Instead, I say, “You know what I’ve learned from this little experiment in character assassination they call a justice system?”
Declan raises a brow, amused. “Enlighten me.”
“That the world wants a victim or a villain, and the only difference is how you tell the story.” I lean in. “I tell stories very well.”
He huffs a laugh. “You don’t say.”
I smile, sweet as church wine. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”
“Next?”
“For me.”
His gaze slips away for a beat—just long enough to betray him. “I think about it all the time.”
Good boy.
He thinks he’s in love with me. Or maybe he’s just lonely. Love and loneliness wear the same face if you squint.
He opens the cell. “Come on. You’ve got recording time with Harper.”
I follow him down the hall, past women who’ve stopped pretending not to stare. I feel their eyes tracking me—jealous, curious, hungry.
Everyone wants to be remembered.
I’m just the one who figured out how.
* * *
“Hey, Shae,” Harper chirps over the phone line. “You ready to dive into Chapter Four today?”
Chapter Four. The one where I “reveal” how I was gaslit, manipulated, and betrayed by the very systems meant to protect me.
It’s a good episode.
“Absolutely,” I purr. “Let’s begin.”
I launch into my script: how Taylortrippedandfellonto the loaded syringe of paralytic that stopped his heart. How a pack of misogynist investigators decided I was guilty and made sure the evidence agreed. Then Kelly—how I was only trying to care for her. How I didn’t know she was my mother until it was too late. How she manufactured lies about my cruelty out of some warped need for revenge.
I let my voice tremble. Not too much. Just enough.
“I was desperate,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to lose her again.”
Harper is crying. I can hear her sniff, hear the tissue. “You’re so brave for talking about this.”
Brave. Like a soldier. Like a cancer survivor.
God, she’s stupid. But she’s useful.
Harper thinks empathy is armor. It’s actually a neon target. People orbit her like she’s a warm lamp in a dark room—no effort, no angles, no blood sacrifice required. I had to earn attention the hard way: sharp elbows, softer lies, a little skin, a little pain.
She just exists and people line up to protect her like it’s their civic duty.
I tell myself it doesn’t bother me. I tell myself I’m evolved.
But the thought slips in anyway, neat and brutal: if the world insists on handing out love for free, maybe it needs a reminder of the cost.
When I finish, Harper signs off with her usual tagline—“Because everyone deserves to be heard.”
