Gemma grabbed Katelyn’s wrist and pulled her into a small, empty lounge room just off the hallway.
Katelyn followed eagerly, assuming Gemma wanted to finalize the escape route away from the security cameras. She quickly locked the door behind them.
Gemma collapsed onto the velvet sofa. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as if she were sobbing.
Katelyn poured a glass of warm water from the side table and pressed it into Gemma’s hands. “You have to be brave, Gemma. Go to him.”
Gemma peeked through the gaps in her fingers. She saw the raw contempt pulling at the corners of Katelyn’s mouth.
Gemma reached for the glass. She let her hand jerk deliberately, spilling half the water down the front of her silk dress.
“Oh no!” Katelyn gasped, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the fabric. “Don’t worry about Brion. He’s just a heartless tyrant anyway. He doesn’t love you.”
A hot spike of pure rage shot through Gemma’s veins at the insult to Brion. Her fingers twitched, fighting the urge to crush the glass in her hand.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “But if I leave… what happens to the Vargas family?”
“Your dad is rich.” Katelyn waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll figure out how to handle Wall Street.”
Gemma pulled her own phone from her clutch. “I need to text Jair. I need to make sure he’s really there.”
Katelyn immediately leaned over, eyes glued to the screen, desperate to monitor the prey.
Gemma tilted the phone slightly. The chandelier’s glare hit the privacy screen protector, turning the display pitch black to anyone not staring dead center.
Her thumbs flew across the digital keyboard at blinding speed.
She wasn’t texting Jair. She wasn’t hacking anything. She was inputting Katelyn’s backup email address and the password Katelyn had drunkenly let slip in her past life—a combination of her mother’s birthday and her first love’s name. One of the countless messes Gemma had cleaned up for her. Katelyn’s cloud drive swung wide open.
“I’m just so scared.” Gemma kept her voice a whisper, eyes locked on the loading bar.
Katelyn stomped her foot in frustration. “If you don’t go right now, he’s going to die, Gemma!”
The progress bar hit one hundred percent.
A flood of hidden bank statements and encrypted chat logs populated Gemma’s screen.
She tapped twice, compressed the files, and sent them directly to her secure offshore email server. The evidence was locked down.
She set the phone face down on the velvet cushion.
When she lifted her head, the tears were gone. The trembling had stopped. Her face was carved from ice.
Katelyn took a step back, startled by the sudden drop in temperature.
Gemma stood. She slowly brushed the water droplets off her dress. Every movement was precise, calculated, terrifying.
“Are… are you ready?” Katelyn’s voice faltered. “The media is waiting.”
“How are you liking the new limited-edition Hermès Birkin?” Gemma asked.
The color drained from Katelyn’s face so fast it looked like a special effect. That bag was bought with money she’d siphoned from Gemma’s PR budget to fund negative press.
Gemma didn’t stop. She recited a string of numbers. “Four, zero, nine, two. Cayman Islands.”
Katelyn’s body jerked like she’d been electrocuted.
Gemma took a slow step forward. “Using my money to fund my boyfriend. Tell me, Katelyn, does it feel good?”
Katelyn’s knees gave out. She stumbled backward until her spine slammed hard against the lounge door. Her eyes were wide, white, filled with absolute terror.
