Page 147 of Fame and Obsession

“But why—?”

“Why would she do it? Oh, Phoebe, really? She hated you almost as much as I do. In case you haven’t noticed, you weren’t winning any popularity contests inside Julian’s inner circle, pageant queen.”

She’s standing almost in front of me now, so I move, determined to hide the voice recorder.

“I have to admit, while hacking into your past, I didn’t expect to find such a juicy tale of incest, Miss Dalton. My, my, what skeletons you’ve been hiding. You may be more fucked up than any of us.”

The mention of my father lights a fuse in me that provokes an explosion. “He never touched me,” I bite out through clenched teeth.

“Is that what gets you through the nightmares, Phoebe? Telling yourself it didn’t happen? Pretending that Daddy didn’t pluck that daisy early?”

“Fuck you, Tanna! You don’t know shit about me.” I’m a live wire, sparking on each end. She’s pushed my one trigger. “You’re just a nut job who’s about to spend the rest of her life behind bars.”

“You think?” she says with a sadistic smile. “How do you figure? You haven’t left this apartment. All I have to do is make it look like you OD’d again. Poor daddy’s girl, couldn’t handle the truth coming out in the press, so she offed herself.”

“No one would believe that,” I say, but the tremble in my voice betrays me.

“No? You’ve already OD’d once. It wouldn’t be a stretch for people to think you did it again. I’ll just delete the WordStory file. It’s child’s play. But I think I’ll leave your fake website up to look at it later for shits and giggles.”

I try to remember the part of my FEDS training that taught me how to diffuse aggressive behaviors. However, diffusing the situation is a lost cause, and Tanna’s emotional state has gone from aggressive to batshit. The odd way she keeps cocking her head side to side warns me she’s about to implode.

“Calm down, Tanna. You don’t have to do this.” It sounds weak, but it’s all I have.

“My name is Angela, and this is calm, princess.” She screeches in a high-pitched voice. Her hateful use of Julian’s nickname for me tells me she’s unraveling.

I have limited time to make my move.

“You’re right, Tan—Angela. I messed things up for you, and you have every right to be angry, but you don’t have to mess things up for you. This will hurt him. If you love him, you don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

“Don’t explain Julian to me. You’re just a blip on his radar. He’ll forget about you just like he did all the others.”

Trying to reason with her is pointless. She lives in an alternate reality where rules, laws, or human decency don’t exist.

“What do you want me to do to fix this, Angela?” The words make me sick.

Her eyes glaze over, and she tightens her hold on the knife. “I want you to go in that little pink bag of yours and take a handful of those green pills, or I’ll finish what Daddy started.”

The time for biding my time is over. I have seconds to get the hell out before she loses what little hold on reality she has left.

Fuck the recorder.

A blare of a car horn from outside the window diverts her attention. I take the moment and throw myself forward, landing a knee in her abdomen, causing her to drop the knife and double over with a muffled cry. Holding back the tears, I flip to autopilot and run toward the door. Fear courses through my veins as my fingers closes around the doorknob.

Her hand grabs a fistful of my hair from behind and jerks me backward. Off-balance from the surprise, I tumble to the ground like a rag doll. Instinctively, I brace myself by throwing my arms behind me, landing in a heap onto the floor. I let out a small cry as pain shoots from my wrist all the way up my arm.

It can’t end here. Not like this.

With the room spinning out of control, I attempt to move, only to collide with the foyer table with a sickening thud. Grasping the side of the table, I let it absorb my weight as I press my cheek against the top.

Laughter rains down from above. “Oh, Phoebe. You’re so pathetic, it’s almost a shame to kill you. Looks like we’re going have to do this the hard way.”

Gasping for air, I drag myself along the edge of the table, my entire body weighing me down. I crawl until three feet stand between death and the front door. Throwing all my weight against the table, I propel myself toward my only chance at freedom. However, a purple figure appears in place of it before I fall, grabbing my arms and pulling me into it.

It isn’t Julian. The soft landing and vanilla perfume are distinctly female.

She’s won.

“Princess, running was stupid. Now things have to get messy.”

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