Chapter Five
The smile on Veronica's face was gone. The moment I made my little "joke," the mask of our friendship shattered. Her grip on my arm tightened, her nails digging into my skin, and she all but dragged me out of the ballroom and into a dimly lit antechamber.
"What in God's name was that?" she snarled, her voice a low, furious whisper. "Are you trying to ruin everything?"
I met her glare, my heart pounding but my expression defiant. I knew this was the moment our game ended and the real fight began. "I was just trying to create a little buzz," I said, forcing a casual shrug. "You said you wanted to make a statement, so I did. Everyone's talking now, aren't they?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the true monster beneath her facade. "You gave him the flash drive, didn't you? You didn't 'panic' and run. You gave it to him deliberately."
There was no point in lying anymore. Not to her. "What are you going to do, Veronica? Tell everyone that you made a fake flash drive with fake evidence to frame a man you hate? Who do you think they'll believe now?"
Her hand flew back, and for a moment, I braced myself for the slap. But she stopped, her arm trembling with rage. She wasn't an idiot. She knew a public scene would only bring more attention to herself. "You're a fool, Elara. You think you're so clever. But you don't know who you're messing with. You should have just kept your mouth shut and played your part. Now, you've made a very powerful enemy."
"Good," I said, the word coming out with a strength I didn't know I had. "At least this time, I know exactly who my enemies are."
I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the antechamber. My breath came in shallow, shaky gasps as I made my way to the entrance. My old life—the penthouse, my supposed friends, the lie I was living—was no longer an option. I had to disappear.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying as I pulled up the only name that mattered: Julian Hayes.
Julian Hayes wasn't a man given to wild assumptions. After Elara Vance handed him the flash drive and walked away, he had left the gala immediately, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and suspicion. He hadn't bothered to look at the contents until he was in the security of his home office. The fake report, the doctored numbers, all of it was exactly as Elara had described. But what truly mattered was the metadata on the files—the digital breadcrumbs that revealed who had created them. The IP address led straight back to Veronica Sterling's office server.
He replayed the conversation in his mind, her wide, desperate eyes and her quiet, earnest voice. Then he remembered the public scene she had created, her sharp, knowing comment to Veronica. Julian had spent years believing Elara Vance was a self-absorbed socialite. But the woman he had just met was different. She was a survivor, a desperate player in a game she was clearly losing. He realized he was no longer a target; he was now her only ally.
I stood on the sidewalk outside the gala, the night air a sharp contrast to the heat of the ballroom. I had no idea if he would even believe me. But it was a chance I had to take.
I called the number on the screen. My hand was shaking as I waited for him to pick up. "Julian," I said, the moment he answered. "I'm in trouble. I need your help."