Page 37 of Betray Me
My phone buzzes with a text from Max:Where are you? Are you okay?
I stare at the message, my finger hovering over the reply button. I want to tell him everything, to share this moment of terrifying freedom with someone who might understand. But trust is still a luxury I can’t afford, even with him.
I’m okay,I type back, unsure whether to tell him where I was or not. It feels too soon to trust him yet.
As Shark Bay’s Gothic spires come into view across the water, I make a silent promise to myself. Whatever comes next—whether it’s witness protection or facing the shadows still hunting me—I’ll face it as myself, not as my father’s weapon or anyone else’s tool.
Belle Gallagher, survivor and truth-teller, is ready to burn down the system that created her.
Even if she burns with it.
Chapter 14: The Evidence
Before
The manila folders spread across my desk like tarot cards predicting doom, each one thick with surveillance photographs, financial records, and behavioral analyses. Three months of obsessive documentation fill my dorm room—every movement Luna Queen has made since arriving at Shark Bay University, cataloged with the precision of a scientist studying a particularly dangerous specimen.
With Luna being called away to attend her parents’ party, I use the opportunity to go over my findings. I lift another photo to the lamplight, studying Luna’s face as she exits the library. Even in grainy surveillance footage, she radiates that predatory confidence that both fascinates and terrifies me. The extra help I manipulated from my classmates—people would do just about anything for a moment of my attention—have proven to be very beneficial. Every conversation, every interaction, every moment of vulnerability has been captured and filed away.
What started as a simple assignment from Father has become something else entirely. Something darker.
I pour myself another glass of wine—a vintage Bordeaux that costs more than most students’ monthly allowances—and settle back into my desk chair. The Gothic spires of Shark Bay loom outside my window, their shadows stretching across moonlit grounds like grasping fingers. Perfect atmosphere for the kind of work that requires embracing one’s inner monster.
“Subject continues to display erratic behavioral patterns,” I dictate into my digital recorder, my voice steady despite the wine warming my veins. “Increased sexual activity with multiple partners suggests psychological destabilization. Recommend escalating pressure tactics.”
The words feel hollow as they leave my mouth. In truth, Luna’s “erratic behavior” looks suspiciously like survival. The same kind of desperate self-protection I recognize in my own mirror.
I flip to the next photograph—Luna and Erik Stone walking along the cliffs, his hand gentle on her lower back. The intimacy in their body language makes something twist in my chest. Not jealousy, exactly, but recognition. The way she leans into his touch, lets herself be vulnerable for just a moment—it’s something I’ve never allowed myself.
Never been able to allow myself.
My phone buzzes with an encrypted message from Dominic:Status report overdue. Father growing impatient. Mr. Queen requires results.
I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The truth is that Luna Queen is stronger than any of us anticipated. Every trap I’ve set, every psychological pressure point I’ve applied—she’s either evaded or transformed into her own weapon. The video incident in Austin’s class should have destroyed her. Instead, she used it to build her reputation as someone not to be underestimated.
I type back:Subject more resilient than initial assessment suggested. Require additional time for comprehensive analysis.
Time is a luxury we lack. We need her under control. Deliver actionable intelligence or face consequences.
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. My hands shake slightly as I set the phone aside, reaching for another photograph. This one shows Luna in the campus dining hall, laughing at something Erik said. Her smile is genuine—not the practiced perfection I’ve learned to wear, but something real and unguarded.
When was the last time I smiled like that? When was the last time I felt safe enough to let my guard down completely?
The answer comes too easily: never.
I return to my recorder, but the clinical detachment I’ve maintained begins to crack. “Subject demonstrates remarkable adaptability in high-stress situations. Psychological profile suggests extensive trauma conditioning, possibly from childhood. Methods of resistance indicate prior experience with manipulation tactics.”
I stop recording, the words echoing in the quiet room. Extensive trauma conditioning. Prior experience with manipulation tactics. I could be describing myself.
Luna and I aren’t just products of the same system—we’re variations on the same theme. Two girls molded by powerful families into weapons, just pointed in different directions. She was trained to be the perfect victim, the ultimate bait. I was shaped into the perfect spy, the invisible collector of secrets.
But underneath the training, underneath the carefully constructed masks, we’re both just survivors trying to navigate a world that views us as commodities.
My wineglass trembles in my hand. The investigation into Luna started as a professional necessity, but it’s become a personal obsession. Because the more I learn about her, the more I understand about myself. The more I realize how similar our damage really is.
I spread out the surveillance photos chronologically, looking for patterns and for insights that might help me understand her next move. As I examine them under the magnifying glass, something catches my attention. A figure in the background of several images—always distant, always partially obscured, but unmistakably the same person.
A man in a dark coat is watching Luna from the shadows.
