Page 57 of Betray Me
“Victims who became perpetrators.”
“Maybe. Or victims who were made to believe they became perpetrators.” Her green eyes hold mine steadily. “Does it matter which, if the result is the same? We both carry guilt for things we can’t remember, both live with the fear that we’re capable of unthinkable acts.”
The truth of her words hits like a physical blow. Whether we’re guilty or innocent, we’re both prisoners of the same uncertainty, both trapped by the same missing pieces of our own stories.
“If we’re going to do this,” I say finally, “if we’re going to eventually go back together and face whatever’s waiting for us there, we need rules that we need to follow even if you don’t come back right away.”
“What kind of rules?”
“Honesty. No more lies between us, no matter how uncomfortable the truth might be.”
Luna extends her hand, the gesture formal but significant. “Partners in survival.”
I take her hand, feeling the calluses on her palm that speak to her recent focus on self-defense training. “Partners in survival.”
The handshake seals something between us—not friendship, exactly, but a mutual understanding that we’re stronger together than apart. Two broken girls returning to the scene of their destruction, armed with nothing but shared trauma and stubborn determination to reclaim their own narratives.
As we walk back toward the city, the sun beginning to set over the harbor, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months: hope. Not the desperate, clawing hope of a trapped animal, but something steadier. The hope of someone who’s found an ally in the darkness.
“Luna?” I say as we reach the point where our paths diverge.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For agreeing to this. I know you have Erik, but I really appreciate you’re not making me face this alone.”
Her smile is small but genuine. “Thank you for being brave enough to ask.”
As I watch her walk away, her dark hair catching the last rays of sunlight, I realize that for the first time since my world imploded, I’m not facing the future entirely alone. The Gothic spires of Shark Bay University still loom in my future like a promise of reckoning, but now I’ll have someone who understands the weight I carry—but only if I learn to let her.
The thought should terrify me—the possibility that we’re both guilty of something unspeakable. Instead, it brings an odd kind of comfort. If we’re monsters, at least we’re monsters who understand each other.
And if we’re innocent, if we’re just two more victims of our parents’ manipulation, then maybe—just maybe—we can find a way to prove it.
Either way, when Luna Queen decides to return and join me at Shark Bay University, we’ll face it all together. Not as enemies, not as friends, but as survivors determined to uncover the truth about our missing memories, our shared guilt, and the nights that may have changed us both forever.
The game isn’t over. It’s just entering a new phase.
And this time, we’ll be playing for the same team.
"You’re still here, turning pages, following me into the shadows. When you reach the end… tell me what you felt. Leave your words in a review—I’ll be waiting.
Chapter 21: The Trial
Now
The federal courthouse looms before me like a Gothic cathedral, all stone columns and imposing arches that seem designed to crush the human spirit. I climb the steps with Max beside me, his hand warm and steady on my lower back—the only thing keeping me from turning around and running. Today, I testify against my own parents. Today, I become the thing they always warned me about: a traitor to the family name.
“You don’t have to do this,” Max murmurs as we approach the security checkpoint. “It’s not too late to—”
“Yes, it is.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “It’s been too long since the moment I chose to wear that wire.”
The metal detector beeps as I pass through, my jewelry setting off alarms that seem to echo through my bones. Everything feels too bright, too sharp, like the world has been turned up to an unbearable volume. In the gallery, I catch sight of Luna’s dark hair and Erik’s protective posture beside her. They came. Despite everything between us—the history, the complications, the careful rebuilding of trust—they came to support me.
The weight of that solidarity nearly breaks me before I even reach the witness stand.
David Stone catches my eye from the prosecutor’s table, his expression professional but not unkind. We’ve rehearsed this moment dozens of times, gone over every possible question andangle of attack. But nothing can prepare me for the reality of facing my parents across a courtroom, seeing the cold fury in their eyes as I prepare to destroy them.
Father sits perfectly straight in his defendant’s chair, his silver hair immaculate despite months in federal custody. His blue eyes—so like my own—burn with the kind of rage that once would’ve sent me scrambling for forgiveness. Mother’s face is composed, almost serene, as if this is just another social engagement requiring perfect manners and flawless performance.
