Elmo engulfed in flames.
Right to Jail.
I was happy at least some people had functioning brains when I read the comments sticking up for me.
Blaming her for something her father did is weird.
Why are you all dragging her and not the actual guy who pulled the trigger?
Blair’s comment caught my eye. She’d recently made a profile against Enzo’s wishes.
The misogyny in these comments is insane.
I liked hers before another comment stopped me.
You can tell those two have fucked. Go look at the video of this. The way his face changed when the reporter said her name. That isn’t hate. That’s a man pissed he’d lost the girl he wanted.
I immediately found the video, turned the volume low, and watched it three times.
Something changed when the reporter said my name. Just barely. Most people probably wouldn’t have caught it. But I did.
I knew every version of Brooks’s face by now, and that wasn’t his I-hate-Daphne look.
At least, I didn’t think it was.
I played it again.
What the hell were you thinking, Brooks?
“Daph!” Elodie snapped her fingers in my face. “Your turn.”
Groaning, I tossed my phone aside and dragged myself out of the bed in my sports bra and boy shorts. I’d ripped off my dinner dress the second I got upstairs.
Now I got to squeeze into another torture device.
At least this one could be semi-formal.
As Elodie laced my corset, Vittoria kept rambling about Brooks.
Gorgeous Brooks. Perfect Brooks.
I considered kicking her out. Instead, I tuned her out.
Soon, I’d be on a yacht, drinking away every thought of Brooks with zero chance of seeing him.
Finally, some damn peace.
I really should’ve known better.
Eleven
Daphne
Caliran night yacht parties were unmatched.
Salt spray drifted across the open deck as the yacht rocked gently against the dock. Music hummed from the speakers, loud enough to dance to but quiet enough not to wake up anyone who’d make us shut the party down.
Elodie and Vittoria had come with me. Vittoria had already disappeared to find her friends.