Page 48 of Betray Me
“This is what happens to girls who threaten the natural order,” the figure says, and though I can’t make out the face, the distorted voice carries absolute authority. “This is what happens to daughters who forget their place.”
Janet’s terrified eyes find mine across the cellar, pleading for help I can’t give. The figure follows her gaze, turning toward me with deliberate slowness.
“Remember this moment, Belle,” the figure says, and though his features remain obscured, I can feel them smile like ice water in my veins. “Because next time, it will be you.”
The knife descends, and Janet’s scream mingles with my own muffled cries. Blood spreads across ancient stones as I struggle uselessly against my bonds, horror and helplessness consuming me.
Then the figure approaches, still holding the bloodied blade. “Your turn will come,” they whisper, and I can smell death on their breath. “When you’re no longer useful. When you’ve outlived your purpose. Remember that every breath you take is borrowed time.”
I wake up screaming, my voice raw and desperate in the darkness. Strong hands immediately grasp my shoulders, and for a moment, I think the nightmare is continuing. But then Max’s familiar voice cuts through the terror.
“Belle, it’s okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”
I’m shaking so violently I can barely speak. “It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. I was there, Max. I was there when she died, but I didn’t kill her. I was forced to watch. They made me watch.”
His arms come around me, solid and warm and real. “I believe you. I believe you.”
“He said next time it would be me. That I was living on borrowed time.” The words tumble out between gasping breaths. “What if he’s still out there? What if putting my parents in prison just made me a bigger target?”
“Then we’ll deal with it together,” Max says firmly. “You’re not alone anymore, Belle. Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together.”
As he holds me in the darkness of a safe house that suddenly doesn’t feel safe at all, I realize that recovering my memories might be more dangerous than living without them. Because if what I dreamed is true—if Janet Wilson was murdered as a lesson, a warning, a promise of what awaits girls who step out of line—then testifying against my family may have just painted a target on my back.
But for the first time in my life, I’m not facing the darkness alone.
And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.
Chapter 18: The Fall of a Kingdom
Now
The television screen flickers with breaking news coverage, the anchor’s voice cutting through the silence of the safe house like a blade. “Richard and Olivia Gallagher, prominent figures in Los Angeles’ financial elite, were arrested this evening on charges of conspiracy, human trafficking, and murder. This follows the sentencing of Sebastian and Eleanor Queen a year ago…”
I stare at the images of my parents being led away in handcuffs, their designer clothes wrinkled, their carefully maintained façades crumbling under the harsh glare of camera flashes. Father’s silver hair is disheveled, and his expensive suit suddenly looks like a costume that no longer fits. Mother keeps her chin raised in defiance, but I can see the terror in her eyes—the same terror I felt for years whenever I disappointed them.
“The investigation, led by Boston’s District Attorney David Stone, has uncovered a network of exploitation throughout the United States spanning decades,” the anchor continues. “Sources close to the case suggest this may be one of the largest human trafficking operations ever uncovered in our country.”
Max reaches for the remote, but I catch his wrist. “Don’t. I need to see this.”
His dark eyes search my face with concern. “Belle, you don’t have to torture yourself—”
“Yes, I do.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I need to watch their empire burn.”
The coverage shifts to file footage of the Gallagher mansion—my childhood prison dressed up as a palace. The reporter speaks about seized assets, frozen accounts, ongoing investigations. Everything my family built on the bones of broken children is finally crumbling.
I should feel victorious. Vindicated. Free.
Instead, I feel hollow.
“Federal agents also arrested Victor Reeves, the network’s alleged chief strategist,” the anchor announces, and a mugshot of Victor flashes across the screen. His pale eyes stare out from the photograph with the same cold calculation that haunted my nightmares. “Dominic Griffiths remains at large and is considered extremely dangerous.”
Dominic. The man who trained me to be a weapon, who taught me to slip drugs into drinks without detection, who’s been watching me since childhood, and who’s been hired by Sebastian Queen himself. The fact that he escaped makes my skin crawl. He knows too much about me, about what I’m capable of, about the gaps in my memory that might hide terrible truths.
“Belle.” Max’s voice is gentle but firm. “Look at me.”
I tear my gaze from the screen, meeting his concerned expression. He’s sitting close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, can smell his familiar cologne that somehow makes me feel safer even when the world is falling apart around us.
“They can’t hurt you anymore,” he says, his hand finding mine. “It’s over.”
