The air in the room seemed to thicken, and I could feel Dakota’s eyes on me, watching as every muscle in my body tensed like a coiled spring ready to snap.
“It’s not random,” I said, my voice dropping. “And you’d better catch whoever did this fast. Before I get to them first.”
“Axel!” Ryker snapped.
The detective’s expression hardened. “Mr. Pierce, I’d advise against making threats?—”
“That wasn’t a threat.” I stepped closer, close enough that he had to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact. “That was a promise. Someone put their hands on her. Left bruises on her skin. Made her bleed.” My voice cracked slightly on the last word. “So, you find them, Detective. Because if I find them first, you’ll have a real crime scene to investigate.”
47
WHEN YOU’RE ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE FOREVER, JUST TAKE A DEEP BREATH. #NOTURNINGBACK
DAKOTA
“It’s simple.” Rebecca’s voice crackled through the phone, her words as artificially sweet. “The brand reps have empathy for you having been attacked. Just go online, showcase some products, and show them you’re still reliable. They’ll be watching. Make it perfect, and you’ll be home free.”
Home free. As iffreewas a word that could ever describe the gilded cage I’d built around myself.
The truth was, this fake engagement with Axel was just the most recent and outrageous lie in a long catalog of deceptions. I’d been lying to my followers—hell, lying to myself—for so long, I sometimes couldn’t remember what truth even felt like anymore.
My gaze swept across my studio in Axel’s penthouse. The symphony of beauty lights, positioned at mathematically perfect angles. The expensive camera, mounted on its tripod. The rack, bursting with designer clothes I’d been “gifted” to showcase. My entire life, curated into a perfect, pore-less fantasy.
And I was so goddamn tired of it.
With trembling fingers, I grabbed the ring light and unceremoniously unplugged it. The shadows immediately crawled across my face in the mirror. Shadows I normally edited away with filters and strategic lighting. I dragged my phone holder to the other side of the room, where the unforgiving afternoon light would expose every imperfection.
This is it. No going back.
I activated the live camera on my social media app, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. One deep breath. Then another. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed the blinking red button.
Live.
Immediately, notification pings erupted from my iPad with followers streaming in, curious about this unscheduled appearance from @DakotaFox. A cold sweat broke out across my back as the viewer count ticked upward.
“Hi,” I said, my voice smaller than I intended. I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders. “It’s Dakota here. I have a major confession to make.”
My iPad buzzed angrily on the nightstand. Undoubtedly our PR team already in panic mode.
“Trust me, it’s not something you’re going to want to miss,” I continued, ignoring the vibrations. “But to do this right, I’m not going to stand here with my meticulous makeup in this outfit.”
I backed away from the camera, gesturing to the designer dress clinging to my curves like a second skin.
“Let’s talk about this outfit for a moment.” My fingertips traced the intricate beadwork along the neckline. “This dress was donated by a top designer and then custom-tailored to fit every curve of my body. The fabric is high-end, the stitching is meticulous, and the tailoring enhances the shape of my body while hiding the imperfections.”
I turned slowly, letting the light catch on the expensive material.
“Any one of you would look like a million dollars if you wore the same dress and it was tailored to fit you perfectly. But the truth is, this dress makes my body look a lot better than it does in real life, so I’m going to change. Stick with me, and I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed a pair of worn gray sweats and a plain white tank top from my drawer—clothes that never made appearances on my feed—and hurried down the hall. As I peeled off the designer dress, it felt like shedding a skin I’d outgrown. The soft cotton of the tank slid over my head, the familiar sweats loose around my hips. For the first time in months, I could breathe.
When I returned to the camera, the viewer count had exploded to 10,000. Comments bubbled frantically at the bottom of the screen, a chaotic stream of questions about Axel, about the “big confession,” about a million things I couldn’t focus on. I swiped the comments away with a flick of my finger.
“By now, you may have heard rumors that I’ve been faking an engagement to Axel.”Thanks, Mathew, for posting a smear campaign. I’d decided I’d wanted to come clean on my own, but he’d beaten me to it. Ironically, most of my followers didn’t believe him, so I could have easily denied it.
I grabbed a brush and began dismantling the perfect waves in my hair. Waves that had taken an hour to create this morning. With quick, almost-violent movements, I scraped my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, making no effort to fix the stray strands jutting out at odd angles.
“People have accused me of staging this public whirlwind engagement to save face from a mistake I made.” I paused, meeting my own eyes in the phone screen. “I’m here to tell you … it’s absolutely true.”
