Page 21 of Betray Me
I make appropriate shocked noises while mentally cataloging this information. If Jessica’s family knows about the Clarks’ activities, they’re more involved than their files indicated. Father wants to know about this breach in operational security.
“That’s horrible,” I say with convincing sincerity.
“Leyla’s family has enough to make the administration very deaf to rumors. I’d bet my favorite green dress that she’ll be offered the head girl position next year.” Jessica climbs into bed, pulling her silk sheets up to her chin. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Belle. I like you too much to see you get hurt.”
“I promise,” I lie, knowing that being careful isn’t an option in my world. I have a job to do, no matter what the cost.
After Jessica falls asleep, I retrieve my encrypted phone and compose a message to Dominic:Clark girl seems suspicious. Look into her family. Yarros family knows more than files indicate. Require guidance on approach.
His response comes within minutes:Proceed with caution. I’ll look into Clark to see if she can be an asset. Do not engage directly without approval. Monitor only.
I stared at the phone, frustration building in my chest. Monitor only. As if I’m some amateur who can’t handle a complex target. I’ve been trained for this, molded into the perfect spy. I can handle Leyla Clark.
But as I lie in the darkness, listening to Jessica’s peaceful breathing, I can’t shake the memory of Leyla’s penetrating brown eyes. Something about her recognition, her claim that my name seemed familiar, suggests there’s more to our connection than coincidence.
I fell asleep thinking about the vial hidden among my cosmetics, wondering if I’ll need to use it sooner than expected. The thought should terrify me—the idea of drugging someone, erasing their memories to protect my cover.
Instead, it brings a cold sort of comfort. I have options now, tools to use against anyone who threatens my position. I’m not the helpless girl who survived those early gatherings through submission and silence.
I’m Belle Gallagher, an intelligence operative. And I’ll do whatever it takes to never be powerless again.
Even if it means becoming the monster I once feared.
Chapter 8: The Rival
Before
My heels click against the marble floor in perfect rhythm as I stride through the corridors of Shark Bay University, my domain. Three months of intensive training with Dominic have sharpened me into the perfect weapon—beautiful, charming, and utterly ruthless in my intelligence gathering. The Gothic spires and shadowed hallways no longer intimidate me; they’re my hunting ground now. They’ve been that for the last year and a half.
I’ve spent the morning in Professor Austin’s Computer Science class, carefully positioning myself as the It Girl of the school, who is intellectually engaged but not politically radical.
Jessica chatters beside me as we walk toward the East Wing, updating me on the latest campus gossip. She’s proven invaluable as my best friend—a fount of information about our classmates’ secrets, family dynamics, and weaknesses. Her family’s media connections make her useful, though she doesn’t know the full extent of her parents’ involvement with the network.
“Oh, and there’s supposedly a new girl arriving today,” Jessica mentions casually. “Mid-semester transfers aren’t rare here at all, but I do wonder what she did to get transferred. She must have gotten in some serious trouble.”
I file the information away while maintaining my expression of mild interest. New arrivals always require assessment—potential assets or threats to my carefully constructed position at the top of Shark Bay’s social hierarchy.
“Any idea who she is?” I ask, pulling out my encrypted phone to send a routine status update to Dominic.
“I don’t even have the full details about the scandal at her old school yet. Rich kids’ problems.” Jessica shrugs. “You know how it is.”
I do know. Rich kids’ problems in our world often involve exposing things that should stay buried or failing to perform the roles our families demand. Either way, she’ll need careful monitoring.
The afternoon passes in a blur of strategic positioning and information gathering. I attend Nicolas Parker’s study group, where I subtly probe for details about his family’s pharmaceutical empire. Ever since I agreed to be his girlfriend, he became more open to sharing valuable information with me. During dinner, I charm Judge Patterson’s son into revealing his father’s gambling debts. Every conversation is a chess move, every smile a weapon in my arsenal.
It’s only when I return to Pemberton Hall that I encounter the disruption to my perfectly ordered world. One of my school’s minions, who is desperate to please me in hopes to climb up the social ladder, is video calling me. Reluctantly, I accept the call.
I get a direct view of Leyla Clark walking toward the East Wing stairwell, her perpetual sunshine dimmed to something approaching anxiety. She’s talking to someone I can’t see well, her voice carrying that particular strain of forced enthusiasm that suggests she’s dealing with something—or someone—difficult.
“—you’ll love it here once you get to know everyone. We’re like one big family.”
“Maybe we can skip the introductions,” a voice responds, cold enough to frost windows. “Just show me where I’m sleeping.”
I narrow my eyes at the small screen, recognition hitting me like a physical blow. That voice—I know that voice. But it’s impossible. She can’t be here.
The video moves around the corner, showing me the girl. My carefully maintained composure nearly shatters.
Luna Queen stands in front of Leyla like a dark angel of vengeance, her black hair flowing past her shoulders, emerald eyes blazing with the kind of fury that comes from being caged too long. She’s dressed simply—a white dress that somehow looks more expensive than most people’s formal wear—but she radiates power like a live wire.
