“That’s not true,” I say softly, remembering Ashley in the video, the only one not frozen in shock. “You tried to stop them, Ashley. You tried to help.”
Ashley stares at me for what feels like a long time. Finally, she says, “Fiona is quitting social media. She’s devastated by Carl’s death. I think she has PTSD from the whole thing, to be honest. She’s…not doing well.”
I can sympathize. My own experiences onEmpressclearly stemmed from a similar issue. Seeing figures that weren’t there, hearing drips, smelling salt. The drowned woman I thought was haunting me. I haven’t seen anything else since I mistook the seaweed in the ocean for Sage’s face the night I almost drowned. A therapist would probably tell me it was transference. After all, Elena didn’t drown. She was stabbed. My brain must have seen what it wanted to see, sick with shame from what I did to Sage. Guilt is powerful. I suspect whatever haunting I experienced on the boat is over now that I’ve acknowledged the truth about what I did to Sage, even if it was only to Viv. Doing so allowed me to release some internal pressure, some psychic wounds. It’s over.
It has to be.
“And how is Rachel?” I ask.
“She’s worried you’re going to change your mind and turn us in,” Ashley explains. “She’s stressed. She wants to go live in an ashram in Virginia for a little while to regroup.”
“She needs help, Ashley,” I tell her. “In that video, it was Rachel who held you back. She’s carrying that around.”
“I know,” Ashley says, her tone warning. “And she knows too. She’s…blaming herself, I think.” Ashley’s voice grows hoarse, and she glances away. “She asked for some time. Away from me. To figure things out on her own.”
“Oh, Ashley. I’m sorry.”
“No.” She shakes her head, meeting my eye again. “It’s good. We’ve been together our entire life. Side by side. Doing the same thing, trying to be our own person while still holding on to our twinhood. It can be…exhausting. She’s right. It’s time to see who we are away from each other.” Ashley pauses, sighs, running a hand across her forehead. “Ironically, it was Viv who encouraged us to branch out, carve out our own niches and identity online. BeforeEmpress, we were basically the same person. Living onEmpresschanged us. Now it’s time to figure out in what ways.”
I remember Ashley’s implication that she got plastic surgery in order to differentiate herself from her twin. How she seemed, at times, to be intentionally behaving in an abrasive way, as if she was trying to directly oppose Rachel’s softer, maternal energy. Twins are so often seen as a package deal instead of two separate people. It’s not ideal that trauma has forced Rachel and Ashley apart, but maybe they’re right. Maybe this time will allow them to understand themselves—and their relationship—better.
I nod. “That makes sense. But still. I think she should talk to someone if she’s struggling that much. She doesn’t have to admit…the truth. Survivor’s guilt is a real thing.”
“I know,” Ashley admits. “And I think she will. Talk to someone, I mean. When she’s ready. But you’ve got to understand, Rachel was protecting her family. Not this bullshitEmpressfamily. Her real family. Me and our mother. She’s the older twin, did you know that? By two minutes. She was looking out for the people she loves. That’s why she did what she did.”
Rachel’s room onEmpresswas covered in photos of her family.
“I get it,” I reply. “I guessEmpressis no more.”
Ashley pauses, then swallows hard. “Charlie, I need to explain why we were all like that with Viv—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt her. “You don’t have to.”
“None of us could go back to our previous lives,” Ashley says anyway. “We were all broke and desperate when we joinedEmpress. Viv made sure of that. It’s how she controlled us. We hated what happened to Elena, but Viv had us by the throats. If I could take it back, do something to save Elena, I would.”
“I know,” I say earnestly, because I do. “Look, I barely survived a few days with Viv. I can’t imagine how screwed up I’d be after a year with her. Trust me, I understand.”
“Yeah.” Ashley locks eyes with me. “Well, we ended up in the same place anyway. Now we’re jobless again.”
“Is Trey scuttlingEmpressor something?”
“I don’t know about that,” Ashley replies. “But Trey isn’t going to renew our contracts; he’ll say this whole thing was bad press. We’ll never be able to go back to Royal Yachts.”
And there it is, the idea that has been floating around my head, half-formed, ever since reading the email from Sage’s agent. It’s ballooning up now, full and ready to be popped.
I know what my next move is.
“Trey got away with a lot on that boat,” I say casually, waiting to see Ashley’s reaction.
It’s instant and vicious. Her eyes narrow and lips snarl. “He sure did. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in letting him get away with it.”
I grin. “We’re on the same page.”
Ashley clocks my expression and straightens in her seat. “There are millions of eyes on us right now, Charlie,” she says slowly. “We can either let the attention fade away or we can capitalize on it.”
“I want to write a book,” I tell her. “AboutEmpress.”
“A takedown,” Ashley says, voice tangy and dripping like the juice from a green apple. She understood so quickly. I was right to confide in her. “Of Royal Yachts. Of Trey Bardi. An investigative social media exposé.”
