Layla leaned into him, allowing his momentum to carry her along, all the while fighting the impulse to cry at the sheer frustration of it all. With so many cameras centered on her, she couldn’t afford to give in to tears. The press thrived on capturing vulnerable moments. They were all in pursuit of the same thing—the rare instant when the mask dropped and the celeb inadvertently revealed an alarming humanity. Beyoncé had a pimple once, and the internet nearly exploded.
While Layla’s popular celebrity-bashing blog, Beautiful Idols, had fueled her financial independence and helped lessen the burden from her struggling artist father, she had no doubt that what was happening to her now was karmic payback for once being a player in the very industry that now stalked her.
She swallowed hard and burrowed deeper into her father’s side. She felt shaky, oversensitive, but she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. The breakdown would have to wait until later.
“Hey, H.D.! Over here! Are you standing by your daughter even though she’s a murderer?”
Layla’s father grew tense—a sure sign that the primal fight instinct had kicked in. Layla would prefer he chose flight.
Dad, she started to say, don’t, it’s not worth it.
But before she could get to the words, he was already turning away and securing her inside the car.
“Tell us whose body it is!” another pap screamed, his voice muted when her dad shut the door, shielding her from the onslaught.
“What’s he talking about?” Layla watched her dad settle in.
“It wasn’t Madison.”
It took a moment to process the words. She repeated them back to him just to make sure.
“Wasn’t her.” He shook his head and slowly maneuvered through the retreating throng. “That’s why they released you. I’m sorry, I assumed they would’ve told you.” He turned his focus back to the road.
Layla gnawed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide what the news meant. “I figured you’d posted bail.”
Her dad pressed his lips together and gripped the wheel hard. “No bail. They refused it.”
Layla screwed her eyes shut and allowed the good news to sink in. Her chest loosened, her breath flowed with less restriction, as the eternal flame of optimism began to burn through what had come to seem like an impenetrable fog of despair.
If the body wasn’t Madison’s, then the LAPD could no longer charge her with murder.
The fact that they’d let her go probably meant they’d deemed her entirely innocent.
She rolled the thoughts around in her head until they gathered enough strength to edge the darker ones out.
“Did they ID the body?” She studied her dad, realizing that while it might not be Madison, there was still a dead body. “Was it Paul Banks?” The body had been found on his property, so it was entirely possible. Maybe she wasn’t in the clear, after all.
“It’s an adult male. That’s all so far.”
“And the others—Aster, Ryan, and Tommy—are they out too?”
Her dad shrugged. “I got the call to come get you, that’s all.”
Layla slid her fingers beneath her sunglasses and rubbed the delicate skin around her eyes. The good news—it wasn’t Madison—was delivered in potentially bad news—it could still be Paul, who was connected to Madison—and Layla had no idea how to read it. All she knew for sure was that for the moment she was free. She just hoped it would last.
The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. H.D. had never been one to dodge the important conversations, but for now, Layla figured he was giving her space. The talk would come later.
Her dad pulled into the driveway
and waited for the garage door to roll open as Layla nervously scanned the street, searching for signs of paparazzi. Deeming it clear, she seized the moment to slip free of the car and tilt her face directly into the sunlight.
“What’re you doing?” Her dad’s worried tone prompted her to laugh.
“Making good on my promise,” she said. “I’ll never take my freedom for granted again.”
She lowered her gaze to meet his. The beginnings of a smile were lifting her lips when her phone chimed from inside the plastic bag she carried, and the latest text, in a long stream of them, popped onto her screen.
There was an image of a cartoon cat, this one with a deep, jagged gash that stretched across his throat. Just below were the words: