I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach empties. My knees hit the tile, and I'm retching, gripping the porcelain, sweat dripping down my forehead, and tears streaming down my cheeks, and the sound of the video still playing in the other room because I didn't pause it before I ran.
I can hear myself. I can hear Ace.
I throw up again. And again. Until there's nothing left and I'm just heaving over an empty stomach with my whole body shaking.
I press my forehead against the cold tile floor. Try to breathe. The air won't go in. It hits my throat and stops, trapped by the tightness in my chest, and I'm gasping, pulling at nothing, drowning in a room full of oxygen.
He was watching. The whole time. He was watching. He knows about Ace. He’s seen our conversations, probably heard them too.
I think of the other women. Abigail. Chloe. Sabrina. How many of them had no choice but to say yes?
Or did they say no? Are their videos live?
I crawl back to the bedroom on my hands and knees. Stop the video. Stop the noise. The screen is smeared with myfingerprints, and I can barely see it through the blur of tears and nausea.
A message.
Hudson: I'll send this to everyone you love. Every person you've ever known. Every contact in your phone, every follower on your social media, every media outlet that covers your boyfriend's sport. I will make this public. Right now it's secure. No one can view it until I choose to make it visible. Are you prepared to do this to yourself? To your family? To Ace? And the other girls? I’ll release theirs too. It will be all your fault.
I press my hand over my mouth to stop the sound that's coming out of me.
Hudson: Marry me, and I can make this go away. I won't release anything about him or his family's dealings. They will be safe. Their operation stays buried. These are the new terms of our deal. If you reject this, I will destroy everything you love, Harper. And I'll start with the video.
I pull my knees to my chest and shove my face against my thighs and try to silence the sobs ripping through me. My whole body convulses with it. The shame. The violation. The image of my parents seeing that video.
Of Ace seeing it. Knowing he’s on there too. It’s not just me.
Ace. He’s about to ride for a world title, not knowing that private moments between us have been captured and cataloged and are sitting on a server controlled by a man who will burn it all down if I don't walk into a church in four weeks.
The thought of telling Ace what I’ve done, what my decisions have done for us. He’ll lose respect. Everyone who watches him ride, who loves him, will know me. Will have seen things they shouldn’t.
If I say no, the video goes public. My parents see it. Ace's sponsors see it. The world sees the most intimate, vulnerable moments of my life turned into ammunition.
If I say no, Hudson will release whatever he’s learned from hacking me. It risks the Sterlings’ lives. I can’t risk hurting all those other women.
If I say yes, it all goes away. Hudson gets his company. His parents get their wedding. The video stays buried. The Sterlings stay safe. Ace stays free.
And I lose everything.
I look at the phone in my hands. At Hudson's message. At the little A around my neck, sitting against my chest like a heartbeat.
I think about Ace. About the way he looked at me this morning in the kitchen. The way he tucked my hair behind my ear and saidgo pack, I'll see you at the arena, you better be screaming my name.The way he grinned. The way he kissed me. The way he has no idea that the woman he loves is sitting on her childhood bedroom floor, destroyed, holding a phone that contains the end of everything they've built.
I can't let him find out. Not today. Not before the biggest ride of his life. Not ever, if I can help it.
Because Ace would burn the world down for me. And I can't let him. Not when the world burning means losing his family, his freedom, his nephew, everything that makes him who he is.
So I'll burn instead.
I wipe my face. Stand up. Walk to the mirror. I look wrecked. Puffy eyes, blotchy skin, mascara down my cheeks. I run the tap. Splash cold water on my face. Again. Again. Until the rednessfades enough to pass as allergies or tiredness or anything other than what it actually is.
I pick up the phone. Open the message thread.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a long time.
Then I type three words.
Me: I'll do it.
