“Catch you later,” Logan says to Morgan as he takes me to meet another one of his celebrity friends.
Ahead of us I catch a glimpse of Tom Holland. No way. Is he going to introduce us next? I’m so not ready for this. I should have worn a better dress.
I notice Victoria standing next to Tom and stop immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asks.
“I need to tell you something.”
Before I can utter another word, the witch herself materializes before us.
Her sleek gown clings to her stunning figure like wet silk, its metallic sheen catching light with every sway of her hips. Her mouth—painted deep red—drops open when she sees Logan’s arm around me but quickly twists into a snarl.
“You’d humiliate me like this?” she snaps at Logan. Her fingers curl into claws at her sides, and I half expect her to scratch my face at any moment.
Logan’s grip on my waist tightens, though his expression remains calm. “I tried to tell you a thousand times. We like each other.”
Those four words—simple, earnest, and full of quiet conviction—send my heart soaring despite everything.
Victoria scoffs, her jaw clenching so tightly I worry for her expensive veneers. “You’re both toast,” she promises, each word dripping with venom as she turns on her silver stiletto heel.
Nausea rises to my throat like the tide. I know exactly what she’s capable of. The contract she stole is probably in her clutch right now, ready to be leaked to the world.
I cup Logan’s face between my trembling hands. His bewildered gaze searches mine.
“You told me once to trust you,” I say. “Now I’m asking you to trust me.”
His brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
I glance left. Victoria’s already striding toward the DJ stage, motioning for him to kill the music. I’m out of time. It’s now or never.
“Please forgive me,” I tell Logan, then turn and run toward the stage.
I can’t let Victoria beat me to it. If she reveals what we’ve been up to, Logan’s career will take a hit. I make my way through the crowd, bumping shoulders and stepping on toes in my desperate race. Victoria reaches the steps just as I do, and for one suspended moment, we lock eyes—hers narrowed and glaring, mine wide with determination.
I lunge forward, snatching the microphone from DJ Khaled’s startled hands. My palms are slick with sweat as I face the sea of confused beautiful faces.
“Umm . . . can I have your attention, please?” My voice wavers over the speakers.
The music cuts abruptly. Conversations die. Champagne glasses stop clinking. I start hyperventilating as hundreds of stares shoot my way. My knees shake uncontrollably, but I can’t fall apart, not yet. I have to say what I came here to say, and then I will find a cave to hide in and never come out.
Victoria stands frozen at the foot of the stage, her expression oscillating between fury and fascination.
I spot Logan in the crowd, concern etched into the lines of his forehead as he pushes toward the stage.
“I need to tell you the truth,” I say, my knuckles white around the microphone. “Two months ago, I . . .” God, please help me through this moment. “I convinced Logan to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
A wave of gasps ripples through the room.
“It was selfish.” My voice cracks on the word. “I wanted to get back at someone who hurt me, and—” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat”—I blackmailed Logan to help me.”
Tears blur the flashing lights into kaleidoscope stars, but I push through. “I realize how wrong it was. It was petty and childish, and Logan deserves better than that. He’s kind, he’s talented, and he never asked to get dragged into my mess. I forced his hand . . . out of spite . . . out of jealousy.”
I find his eyes in the crowd now, those impossibly blue eyes that have looked at me with laughter, with heat, with something I was too afraid to name.
“I’m so sorry.”
I drop the microphone—it hits the stage with feedback that ricochets through the stunned silence—and run down the steps, heading for the exit. The crowd parts automatically, too shocked to even whisper.
