Haylie woke up choking. Her own scream echoed in the silent room. She was drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around her legs like ropes. The nightmare was still there-Chester's face, Bryan's voice, the sound of jail doors slamming shut.
The gray light of dawn was just beginning to seep through the blinds. She rubbed her face, trying to wipe away the remnants of the dream.
Then she heard it. A persistent buzzing. Not a phone, but a doorbell. And underneath it, the sharp, staccato click of camera shutters.
She scrambled out of bed, her ankle throbbing as she put weight on it. She stumbled to the window and peeked through the slats of the blind.
A crowd of people was clustered around the front door of the building. Men with cameras, women with microphones. A news van was parked illegally on the sidewalk.
Her stomach dropped. The vultures had found her.
She backed away from the window just as her bedroom door flew open. Brenda stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide. "They're here," Brenda whispered. "The paparazzi. Someone must have tipped them off about this address."
A voice filtered up from the street, amplified by a megaphone. "Miss Morales! Is it true you sold Steele Industrial secrets to the Logans?"
Another voice joined in. "Were you and Mr. Steele having an affair? Is that how you got access?"
Haylie pressed her hands over her ears, but she couldn't block out the sound. She felt exposed, violated. It was like standing naked in the middle of Times Square.
Brenda rushed to the windows, pulling the curtains shut and then yanking the blinds down. The room plunged into shadow. "Don't look at them," Brenda said, her voice firm. "They're parasites."
Haylie sank onto the edge of the bed. She took out her spare phone from under the mattress. It was buzzing with notifications.
She scrolled through them, her heart sinking lower with every message. Threats. Insults. Vile, degrading comments from strangers who had never met her.
She switched to her email. The top message was from Steele Industrial Human Resources. The subject line was cold and final: "Notice of Termination."
She opened it. The words blurred before her eyes. "Effective immediately... breach of contract... forfeiture of all benefits..." She scrolled down to the bottom. Her health insurance had been canceled. Her 401k was frozen. She had nothing.
A sob caught in her throat. She dropped the phone on the bed.
The TV in the living room was on. Brenda must have turned it on for background noise. The sound drifted down the hall.
"...breaking news this morning," a perky anchor was saying. "The Logan family has confirmed the engagement of their heir, Bryan Logan, to Tiffany Drexel, heiress to the Drexel fortune."
Haylie stood up. She walked slowly into the living room, drawn to the screen like a moth to a flame.
The footage showed Bryan and Tiffany walking through Central Park. They were holding hands, laughing. Bryan leaned over and kissed Tiffany's cheek. He looked at the camera and smiled, a confident, untroubled smile.
"We are very happy," Bryan's voice came through the speakers. "Tiffany and I have been friends for years. This is a natural step for our families."
No mention of Haylie. No mention of the three years they had spent together. It was as if she had never existed.
Haylie stared at the screen. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the sharp pain grounding her. A drop of blood welled up where her nail broke the skin.
The grief that had been crushing her chest all night suddenly evaporated, replaced by something cold and hard. Anger. Pure, unadulterated rage.
She wasn't going to let them do this to her. She wasn't going to roll over and die. She was going to fight. She was going to find out who set her up, and she was going to clear her name.
She stumbled back to the bedroom. She grabbed her laptop from the desk and flipped it open. She needed to get into the Steele Industrial server. She needed to pull her access logs, her project files, anything that could prove she didn't download that data.
The login screen appeared. She typed in her credentials. "Access Denied."
She tried again. "Account Suspended."
She picked up the phone and dialed the IT help desk. It rang twice before a bored voice answered. "IT desk."
"This is Haylie Morales," she said, her voice shaking but determined. "I need my access restored. There's been a mistake."
A pause. "Morales?" The voice turned cold. "We've been instructed to terminate all your access. Don't call again." Click.
The dial tone hummed in her ear. She threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces.
She was trapped. Every door was locked. Every path was blocked.
Brenda came in, carrying a first aid kit. She sat down next to Haylie and took her hand, gently cleaning the blood off her palm. "Ernest would be heartbroken to see you like this," Brenda said softly.
The mention of her father was like a knife to the heart. Her eyes filled with tears. He was the only family she had. He had worked two jobs his whole life to give her a chance. And now his daughter was a national disgrace.
She couldn't let him down. She had to keep going, if only for him.
She stood up, wincing at the pain in her ankle. "I'm getting out of here," she said. "I'll go to a hotel. I'll figure something out."
She changed into jeans and a hoodie, pulling the hood up to hide her face. She slipped out the back door and crept down the fire escape.
She hit the ground level and turned the corner toward the alley exit. Two men with cameras stepped out from behind a dumpster.
"There she is!" one of them shouted.
Flashbulbs exploded in her face, blinding her. She threw her arms up, turning away from the light. She turned to run back inside, but more reporters were blocking the alley.
"Miss Morales! Did you sleep with Chester Steele?"
"How much did Logan pay you?"
She shoved past them, her heart pounding in her ears. She scrambled back up the fire escape and slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt home.
She slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. She buried her face in her knees, the reality of her situation finally sinking in. She was a prisoner in her own home.
She heard the soft thud of footsteps. Brenda appeared at the end of the hall, holding a thick manila envelope. "This was just pushed under the front door," Brenda said, her voice hushed. "No name. No stamp."
Haylie stared at the envelope. It was thick, heavy, and felt like it contained something important. Something that might change everything.
