Something’s off. I see it in her shoulders, in the setof her jaw. She’s not glowing. She’s gritting. And they’re too drunk, too tangled in their own wicked fantasies to notice.
But I see that flicker, that fracture. The shadow behind the smile. And suddenly, I need to know.
What did they do to her?
What did she let happen?
What happened that wasn’t supposed to?
Because she looks like a woman unraveling in slow motion. And no one at that table notices.
But I do.
I keep my eyes on the mirror. Waiting. Watching. Listening. And when she speaks, it won’t be for them.
It’ll be for me.
And I’m listening.
Chapter 4
Laurette Devereux
There’s notenough alcohol in the world to prepare me for telling this story.
It’s been years since I sat in a confessional. I haven’t set foot in a booth since my early college days, back when poor decisions came with fake IDs and no paper trails. Good thing confession doesn’t need a priest or church. Just a good drink and the right audience. And tonight, I have both.
My besties have been patient. Barely. They’ve been sipping and speculating, trading theories while I sat here silently, letting them guess.
We’re several drinks in, the seats are warm, and their stares are sharper now. Less curious, more demanding.
They’re done waiting, and I can’t put this off any longer. No matter how much I want to bury the truth and never say the words out loud—it’s time.
I tip my glass back, sucking down the last of my drink. The bourbon burns the way I need it to. No chaser, no forgiveness.
There’s a hum under my skin I can’t shake.Not nerves. Not regret. Something uglier. Something sharp.
They came for entertainment, but what they’ll get is me peeling my soul back, inch by inch.
I rest my elbow on the table and lean closer. “All right, bitches. You want to hear what happened? You’re getting the whole fucking story.”
And it doesn’t have a happy ending.
They lean in like hungry wolves scenting blood, starving for the story, sharp teeth hidden behind pretty smiles, desperate for the carnage I’m about to serve.
“Start from the beginning,” Marissa says. “I missed our last girls’ night so I need all of it. How the hell did this even start?”
“The whole thing was so random.” But knowing what I know now? I’m not sure it was random at all.
“Jon David brought up a threesome, and I was pissed—obviously thinking he meant with another woman.”
“I mean… I think we’d all assume that,” Marissa cuts in, eyebrows raised.
“Well, it’s not what he meant. He was talking about a threesome with another man.”
“Ew,” Eden says, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head.
“Umm… yummy.Plot twist,” Brielle says, grinning.
