“You’re not the only one who had expectations,” Taylor said. “The difference is that I was happy with what I got. I looked at you after five years and I saw that my friend—my family—was still there.” He met her gaze. “Clearly, that wasn’t enough for you.”
But wasn’t this the clearest evidence that the three of them were better off alone? Taylor had lost Andino and then managed to get Olsen custody without bail. He would accomplish even more without Saffi holding him back. Without her failing to live up to his already low expectations. The painful thought slotted into her mind so easily, she’d had to have known it all along. Yesterday was the last time Saffi would ever speak to Andino, and this would be the last time she ever spoke to Taylor. Even in death, they were always paired.
Taylor had mentioned the kids needing a role model, but really there was no one better than him. He was the best chance they had at a better fate. Maybe, years in the future, Saffi would see all threeof them standing side by side at an agency of their own. Doing what Saffi, Andino, and Taylor never could.
And then she was struck by the sudden reminder thatMia Martinez was dead.Saffi had managed to doom both herself and the generation after.
Something fell atop Saffi’s cheek and when she reached up, she realized it was a tear. Her vision was blurry. Still, she could see that Taylor had turned away from her, his shoulders shaking with effort. The tears didn’t stop after that, only gaining momentum.
You always cried the hardest watching someone else trying notto.
Chapter Forty-One
September 9, 2026
Dimple awoke toa pounding migraine and bright white lights. This was too familiar. She closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself before trying again. It only made her headache worse, but Dimple needed to find her. She turned to her right.
Nothing.
Then left.
There was someone there, but not Saffi, like Dimple had been hoping. Instead, it was Julie sitting in a black chair. Noticing that she was awake, her manager rose and came to stand beside her, arms crossed.
“Good news,” Julie said. “Bullet didn’t hit anything vital. You passed out from blood loss, though, and they had to do a transfusion. You might need help walking for a while, but other than that you’ll make a full recovery.”
“What are you doing here?” Dimple’s voice came out hoarse.
“You’re the one who put me down as your emergency contact,” Julie said, eyebrows raised.
There was a question in her tone, one that Dimple didn’t waste her energy answering. The hospital staff had forced her to complete the form after she’d fallen from the balcony. Not expecting to ever need to put them to use, Dimple had put down Julie and Priyal.
“Just so you know,” Julie said, pushing up her red glasses, “Iwould’ve come either way. You’ve been through a lot this year, haven’t you? Poor girl.”
In all the years they’d worked together, Dimple had never heard Julie say something like that. Still, she’d somehow managed to makepoor girlsound like corporate lingo.
“I’ve been meaning to ask if you want to hire a security team,” Julie said. “You can afford it.”
Dimple tried to shake her head, but it only made the migraine worse. “Priyal—” she began but her throat closed up before she could say anything else.
Julie nodded knowingly, taking a seat at the corner of Dimple’s cot. “Did she tell you she was planning on quitting before she—?”
“Yes,” Dimple said. “I don’t want another assistant.”
Julie folded her hands together and made a motion as though resting them atop her desk before remembering where she was. Instead, she placed them in her lap and stared at Dimple consideringly. She seemed to deliberate back and forth over something before asking, “Do you know why I pushed you to hire Priyal?”
Dimple sucked in a shaky breath. “Because I am useless when it comes to social media.” It was an almost exact recitation of what Julie had told her when Dimple had asked her the same question.
“You’re forgetting that you could barely afford one at the time,” Julie quipped. “I could’ve forced you to learn how to use the applications yourself. With how driven you are, I know you would’ve done it. No use in wasting the money.”
“Then why?” Dimple asked.
“Because, Dimple, you were depressed. Don’t give me that look—it’s true. You’d been in the industry for five years and made plenty of enemies, but no friends. You were lonely. And I happened to know a girl who needed work, yes, but who was also lonely. I thought you might be good for each other.”
When she’d killed her aunt and uncle all those years ago, Dimple had relived their abuse in her nightmares for a long time afterward. Sometimes, on her worst nights, she still saw them now. With Irene, Dimple felt only guilt when she watched her bleed out in her nightmares.
With Priyal, however, Dimple just felt numb. She hadn’t cried. Images of Priyal’s body didn’t haunt her every waking moment. There was just…nothing. Perhaps someone like her wasn’t capable of emotions any longer.
“Priyal had been in LA for a couple years already and she had no friends,” Julie continued. “She was worse off than you even, since she wasn’t getting any roles.”
