Page 32 of Betray Me
Jessica’s silence is answer enough. I feel something cold and sharp crystallize in my chest—not surprise, exactly, but the familiar ache of confirmed betrayal. In my world, trust is a weapon that’s always turned against you eventually.
“Since the beginning,” she whispers finally. “The network assigned me to monitor you when you first arrived at Shark Bay. Make sure you stayed focused on your mission with Luna. Report any signs of… deviation.”
The admission hits harder than expected. Every shared secret, every moment of vulnerability, every time I let my guard down—all of it performed for an audience I never knew existed.
“And after Luna’s parents were arrested?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“David Stone recruited me. Said if I helped build the case against your family, mine would be protected.” She reaches toward me, then thinks better of it. “Belle, I never wanted to hurt you. The friendship became real, even if it started as an assignment.”
I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut. “Real? You’ve been feeding information to the man trying to destroy my family while pretending to care about my nightmares and panic attacks. Which part of that felt real to you?”
“All of it.” Tears glisten in her eyes, and for a moment, I almost believe her. Almost. “When I saw what those bastards did to you, what they turned you into—Belle, you were a child. They made you into a weapon and convinced you it was protection.”
“Spare me the sympathy.” I stand, pacing to her window where dawn light creeps across the campus. “What did you tell Stone? What does he know?”
“Everything I knew. Your family’s structure, your role as an informant, the files you kept instead of destroying.” Jessica’svoice breaks slightly. “I’m sorry, Belle. I thought if I helped him build the case, you might finally be free.”
Free. The word is almost laughable. People like me don’t get freedom—we get traded from one prison to another, from one master to the next. Jessica’s betrayal is just another transaction in the marketplace of my existence.
“There’s something else,” she continues, and the change in her tone makes me turn. “Something I’ve never told anyone. Not Stone, not the investigators. Something that could destroy you completely.”
My blood turns to ice. “What?”
“The night Senator Wilson’s daughter disappeared.” Jessica’s hands tremble as she reaches for something in her nightstand drawer. “I was there. At the party. It was the first time I saw you. You were completely incoherent.”
She pulls out a small digital camera, the kind we used for journalism class last year. “I was in your house when your parents brought you in. You were wearing a white dress that was… God, Belle, it was covered in blood. Your hands, your arms—there was so much blood.”
The room spins slightly. I grip the windowsill for support as fragments of sensation assault me—the taste of copper, the feeling of something sticky under my fingernails, the sound of my own sobbing. Memories that shouldn’t exist, couldn’t exist, because I have no recollection of that night.
“Our parents made me promise never to tell anyone,” Jessica continues, her voice barely a whisper. “Said people would think you did something terrible, that your parents would destroy myfamily if word got out. I agreed to be quiet because I had no choice. And also because I saw your face. You were so scared, Belle. Shaking and crying and completely broken.”
She turns on the camera, scrolling through old photos until she finds what she’s looking for. The image that appears makes my knees buckle.
It’s me, exactly as she described. Standing in my family’s living room, my white dress stained crimson, my hands pressed against my face in despair. My hair is matted with what looks like blood, my makeup is smeared beyond recognition. I look like a survivor of something unspeakable.
Or the perpetrator of it.
“What did I tell you?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want to know. “What did I say happened?”
“You didn’t talk to me, but the next day, I heard your parents tell mine that you said you couldn’t remember anything. It was clear you were drugged.” Jessica’s eyes search my face desperately. “I always believed it wasn’t your fault, Belle. You were clearly a victim of something horrible.”
“You think I did it.” It’s not a question.
“Your family’s capable of anything. I know they used you in ways I can’t even imagine.” She sets the camera aside, leaning forward earnestly. “Belle, what if they made you do something terrible? What if they drugged you and used you as a weapon, then erased your memory to protect themselves?”
The possibility sits like lead in my stomach. It would explain the blood evidence at Janet Wilson’s crime scene, the gaps in mymemory, the way my father’s expression changed to fear when I mentioned remembering those nights. It would explain why I’ve always felt like I’m carrying guilt for sins I can’t remember committing.
“Did you tell Stone about this?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “Why?
“Because I was protecting you.” Jessica’s voice is fierce now, her usual timidity replaced by something sharper. “Whatever happened that night, you were as much a victim as anyone else. Your family destroyed your childhood, stole your autonomy, turned you into something you never chose to be. I wasn’t going to hand Stone more ammunition to destroy what little life you’ve managed to build.”
For a moment, I feel something close to gratitude. Then reality crashes back down.
“How noble of you,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Protecting me while feeding him everything else he needed to dismantle my family’s empire.”
“Your family’s empire is built on the bones of children, Belle.” Jessica stands, her anger finally surfacing. “How many other girls suffered while you played the perfect spy? How many Janet Wilsons died while you gathered secrets and reported back to your handlers?”
The accusation hits like a physical blow. Because she’s not wrong. Every piece of intelligence I gathered, every weakness I exploited, every secret I uncovered—it all fed into a machine that devoured innocence and called it business.
