed.

The gala was held in a lavish ballroom, dripping with crystals and filled with the most influential people in the music industry. Liv felt completely out of place in the expensive dress Jake had sent over, a dress that felt more like a costume than a gift. He held her hand tightly, his thumb stroking her skin in a gesture that was meant to look loving but felt like a brand.

"See? This isn' t so bad, is it?" he murmured, smiling for the photographers. "We look amazing together."

Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. She scanned the crowd, a horrible premonition crawling up her spine. And then she saw her.

Chloe Davis. She was standing across the room, wearing a stunning white dress, looking every inch the angelic muse. Her eyes met Liv' s for a fraction of a second, and a small, triumphant smile played on her lips. Liv' s worst fears were confirmed. This wasn' t about them. This was about her. Chloe was here to witness the next stage of the humiliation.

As if on cue, Jake' s grip on her hand loosened. "I see a producer I need to talk to," he said, his eyes already fixed on Chloe. "I' ll be right back. Don' t go anywhere."

He walked away from her without a backward glance, making a beeline straight for Chloe. Liv watched as he reached her, his whole demeanor changing. He leaned in, whispering something in Chloe' s ear that made her laugh, a bright, tinkling sound that echoed across the ballroom. He placed a hand on the small of her back, a gesture of casual intimacy that was more devastating than a slap in the face.

Liv was left standing alone in the middle of the crowded room. She felt hundreds of eyes on her, could hear the whispers starting up around her. It was a public shaming, orchestrated perfectly. She wanted to run, to disappear, but her feet felt rooted to the floor. The shame was a physical force, holding her captive.

Just as she was about to force herself to move, a group of Jake' s friends, the same sycophantic inner circle that enabled his cruelty, surrounded her. They were all laughing, their faces flushed with champagne.

"Tough break, Liv," one of them, a guy named Todd, sneered. "Looks like you' ve been replaced."

"Leave me alone," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

"What' s the matter? Can' t take a joke?" another one said, shoving her playfully. But the shove was harder than it needed to be. Liv stumbled backward, her heel catching on the thick carpet. As she fell, her head hit the sharp corner of a marble-topped table with a sickening crack.

The world exploded in a flash of white-hot pain. The laughter of the crowd faded into a dull roar. Through a darkening haze, she saw Jake turn, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock. But he didn' t move toward her. He was frozen, standing beside Chloe.

Her consciousness flickered. She was on the cold floor, the sounds of the party distant and muffled. She tried to push herself up, but her arms wouldn' t obey. Her vision swam, but she could see one thing with perfect, terrible clarity. Across the room, Jake had pulled Chloe into a secluded alcove. He was kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, his body pressed against hers. It wasn't a kiss of comfort or friendship. It was hungry, passionate, a final, brutal confirmation of his betrayal.

The sight broke something deep inside her. The last fragile thread of hope she hadn' t even realized she was holding onto snapped. Then, everything went black.

She woke up in a soft bed, the smell of antiseptic once again filling her senses. A doctor was standing over her.

"You took quite a fall, Ms. Miller," he said gently. "You have a severe concussion. We need to keep you here for observation."

"What happened?" she whispered, her head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache.

"Your friends said you had a little too much to drink and tripped," the doctor explained. "You' re very lucky Mr. Peterson was there to take care of you."

A lie. Another perfectly crafted lie to cover their tracks. She felt a prick in her arm and saw the doctor administering a syringe into her IV.

"What' s that?" she asked, her eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

"Just a sedative, to help you rest," he said, his voice soothing. "Don' t worry. You' re in good hands."

As the drugs pulled her back under, a cold, terrifying thought surfaced through the fog. They weren' t trying to help her. They were trying to silence her.