---- Chapter 6 | woke up to the blinding flash of a camera. My eyes struggled to focus. | was in a hotel room, sprawled on a bed. And | was naked. The thin sheet barely covered me, and the air was cold against my exposed skin. A man stood at the foot of the bed, holding a professional- looking camera. He was thin and greasy, with a smirk that made my skin crawl. "Good morning, sunshine," he sneered. "Or should | say, good evening." Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. | tried to pull the sheet up, to cover myself, but my limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. The drugs were still in my system "Who are you? Where am I?" | croaked. "Name's Leo. And you're in the penthouse suite," he said, snapping another photo. Flash. "Your husband is very generous. Rented the best room in the house for our little... photo shoot." My husband. Garrison. The word was a curse. "Garrison did this?" | whispered, the betrayal so immense it was hard to breathe. ---- "He's a smart man," Leo said, circling the bed like a vulture. "Always thinking ahead. An insurance policy, he called it. In case you ever get any... funny ideas." He was taking pictures. Pictures he would use to blackmail me, to silence me, to prove | was an unfaithful, unstable wife. It was the final piece of his plan to utterly destroy me. He leaned in close, his breath smelling of stale coffee. "He said to get a lot of shots. Make you look real comfortable." "Get away from me!" | screamed, the sound weak and hoarse. | tried to scramble away, but | was too weak. He just laughed and kept shooting. Flash. Flash. Flash. Each one was a physical violation, searing my shame into my memory. When he was finally done, he tossed my dress onto the bed. "Get dressed. The show's over." | numbly pulled the fabric over my cold skin, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. | felt hollowed out, a shell of a person. As | stumbled toward the door, he called out, "You know, for what it's worth, | think your husband is an idiot." | stopped, my hand on the doorknob. "He's got a woman like you," Leo said, looking me up and down, "and he's trading you in for that plastic bitch downstairs. ---- Men are stupid." "He's not my husband," | said, the words coming out clear and cold. "Not anymore." | walked out of the room, my body trembling, my mind a maelstrom of humiliation and rage. | took the service elevator down to the lobby, avoiding the main ballroom. As | stepped outside into the cool night air, a loud bang made me jump. Then another, and another. Fireworks. Brilliant bursts of red and gold exploded in the sky. | looked across the street to the park where a lavish outdoor party was in full swing. It was Keyla's birthday. Of course. This whole night, this whole memorial, had just been the pre-party for her celebration. | saw them then, standing on a raised platform. Garrison and Keyla. He was holding a microphone. "To the most incredible woman | have ever known," he said, his voice amplified for the crowd. "Happy birthday, Keyla." He then held up the sapphire necklace-the one he had bought with my body, with my dignity. He fastened it around her neck. The crowd roared with approval. They chanted for them to kiss. Garrison smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss, captured by dozens of flashing cameras. ---- The sight of it, the necklace gleaming on her skin, his lips on hers, finally broke me. | bent over at the waist and vomited onto the pristine sidewalk. The disgust was a physical thing, purging the last remnants of my old life from my body. | straightened up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. | watched as they got into a chauffeured car, laughing and waving to their admirers. They drove off into the night, leaving me alone on the curb. My phone buzzed. A text from Garrison. Had to take Keyla home. Don't wait up. | stared at the message, at the casual cruelty of it. | deleted it, then deleted his contact information. | turned and started walking, my steps unsteady at first, then stronger. A light drizzle began to fall, cool and cleansing. | didn't know where | was going. | just knew | was walking away from my life as Janette Gardner. She was dead. They had killed her. And in her place, someone else was being born. Someone who. would not forget. Someone who would not forgive. The rain fell harder, plastering my hair to my face, but | didn't care. It was washing me clean. It was the beginning. Freelance photographer Violet Beck is forced into an engagement with CEO Roy Payne. He is everything her wild heart rebels against: proper, predictable, and painfully kind. But love has a way of devel...