Page 1 of Betray Me
PART ONE: THE RECKONING
Chapter 1: The Present Day
Now
Steam rises from my cappuccino, swirling in the air between us like the ghosts of our past. I check my watch again—Luna is late, as usual. Some habits never change, even after everything we’ve been through. The café buzzes with the mundane chatter of normal people living normal lives, a symphony of mediocrity that once would’ve made me sneer. Now, I find comfort in its banality.
The bell above the door chimes, and there she is—Luna Queen, striding in with that unmistakable confidence that even a year of trauma couldn’t diminish. Her black hair is shorter now, cut into a sleek bob that frames her emerald eyes. Eyes that have seen the same horrors mine have, though from a different vantage point.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, sliding into the chair across from me. No excuses, no elaborate explanations. That’s new. The old Luna would’ve crafted a perfect lie, and the old Belle would’ve pretended to believe it while silently judging. Well, if I’m being perfectly honest, the old Belle wouldn’t be caught dead sharing a cup of coffee with Luna Queen.
“I ordered for you.” I push the second cup toward her—black coffee, no sugar. “Figured you’d need the caffeine after your morning class.”
She raises an eyebrow, surprised by my thoughtfulness. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence settles between us, thick with unspoken history. This is our ritual now—Thursday coffee, forced conversation, the tentative building of something that resembles trust. Not friendship, exactly. Something more complicated. Something born of shared trauma and mutual understanding that no one else could possibly comprehend.
“Professor Austin sent me an advance copy of his book,” Luna says finally, pulling a thick manuscript from her bag. The title catches the light:Power Structures and Systemic Exploitation: Inside the Queen Network. “It’s good. Unflinching.”
I take a sip of my cappuccino to hide my grimace. “I’m sure it paints a lovely picture of our families.”
“It paints the truth, Belle.” Luna’s voice is steady, her gaze unwavering. “Our parents created a system of trafficking, blackmail, and exploitation that lasted decades. They drugged us, used us, and were prepared to sell us to the highest bidder. Austin doesn’t shy away from any of it.”
The bluntness of her words makes my skin prickle. A year ago, I would’ve defended my family reflexively, would’ve twisted the narrative to protect the Gallagher name. Now the truth sits between us, ugly and undeniable.
“He asked me to write the foreword,” Luna continues, her finger tracing the edge of the manuscript. “I said yes.”
I nod, unsurprised. “You were always braver than me.”
“That’s not true.” Luna leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper even though no one is listening. “You testifiedagainst your own parents, Belle. You wore a wire. You risked everything.”
“After years of being their perfect little spy,” I counter, the bitterness seeping through despite my best efforts. “After helping them track you, manipulate you. After setting up Dougie and Max to humiliate you. Let’s not rewrite history to make me the hero.”
Luna’s eyes darken with memories. “We both did what we had to survive. Different methods, same goal.”
She’s right, of course. We were both pawns, moved across a chessboard by powers we didn’t understand until it was almost too late. The difference is that I embraced my role, clung to it as protection. I became the perfect daughter, the willing informant, the collector of secrets—anything to avoid becoming what Luna was: the bait, the offering, the sacrifice.
“Austin wants me to contribute to the sequel,” I admit, staring into my coffee. “My perspective as both victim and enabler.”
“Are you going to do it?”
I look up, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think telling my story would be cathartic. Other times, I’m terrified of putting it all down on paper, making it permanent.”
“I get that.” Luna takes a careful sip of her coffee. “After the trial, when the media wanted interviews, I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face strangers picking apart my trauma for entertainment. But this book… it’s different. It’s not sensationalism. It’s documentation. Evidence that what happened to us was real.”
“As if the prison sentences weren’t proof enough,” I mutter.
Luna’s mouth curves into a small, grim smile. “Twenty-five years for my mother. Thirty for Father. Not nearly enough for what they did.”
“Mine are still waiting for the date of the trial,” I add unnecessarily. We both know the only ones who’d been sentenced so far are Luna’s parents. We both sat in that courtroom, day after day, listening to the parade of witnesses, the mountains of evidence, the meticulously documented horror of our childhoods laid bare for the world to judge. And we will do it again and again, until all the accomplices meet the same fate as the Queens.
“Do you visit them?” Luna asks, surprising me. It’s the first time she’s asked anything so personal in our Thursday meetings.
“No.” The answer comes quickly, definitively. “They send letters. I burn them.”
“My mother writes too. Twice a week, like clockwork.” Luna’s voice is distant. “I read them sometimes. Looking for an apology that never comes.”
“They’re incapable of remorse,” I say. “That’s what the psychiatrist told me. Clinically incapable.”
