Chapter 3

The frantic pounding on my bedroom door jolted me awake. It was early, the sun barely up.

Adrian burst in without waiting for an answer. His face was a mask of fury.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he demanded, throwing his jacket onto a chair.

I sat up, pulling the covers around me. I hadn't even heard it ring. "I was sleeping."

"I called you all night," he snapped. "You never ignore my calls."

"Well, I'm ignoring them now," I said, my voice flat with disinterest.

His eyes narrowed. "What is wrong with you, Ellery? This little tantrum of yours is getting old. I'm giving you one last chance. Apologize to Cassie, start acting like yourself again, and we can forget this ever happened."

"Like myself?" I almost laughed. The "me" he wanted was a doormat. A shadow. A woman who lived only for his approval. I thought of all the things I'd given up for him-my friends, my hobbies, my own company that I'd started to build before he convinced me it was a distraction.

I would never be that person again.

He must have mistaken my silence for compliance, a crack in my resolve. His tone softened slightly, a manipulative tactic I now saw with perfect clarity.

"Look, I know you were upset about the necklace," he said, as if that was the root of the problem. "Cassie felt bad about it. She's throwing a small get-together tonight to clear the air. You're coming with me."

It wasn't a request.

"I'm not going," I said.

He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. "Yes, you are."

He dragged me out of bed and into the car. The entire way there, I stared out the window, silent. There was no point in arguing. My real escape was just a few hours away.

The party was at a lavish mansion belonging to one of Adrian's friends. It was everything I had come to despise-fake smiles, empty conversations, and a suffocating air of entitlement. I stood in a corner, a glass of champagne in my hand, watching the scene with the detached interest of an anthropologist studying a strange tribe.

The entire party was a tribute to Cassie. Her favorite flowers, white gardenias, were everywhere. The catering was from her favorite restaurant. A string quartet played her favorite classical pieces.

At the center of it all, Adrian presented her with a gift-a custom-made diamond bracelet from a brand she adored.

"Oh, Adrian," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with faux tears. "It's perfect. Thank you."

He smiled at her with a tenderness I had never, not once, received. He knew every detail about her-her favorite designer, her favorite food, her favorite song. He knew nothing about me.

And for the first time, watching them together didn't hurt. It was like watching a movie I had seen a thousand times. I knew the plot. I knew the ending. And I was no longer invested.

You don't feel jealous when you don't love the person anymore. You just feel free.

As the party reached its peak, the music suddenly stopped. A man I didn't recognize strode into the center of the room. He was holding a large canvas bag.

"What is the meaning of this?" the host demanded.

The man ignored him. "I have a special delivery," he announced, his voice booming. "A gift, from an anonymous admirer, for the lovely Miss Cassie Tate."

With a dramatic flourish, he upended the bag.

Hundreds of flyers rained down on the shocked guests.

Printed on them, in graphic detail, were deepfake pornographic pictures of Cassie. Her face was unmistakable, her body contorted into obscene poses.

Cassie screamed, a raw, piercing sound. Her face went ashen.

The room erupted into chaos. People gasped, whispered, and scrambled to pick up the flyers.

Adrian moved instantly. "Security! Get him!" he roared. He wrapped a protective arm around Cassie, shielding her from the prying eyes. "Anyone who has one of those, delete it now! If I see a single one of these pictures online, I will ruin you!"

His men tackled the man who had thrown the flyers. The guests were quickly and forcefully ushered out.

Adrian held the struggling man by the collar, his face a mask of cold rage. "Who sent you?"

The man spat on the floor. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Tell me," Adrian said, his voice deadly quiet. He nodded to one of his bodyguards.

The bodyguard twisted the man's arm behind his back until a sharp crack echoed in the silent room.

The man screamed in agony. "Okay, okay! I'll talk!"

He writhed on the floor, cradling his broken arm. Through gasps of pain, he looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on me.

He pointed a shaking finger. "It was her. Ellery Beard. She paid me to do it."