Chapter 3

The doorbell to my dorm building rang at precisely seven o'clock. I saw Brandon Miller's familiar sports car parked outside. He was leaning against it, trying to look casual and cool. From my window, he just looked like a predator waiting for his prey.

I took one last look in the mirror. I had chosen my outfit carefully: a simple pair of jeans and a slightly oversized, soft-knit sweater. It was comfortable, unassuming, and most importantly, it made me look vulnerable. I had even smudged my eyeliner just a little, as if I'd been crying or was stressed. The key was to appear exactly as they expected me to be: the insecure, slightly pathetic sister, desperate for a night of inclusion.

The tiny audio recorder was nestled safely in the palm of my hand.

I went downstairs and pushed open the heavy main door.

"Hey," Brandon said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Ready for the big night?"

"Hi, Brandon," I said, my voice deliberately soft and a little shaky. "Yeah. I guess. I'm a little nervous."

"Nervous? Why?" he asked, feigning concern as he opened the passenger door for me.

"You know," I said, looking down at my feet. "Chloe and me... we haven't been getting along. I just want tonight to be good. It's our birthday, you know?"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said, patting my shoulder as I got into the car. "Chloe's excited. She told me she really wants to patch things up with you."

The lie was so smooth, so practiced. In my past life, I had soaked up those words like a sponge. Tonight, they were just noise.

As he closed my door and walked around to the driver's side, I activated the recorder with a discreet click. The app on my phone, hidden on a back screen, showed it was live and transmitting.

He got in and started the car. "So, you excited about that big internship? Chloe said you were a shoo-in."

The perfect opening. They were already laying the groundwork for my "jealousy."

"I don't know," I sighed, letting my voice waver. "I haven't heard back yet. I'm trying not to get my hopes up."

He drove towards the city, making small talk. I kept my answers short and timid. As we got closer to the club, I pretended to get a text message.

"Oh, it's Chloe," I said, looking at my phone. "She says she's running about twenty minutes late. Stuck in traffic."

This was part of the plan I remembered. She would arrive late to make a grand entrance, leaving me alone and awkward.

"Damn, really?" Brandon said, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he smoothed it over. "Well, I guess we can just wait for her inside."

"I feel so awkward going in without her," I said, wringing my hands. "Can we maybe just wait in the car for a bit?"

He glanced at his watch, clearly antsy. "Uh, sure. I guess."

This was my moment.

"Oh, shoot," I said, fumbling with my purse. "I think I smudged my makeup. Is it bad?" I leaned towards him, turning my face.

He leaned in to look, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. "No, it's... it's fine."

"Are you sure?" I pressed, getting a little closer. As he was distracted by my face, my hand, holding the tiny recorder, moved deftly. I pretended to steady myself by placing my hand on his chest, right on the lapel of his trendy jacket. In that single, fluid motion, I let the small, magnetic recorder slip from my palm and attach itself to the metal button on his inner jacket pocket. It was a spot no one would pat or brush against accidentally. It was perfect.

"Okay," I said, pulling back and giving him a weak smile. "Sorry. I'm just... a little on edge."

"It's cool," he said, though he clearly wanted to get out of the car. "Let's just head in. We can get a table."

He parked the car, and we got out. The thumping bass from Club Neon was a physical presence on the street.

"Chloe said she booked the VIP room upstairs," he said, leading the way. "Room 302."

I nodded, my heart beating a steady, determined rhythm. We walked into the noisy, crowded club. The bouncer nodded at Brandon, and we went straight up the private staircase to the VIP section. The hallway was quieter up here, lined with numbered doors.

He stopped in front of 302. "Well, here we are. I'm gonna go grab us some drinks. You just... hang out." He seemed eager to get away from me.

"Okay," I said quietly.

He gave me a quick, dismissive smile and headed back towards the stairs. He clearly intended to meet up with Chloe somewhere else first, to finalize their plan.

I watched him go, a cold smile touching my lips for the first time that night. He was a walking wiretap. The trap was set.

I didn't enter room 302. Instead, I turned and walked calmly back down the stairs and out the front door of the club, disappearing into the cool night air. My work here was done. Now, it was time for the audience to arrive.