had to know who I was. Who we all were.
How long was this plan of hers in motion? How long has she been plotting her way into my life?
That night in my office, when I caught her at the safe, she said she was writing a piece on the rest of the guys, about the corruption and wealthy life of the elite here in Los Angeles. But that wasn’t why she was here at all.
Was she the one looking into the court proceedings again? I wonder idly if everything, from the first meeting at the hotel, was all a game to her, a part of her sick plan.
Suddenly, every odd occurrence now makes sense. The night I caught her sneaking around the resort, what was she looking for? Dirt on me, maybe. And that bullshit story she fed me about an ex-boyfriend. I should’ve known better. The first woman I allow into my life after years of being alone and she turns out to be a fucking liar. A damn good one.
Hypocritical coming from me, but I didn’t enter this relationship under false pretenses. I didn’t lie about who I was. I didn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t just to glean information. The more I think about it, the more I feel my anger rise.
I take a more thorough look at the file, and as I get deeper, the pit in my stomach grows. Everything she ever told me was a white lie. She told the truth, just not the whole truth. She twisted everything the way she wanted me to perceive it.
I freeze, my entire body locking up when I read over the court file. I know exactly what she came here for. Why she sought me out, why she wanted to know my friends and so much about the past.
Mackenzie Wright isn’t a gold digger.
No, she is far worse.
She is a scorned woman with a vendetta. She is a woman looking for justice for her twin sister. And in doing so, she thinks she has found her culprits. But she is wrong.
She has to be.
The next few days pass in a blur of boring white walls, doctor visits, help using the restroom, and therapy sessions with Dr. Aster. I’m still wary of her. Each time she walks into the room, my eyes narrow as I try to glean whatever is going on behind those calculating eyes.
When I’m not sleeping or staring at the bare walls, I’m thinking, and in here, with nothing but time? That’s such a dangerous thing to do. All I do is think about Madison. I think about the wreck. I think about the rest of the guys and wonder if they’re all lounging around, with smarmy grins on their faces while I rot in here. But most of all, I think of Baz.
I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he’s doing, and I hate myself for it.
When I close my eyes every night, it’s him I think about. I can still feel his hands on my skin. It is like my body doesn’t know what it’s like to survive without him. Day after day, in the turbulent chaos of my mind, I think about the way he made me feel and the warmth that would billow in my chest when he was near me. Then, those whispered words filter in, reminding me of all the bad, reminding me of just how foolish I was when I gave him pieces of myself. Because he was the monster I was after all along. All the parts of me still in love with Baz are dripping like nectar from my bones.
Flashes of those women on his bed prompt my heart to squeeze like in a vise. My chest tightens just thinking about him with another woman. Let alone two of them. I picture all the ways they could’ve pleasured him, and I grow angry. The backs of my eyes burn with emotion. I grit my teeth, trying to push those thoughts away. I shouldn’t care. Not after what he’s done.
I should hate him.
I need to hate him.
But deep down, I’m not sure I can do it.
When you love someone, it’s easy to fool yourself into believing it’s hate instead. They’re two sides of the same coin, both one and the same, and the two emotions are starting to blur together for me.
If I want to come out of being here with one thing, it’s to forget about my feelings for Baz and, instead, turn them