Page 33 of Betray Me
“You don’t think I know that?” The words explode out of me with enough force to make Jessica flinch. “You think I chose any of this? You think I wanted to be their weapon, their accomplice, their perfect little spy?”
“No,” she says quietly. “I think you were a child who did what she had to do to survive. Just like Luna was. Just like all of us were.”
The parallel to Luna stops me cold. Because Jessica is right—Luna and I are more alike than different. We both found ways to survive our families’ exploitation, both developed masks and manipulations to protect whatever remained of our souls. The only difference is that Luna escaped before she could be used to destroy others.
I was not so lucky.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:Your handler’s been compromised. Eliminate the security risk or we will handle it permanently.
Ice floods my veins as I show Jessica the message. Her face goes pale as she reads it, understanding the implication immediately.
“They’re going to kill me,” she whispers.
“Probably.” I’m surprised by how calm my voice sounds. “The question is whether I let them, or find another solution.”
“Belle, please.” Jessica grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. “I know I betrayed you, but I was trying to help. Your family, the network—they’re monsters. You deserve better than being their puppet.”
“Maybe.” I gently remove her hand from my arm. “But I’m not sure I’m capable of better anymore.”
Another text arrives:You have 12 hours. Make it look accidental.
Twelve hours. Enough time to plan, to arrange something plausible. I’ve been trained for this—how to eliminate problems quietly, how to make murders look like accidents or suicides. The skills Dominic taught me during those long summer months when I was learning to be the perfect weapon.
I could slip something into Jessica’s coffee, make it look like she took too many sleeping pills. Could arrange for her to have a tragic accident on the cliffs during one of her morning jogs. Could make her disappear entirely, another missing student who couldn’t handle the pressure of elite academic life.
The options scroll through my mind with clinical precision, each one perfectly feasible. I have the skills, the access, the training. All I need is the will to use them.
“Belle?” Jessica’s voice is small, frightened. “What are you thinking?”
I look at her—really look at her. Beneath the fear and guilt, I see something I recognize: another girl caught in a web of family expectations and survival mechanisms. Someone who made terrible choices in the service of protecting people she loved.
Someone not so different from me.
“I’m thinking,” I say slowly, “that maybe it’s time to stop being what they made me.”
Her eyes widen with hope and confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe instead of eliminating you, I eliminate the threat to you.” I pick up the camera, staring at the photo of my blood-soaked younger self. “You said Stone offered your family immunity in exchange for information. What would he offer me?”
“Belle—”
“I have files, Jessica. Documents my father ordered me to destroy, but I kept them instead. Financial records, correspondence, operational details spanning decades.” I meet her gaze steadily. “I have enough evidence to bury everyone who’s still breathing.”
“Including yourself?”
“Maybe. Probably.” I shrug, surprised by how little the prospect frightens me. “But if I’m going down anyway, I might as well take them all with me.”
Jessica stares at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “David Stone is meeting with federal prosecutors tomorrow morning. If you’re serious about this—”
“I’m serious.” The words feel like stepping off a cliff, irrevocable and terrifying. “Set up the meeting. And Jessica?”
“Yes?”
“If you try to play me again, if you feed anyone information about what I just told you, I will end you myself.” My voice is soft, conversational, which somehow makes the threat moremenacing. “Handler or not, friend or not—cross me again, and I’ll show you exactly what my family trained me to do.”
She nods, and I see the moment she truly understands what I am beneath the designer clothes and perfect manners. Not just a victim or a spy, but something more dangerous: a weapon that’s finally chosen its own target.
As I leave her room, my phone buzzes with another message:Time is running out. The girl dies at sunset unless you handle it.
