The sports car tore through the empty streets of New York.
Christabel gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned stark white.
The traffic light ahead flashed yellow, then red.
She slammed her foot on the brake pedal. The tires screeched against the asphalt, vibrating the entire chassis of the car.
The drug hit her like a tidal wave. Her vision swam. The streetlights blurred into long streaks of yellow.
She hit the button to roll down the windows. The freezing night wind slapped her face, stinging her cheeks, but it kept her from passing out.
The light turned green. She stomped on the gas again.
Relying entirely on muscle memory and sheer willpower, she finally steered the car through the massive iron gates of the Sanders estate.
She didn't even bother parking properly. She threw the car into park the second it stopped moving. She shoved the door open and stumbled toward the main house, leaving the keys in the ignition.
Back at the Grand Hotel, chaos erupted.
Leo stood outside the presidential suite with three burly security guards. A swarm of paparazzi, tipped off by the anonymous message, crowded the hallway.
The reporters buzzed with excitement. Their camera flashes were already going off, lighting up the corridor like a strobe light.
Leo gave the head of security a subtle nod.
The guard swiped the master keycard. The heavy door clicked open.
The reporters shoved their way inside like a pack of starving wolves.
The lights in the suite blazed brightly.
Jaylon lay on the expensive carpet. He was stripped down to his boxers, completely unconscious, his mouth hanging open.
The reporters gasped.
The sound of a hundred camera shutters firing at once filled the room. They captured every humiliating angle of the Montgomery heir.
Standing in the dark shadows of the connecting bedroom, Glenwood watched the circus unfold. A satisfied, cruel curve touched his lips.
At the Sanders estate, Christabel pushed the heavy oak front door open. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang.
The lights in the main living room were still on.
Hilary sat on the velvet sofa, wearing a silk nightgown. She was chewing nervously on her manicured thumbnail, waiting for the phone call that would confirm Christabel's ruin.
She jumped at the sound of the door.
When Hilary saw Christabel standing there-flushed, sweating, and clearly drugged-a flash of wild joy lit up her eyes. She quickly hid it behind a mask of deep concern.
Hilary rushed forward.
"Christabel! Oh my god, what happened to you?" Hilary shrieked, intentionally making her voice loud enough to carry up the grand staircase.
Christabel stared at Hilary's fake, worried face. The memory of Hilary stepping on her broken fingers burned in her brain.
Christabel raised her right hand high into the air.
Smack.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed sharply in the quiet house.
Christabel put every ounce of her remaining strength into the slap.
Hilary's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly raised on her pale cheek.
Hilary grabbed her face, her eyes wide with genuine shock. She stared at Christabel, completely paralyzed.
Rapid footsteps pounded down the wooden stairs.
Arthur and Eleanor, woken by the noise, rushed into the living room.
The second Hilary saw them, tears spilled over her eyelashes.
"Mom! Dad!" Hilary sobbed, her voice trembling perfectly. "I was just trying to help her, and she hit me!"
Eleanor ran past Hilary without even looking at her. She grabbed Christabel's arms, her face pale with panic.
"Christabel, baby, what's wrong? You're burning up!" Eleanor cried.
Arthur marched over, his face dark with anger. "What the hell is going on here?"
Christabel leaned her heavy body against her mother. She kept her cold eyes locked onto Hilary.
She forced her tongue to form the words. Her voice was raspy and freezing cold.
"Someone spiked my drink tonight," Christabel said. "They tried to destroy me."
Arthur's face turned purple with rage. The veins in his neck popped. "Who did this? I'll kill them!"
Hilary's entire body gave a violent, uncontrollable shudder. She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the floor. She didn't dare look at Christabel.
Christabel didn't point her finger at Hilary. Not yet.
Instead, she offered Hilary a slow, meaningful smile.
"Luckily," Christabel whispered, her voice carrying through the room. "I got away before the bad guys got what they wanted."
The last bit of her strength vanished.
The darkness swallowed her. Christabel's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed completely into Eleanor's arms.
The living room exploded into chaos.
Arthur screamed for the butler to call the family doctor. Eleanor sobbed, holding her daughter's face.
Hilary stood frozen on the edge of the rug. She watched her adoptive parents fawn over Christabel. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that they broke the skin.
At that exact moment, across the city, the internet caught fire.
The photos of Jaylon Montgomery, half-naked and passed out in a hotel room, hit the top trending spot on every social media platform.
