Chapter 3

The next evening, Carter drove me to the marina. He didn' t speak the entire way. He just gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. He was probably annoyed he had to deal with me instead of being with Gia.

He walked me to the gangplank of a massive, gleaming yacht. The party was already in full swing, music and laughter spilling out onto the warm night air.

"Just smile, wave, and talk to the reporters," Carter instructed, his voice low and urgent. "Pretend to be her for a few hours. Security is everywhere. You' ll be fine."

He didn't look at me as he said it. He turned and walked away before I could even respond, disappearing into the darkness. I was alone.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the yacht. I was wearing a glittering silver dress, my hair styled exactly like Gia' s. The moment I appeared, cameras flashed. Reporters swarmed me.

"Gia! Over here!"

"Gia, how are you feeling after the threats?"

I plastered a smile on my face, the one Carter had taught me to use. It felt like a mask. I mumbled some polite, non-committal answers and made my way toward the bar. I needed a drink.

The champagne was cold and sharp. I drank it too fast, hoping it would numb the dread coiling in my stomach. I felt exhausted, my body still aching from the constant stress.

A man sidled up to me at the bar. He was handsome in a slick, predatory way.

"You look like you could use a friend," he said, his eyes roaming over my body.

"I' m fine," I said, turning away.

He moved closer, blocking my path. "Don' t be like that, Gia. I know you' re having a tough time. Let me help you relax."

His hand snaked around my waist. I flinched, trying to pull away.

"Get your hands off me," I hissed.

He laughed, a low, ugly sound. "Playing hard to get? I like that."

His grip tightened, and my mind started to spin. Was this the plan? For me to be publicly harassed? Humiliated?

I felt a wave of dizziness. The champagne, the stress, it was all too much. My vision swam.

I tried to push him away, but my limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated. "Let go of me."

He misunderstood my weakness for consent. "That's more like it," he murmured, his breath hot on my neck. He started to drag me toward a secluded corridor at the back of the deck.

"Someone paid me a lot of money to make sure you have a memorable night," he whispered in my ear. "Something to really get the paparazzi excited."

The blood ran cold in my veins. This wasn't just harassment. This was an attack. Arranged by Gia. And Carter had sent me right into it.

"Help!" I tried to scream, but the sound was a strangled gasp. My head was foggy. Had he put something in my drink?

He laughed again. "No one' s coming to save you, sweetheart. Carter made sure of that. He wants you out of the picture for good."

Rage, pure and hot, cut through the fog. I was not going to be a victim. Not again.

I dug my nails into his hand, hard. He yelped in surprise, his grip loosening for a second. It was all I need.

I stomped on his foot with my high heel, putting all my weight into it. He howled in pain, stumbling backward.

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find-a heavy, decorative ice bucket-and swung it with all my might. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening thud.

He crumpled to the deck, unconscious.

I scrambled away, my heart hammering against my ribs. I ran, pushing past shocked party guests, ignoring their cries of surprise. I just had to get off this boat.

I flew down the gangplank and onto the solid ground of the dock. I didn' t stop running. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. I collapsed onto a bench near the parking lot, gasping for air.

My dress was torn, my hair a mess. I was shaking uncontrollably. I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911.

Then, everything went black.

I woke up in a hospital bed. Again. The first thing I saw was Carter' s face, looming over me.

For a crazy, stupid second, I thought he was there because he was worried. I thought maybe, just maybe, he had a conscience.

Then he spoke.

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled, his voice a furious whisper.

I stared at him, confused. "I... I was attacked."

"You were supposed to play the victim, Alysha!" he hissed, his face contorted with rage. "You were supposed to let it happen! The plan was for you to be found, distraught and humiliated. It would have generated sympathy for Gia! It would have made her look strong and resilient when she 'recovered' from the trauma!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't breathe. He wasn't angry that I had been attacked. He was angry that I had fought back.

"You... you knew this was going to happen," I whispered, the horror of it washing over me. "You sent me there to be assaulted."

"I sent you there to do a job!" he shot back. "And you ruined it! Now the guy is in the hospital with a concussion, and the police are involved. You' ve made a mess of everything!"

I tried to tell him that the man had confessed it was a setup, that Gia was behind it. I tried to tell him that they had drugged me.

He cut me off. "Don' t you dare lie to me! Gia would never do something like that! She' s the victim here!"

He believed her. Of course, he believed her. He always would. He was relying on her version of events, on the story she had fed him. He accused me of being a liar, of using desperate measures to slander his perfect Gia.

I looked at him, at his handsome, furious face, and something inside me broke. The last, tiny ember of hope I had for him died. There was nothing left but ash.

I turned my face to the wall, my heart a dead weight in my chest. I felt numb. Empty.

"The police are outside," he said, his voice cold and final. "I told them you were confused and hysterical. That you attacked an innocent man in a paranoid fit. You will drop the charges. Is that clear?"

I didn' t answer.

"Is that clear, Alysha?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

I closed my eyes. I wanted it all to be over. The divorce papers were signed. The money was supposed to be my escape.

I gave a single, robotic nod.

He left without another word. I lay there, listening to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, each sound a reminder that I was still alive, even though I felt like I had already died.

The next day, I saw the news. Gia Salazar was giving a press conference, looking pale and brave. Carter was by her side, his arm wrapped protectively around her. The headlines praised their strength in the face of my "unhinged" attack on an innocent partygoer.

I picked up the hospital phone and made a call.

"I' m dropping the charges," I told the detective.

Then I hung up, took the stack of magazines from the bedside table, and ripped out every picture of Carter and Gia. I tore them into tiny little pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like snow. I remembered his promises, his whispered words of love in this very hospital. They were all lies.

I started to laugh, a bitter, broken sound that echoed in the sterile room. I had been so stupid. So blind.