A smile curls at my mouth.
So someone thinks they’ve got dirt on me. They think I’ll run. They think I’m afraid.
Good.
Let them.
Because there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman who already burned her life down—and liked the smell of ash.
And if they’re watching?
I hope they’re taking notes.
Chapter Fourteen
Shae
The house is quiet in the curated way Blake prefers—no hums, no ticking clocks, nothing that reminds you time exists after midnight.
I’m on my back in bed, phone hovering above my face, the screen bleaching the ceiling into a dull white square. I should be asleep. Tomorrow has a schedule. Smiles. A narrative to maintain.
Instead, I’m on my burner.
No name. No photo. No fingerprints. Just a blank observer with a front-row seat to my own mythology.
I scroll.
#ShaeHalston
#FreeShae
#JusticeForShae
A video autoplays—me walking out of the courthouse, chin lifted, hair soft, lips painted red, eyes glossy in a way that reads wounded but resilient. The comments are a love letter written by strangers.
She’s so strong.
You can see the trauma.
The system failed her.
An icon.
I almost smile.
Then I see it.
Buried far enough down that it’s meant for someone who’s looking.
this woman has secrets.
My thumb stills.
I tapView replies.
evil doesn’t scream—it charms.
everyone worships her like she’s some icon but she’s just a low-rent fraud with a good camera angle.
