Chapter4 Jewel Whitmore drifted down the street in a daze. Her phone kept chiming, alerts, messages, and an incoming call from her best friend. "Jewel, where are you? Have you checked your phone? Your photos are everywhere, call Weston, get him to take them down!" Her chest tightened. Had Weston already released the photos he'd threatened her with? Hands shaking, she unlocked her screen, then the world went black around the edges and her knees nearly gave out. Her high-definition private photos were plastered to the top of the trending pages on Chatter and StreamIt. The comments were filth. "No wonder Harbor City's golden boy can't quit her, look at that body." "Those coy little looks? I'd be obsessed too." "Where's Mr. Vale? Of course, men stay protected." Tears blurred Jewel's vision. "Jewel, are you listening?" Chloe Nash's voice kept pleading in her ear. "Find Weston. Or call Grayson!" Jewel stared into the night like a sleepwalker. After a long silence, her voice came out raw. "Don't call them. It was them." She hurled the phone to the pavement; glass cracked like a gunshot. She crouched on the curb and cried until her throat burned, then forced herself to stand. She had taken two steps when a man slid into her path, eyes gleaming with malice. "Well, if it isn't Mrs. Vale from the front page," he drawled. "Out here bawling in the middle of the night, lonely, are we?" He came close and lifted her chin with a rough, grimy hand. "Back off." Jewel slapped his hand away, eyes rimmed red, and tried to push past. He grabbed her, grinning. "Nice figure." "Can't sleep? Did Weston kick you out? Maybe I could..." His words cut off with a howl. Jewel had ripped off a heel and smashed the point straight into his forehead. Blood trickled. Veins bulged in his temple. "You filthy slut, you'll pay for that!" His fist swung for her head. Barefoot and blinded by tears, Jewel ran. A familiar car slid into view beside her, the long, elegant silhouette of a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Through the window she glimpsed Weston behind the wheel. In the passenger seat, Ivy Sloane lounged with a languid smile. "Dirty. Don't look," Ivy murmured, tilting her head to block the glass. Her voice was syrupy, smug. "Which asylum did that stray escape from? No shoes. Disgusting." "Even if she's crazy, you're not allowed to look," she cooed. "In this life, your eyes belong only to me." Weston's wavering gaze slid away. A satisfied laugh drifted through the half-open window. "Jealous again? I'll deal with you later tonight." The Phantom surged forward and vanished. Jewel stared after the taillights, tears spilling hot and helpless. She had never imagined the day would come when Weston would look at her and see contamination. The thug was on her again. His reek closed over her; his mouth lunged toward her cheek. "Help!" She thrashed and clawed, half-wild with terror. "Touch me and Weston Vale, Grayson Sloane, won't spare you!" she choked out. The man only grew more excited. "Here's a secret, Jewel, Weston and Grayson sent me." As if to crush her last hope, he clamped a hand over her mouth and, right in front of her, dialed Weston. "Is it done?" Weston's voice rasped through the speaker, edged with impatience, as if he despised being interrupted. "It's done," the man sneered. "Then get lost." The line went dead. Rage roared through Jewel's chest, metallic as blood. The man she'd once believed would die for her had not only leaked her private photos, he had arranged this. "Accept your fate, Mrs. Vale," the thug hissed, lowering his head, An iron grip yanked him back. "You piece of trash, let go of her!" The voice was familiar, fierce, and protective. Jewel's taut body finally slackened. She closed her eyes, and collapsed into darkness.