Aster groaned. Layla never knew when to quit.
“It’ll be my word against yours.” Madison glared, leaving no doubt she meant every word. “Who do you think they’ll believe?”
Layla fell silent.
“Also,” Madison said, “I need you to refrain from calling Larsen. For my own safety, I have to insist.”
“And what about my safety? What about the upcoming trial, and all the haters and trolls sending me death threats?” Aster glared.
“All I’m asking for is a little more time. I promise I won’t let this get to trial.”
Aster forced a sarcastic grin. “Tell me, just how much are your promises worth these days?”
“It’s all I’ve got.” Madison shrugged. “Clearly, you’re the one in the driver’s seat. You decide where this goes.”
Aster retrieved her phone and aimed it at Madison. Instinctively, Madison lifted a hand to cover her face as though Aster was some particularly aggressive paparazzo.
“Think of this as insurance,” Aster said, snapping a series of pics. “A picture is worth a thousand words. And, in this case, I’ll use it to ensure you don’t go back on yours. So, if you could please just lower your arm and say cheese, I can get the money shot, and you can tell us your story.”
“Fine,” Madison said, dropping her arm to her side. “But for the record, this is a rage room, not a sex room. When we’re done, I’ll be happy to let you use it. Seems like it might do you some good.”
TWENTY-FIVE
CANDLE IN THE WIND
Madison was used to being stared at, but this was entirely different. She’d just gotten everyone seated in the den, and now they were looking at her, waiting for the show to begin.
It was the most nerve-racking performance she could ever imagine. Her entire future rested on her ability to sway them into believing everything she said. Judging by the skeptical looks on their faces, it wouldn’t be easy.
They were searching for the sort of truth no one had yet been able to uncover. Madison was prepared to tell them a story based on some semblance of facts, though every word would need to be chosen with care. One false move and Aster would call Larsen before Madison could stop her. Still, she had no intention of sharing her real life story with anyone, ever.
She settled onto one of the club chairs, pulled a gray crocheted throw over her lap, and propped her ankle onto the coffee table. Partly because keeping it elevated really did help lessen the swelling, but mostly because the visual reminder of the physical toll she’d paid might veer them toward kindness.
It’d been so long since she’d last seen them in person, and though they looked more or less the same, clearly the summer had changed them.
With her long, glossy dark hair, smooth olive complexion, vibrant brown eyes, and the uncanny way she had of elevating a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt into a runway-ready look, Aster was as stunning as ever. Though strangely, she also seemed happy.
Happy wasn’t a word that easily applied to a girl like Aster. Snooty, privileged, self-satisfied—those were the words that fit. Happy was a yellow smiley face, a red Mylar balloon floating high in the sky. Happy was a triple-scoop waffle cone dipped in chocolate and covered with sprinkles. And tonight, Aster seemed like the happiest girl alive.
It wasn’t just the relief of having the evidence needed to prove her innocence—it was also because of Ryan and the way he stayed glued to her side. The two of them moved in unspoken tandem, an intimate choreography known only to them.
Unlike Aster, Layla was the opposite of happy. Which wasn’t surprising considering Madison’s experience of their previous run-ins. Still, a good chunk of the drive that had once been Layla’s most defining characteristic had since been replaced with a palpable uncertainty that left her looking haunted and lost.
And Tommy, well, Madison had spent the day observing him. But now, after having been falsely accused by his friends, who obviously didn’t trust him, he was clearly the most uncomfortable person in the room.
Breaking the silence, she pulled at the fringed edge of the throw and said, “I don’t know who took me, though I have my suspicions.” She paused, noting the way they all edged a bit forward. Good. She had their full attention. “I left Tommy after receiving a text I thought was from Paul. I went to Night for Night expecting to see him, but Paul was late, or so I thought. I went up to the terrace, and I guess I got distracted, because the next thing I knew, a hand was clasped over my mouth, and then . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up hours later in an entirely different location.”
“Do you remember anything leading up to that?” Aster pressed. “Any sort of sign, no matter how small?”
Madison stared into the distance. “I heard footsteps. And I caught a whiff of a scent I recognized.” She looked at Ryan. “Same one you always wear.” Ryan started, and Madison lifted a hand. “Relax. I know it wasn’t you.”
“Okay, so, the footsteps—heavy, light, anything in particular that stood out?”
Madison closed her eyes, letting them think she was summoning the memory, when really she was just trying to cement her own strategy. She shook her head. “All I know is I woke up alone in a strange room. I don’t know where. I never saw anyone els
e the whole time I was there. The lights were programmed to go on and off, and they fed me three times a day through a slot in the door. The walls were covered with an image of me as a kid, along with multiple strips of mirror.”
“So, clearly they’d been planning it for a while. But how did they know when to act? Who besides you two”—Aster gestured between Madison and Ryan—“knew you were going to break up and set the whole thing in motion?”