He was talking about my collar.Mydiamond collar.
The one I only wear during sex.
And I’veneverhad sex outside of the bedroom or anywhere the cameras can film.
Something is wrong.
I sense it deep in my gut.
Dread mixed with paranoia, a nauseous combination, carries my feet downward. I’m on autopilot, trying to shake Scott’s words and continue my daily routine.
Breakfast. A vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola and then I’m off to New York to introduce myself to the new Calloway Couture staff.
My heels clink against the hardwood in determined steps. Two stairs down and I stop, worried thoughts creeping back, despite my urgency to brush them away.
What the fuck are you doing, Rose?If Scott knows something, I need to confront him. Or talk to Connor. Ialmost turn around, but I hear the television from the living room below. Two more stairs down, and the voice becomes distinguishable.
“…a top story. Another Calloway girl in a scandal,” the news anchor says. “Thistime there’s legitimate proof.”
Daisy.
Something happened to Daisy.
I walk hurriedly, reaching the bottom of the staircase in no time. Loren, Ryke, Lily and Daisy sit on the couch together, their backs facing me. They watch the television above the fireplace, and I march further into the room to have a better look at what’s on screen.
“Oh shit,” Ryke says, seeing me first.
Loren quickly snatches the remote, and the television flickers to black.
I set my hands crossly on my hips and direct my hostility towards my sister’s boyfriend. “I’m not five-years-old, Loren,” I snap. “You can turn on the news.”Especiallyif it’s about Daisy.
“No,” Lo says, flipping the remote in his hands nervously. “I’d rather not.”
Ryke runs his fingers through his brown hair—a clear sign that he’s anxious too.
Lily and Daisy huddle together on the couch, cupping their hands by their mouths as they whisper. I frown and scan the area for Ben, Savannah, or Brett, but the camera crew is nowhere to be seen.
That’s…strange.
And why are my sisters acting like gossipmongers in front of me?
Unless…
I refuse to believe what’s right in my face. I don’t want to accept it yet.
I stomp over to Loren on the couch, my five-inch heels never letting me down. They keep my body sturdily upright, confident and fucking poised. I try to snatch the remote fromhis hand, but he holds onto the other end tightly—as if we’re about to have a tug-of-war.
I glower. “Let go, Loren, unless you’d like me to dislocate your arm.”
He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of making all these empty threats?”
I twist his arm, just like Connor taught me in the self-defense “class” and Lo winces. His grip loosens on the remote, and I take it quickly from his hand.
As he massages his shoulder, he says, “Bitch.”
“Yes, but I’m a bitch withrealthreats.” I power on the television. When the news pops up, I freeze. Again.
Fixed to the floor. Too cold to move.
