“You’re the ones who dragged me into your
<
“You’re the ones who dragged me into your
shit.”
“I’ve already called the cops.”
“If you don’t leave now, you won’t make it
out.”
Faint sirens wailed in the distance.
Isabelle started trembling first.
She quickly spun Damien’s wheelchair around
and bolted.
Mr. Thorne gave me one last, long,
penetrating look.
“Miss Reynolds,” he said, his voice low.
“You just threw away a chance at a life of
unimaginable wealth and luxury.”
“But if you change your mind… it’s not too
late.”
I pointed the knife directly at him.
Hatred dripped from my voice, forced
between clenched teeth.
“Get out.”
<
“Get out.”
“I wouldn’t believe a single fucking word out
of your mouth!”
They finally left.
I let out a long, shuddering breath.
I went back inside, grabbed my bags, and
headed straight for the airport.
While waiting for my flight, I went to the
restroom.
As I approached the door, I heard Isabelle
Moreau’s voice.
“The Thornes are pulling out all the stops,”
she was saying, her voice low and tense.
“Even with the murder video, they might get
Damien off.”
Then a low male voice responded.
My brain instantly short–circuited.
It was Caleb Vance!
“His parents clawed their way to the top
stepping over bodies,” Caleb said grimly.
“There’s no way they’ll let their precious son
rot in prison.”
“We need another plan.”
“If we can’t bring down the whole damn
family, taking out Damien Thorne alone would
still be worth it.”
My eyes flew wide.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, unable to
breathe.
Caleb and Isabelle… they were working
together?
Holy shit!
Suddenly, my phone chose that exact moment
to ring, echoing loudly in the tiled restroom.
I scrambled frantically through my bag to
silence it.
But it was too late.
The stall door in front of me burst open,
kicked inwards.
Caleb Vance and Isabelle Moreau stood there.
L
Their eyes locked onto mine, cold and hard.
7
Before Caleb’s fist could connect with my
face, I threw my hands up.
“Wait! We want the same thing! I want
Damien Thorne dead just as much as you
do!”
His fist stopped inches from my nose.
Caleb narrowed his eyes, skeptical.
“Why the hell should we believe you?
Everyone knows you were fucking obsessed
with him.”
I backed away until my back hit the cold tile
wall, forcing myself to stay calm.
“If I loved him, would I have released that
video?”
“He pushed me out of a fucking window! He
framed me! And that day you tied us up in the
alley? He didn’t lift a finger to save me! He
said it would be better if I died!”
く
“How could I possibly love a monster like
that?”
Caleb and Isabelle exchanged a look, but their
guard was still up.
Isabelle, all traces of her previous damsel–in-
distress act gone, asked coldly:
“This isn’t just another act? Some twisted
way to get him to marry you?”
I shook my head vehemently. “I hate him. If I
could, I’d kill him with my own hands.”
They looked at each other again.
Slowly, Caleb lowered his fist. The implied
threat of a knife vanished too.
“Alright,” Caleb said slowly. “We’ll trust you.
One more time.”
“But first, you have to go back with Damien.
Testify for him.”
Two days later, I was sitting in Damien
Thorne’s car, sobbing.
“Damien,” I choked out between fake tears, “I
<
only lied for you. You have to promise you
won’t betray me again.”
He couldn’t hide the triumphant glint in his
eye.
His fingers trembled as he grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t worry, Chloe,” he said, his voice thick
with false sincerity. “You saved me. I’ll give
you the happiness you deserve.”
Soon, we arrived at the press conference
venue.
Damien had learned his lesson this time; the
reporters present were all ones he knew, ones
supposedly on his payroll.
As soon as the conference began, I launched
into my performance, tears streaming down
my face.
“The video is fake!” I cried, my voice
breaking. “Last year, on Damien’s birthday, he
was with me the whole time! He couldn’t have
been there…”
peen where…
A reporter (likely playing his part) asked,
“Miss Reynolds, there were rumors you
released the video. Why testify for Mr. Thorne
now?”
“I didn’t release it!” I sobbed. “Damien didn’t
do what the video shows! He’s innocent!”
Under the glare of countless cameras,
Damien put on his own show, his eyes red-
rimmed.
“This is all Caleb Vance’s doing,” he
lamented. “Trying to steal the family fortune, stirring up trouble… My poor parents are worried sick. My mother even ended up in the
hospital… I’ve been so unfilial…”
The reporters exchanged glances, perhaps
about to ask more probing questions.
But I grabbed a microphone first.
My tearful demeanor vanished, replaced by
cold fury.
“Mr Thorno
<
“Mr. Thorne,” I said, my voice suddenly clear
and loud. “I’ve done what you asked. I said
what you wanted me to say. Now, please, I’m
begging you… let my parents go…”
Flashes exploded like fireworks.
Chaos erupted.
“Miss Reynolds! Were you coerced into giving
this testimony?”
“Does this mean Mr. Thorne really committed
murder and kidnapped your parents to silence
you?!”
I nodded, still crying, but this time the tears
were real – tears of rage and vindication.
Damien realized he’d been played.
He lunged, shouting for his bodyguards to
throw the reporters out.
He whipped his head around, his face
contorted with fury, glaring straight at me.
“You tricked me?”
