She instinctively lifted her face, catching her own reflection in the rearview mirror.
Evan Foster hadn’t held back with those two slaps—her cheeks were still marked red, the bruises refusing to fade even by the time she left for school that morning.
It was only thanks to Emma George’s concealer and foundation that she’d been able to hide the angry welts and keep anyone from noticing.
Emily Blair lounged lazily in the car seat, her tone cool and detached. “No need.”
But Andrew Lane’s reply was even sharper. “You’re going.”
Emily took several deep breaths, knowing there was no use arguing with Andrew Lane. She pulled out her phone and scrolled absently, only to land on the latest news articles, all gushing over Isabella Austin—who, in truth, was Vivian Martin.
They called her a prodigy, a brilliant young woman who, despite being unknown for years, had suddenly skyrocketed to fame.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts swirling, her head throbbing.
Even after two days, Isabella Austin was still pushing her narrative online, shamelessly feasting on Vivian Martin’s hard-won reputation.
Isabella’s nerve was even greater than Emily had imagined.
She clenched her fists.
But even if Andrew Lane knew the truth, he’d still side with Isabella Austin—just as he always had.
Emily had learned that lesson long ago.
Right now, she had neither the strength nor the means to stand up to Andrew Lane and Isabella Austin.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Emily turned off her phone and let her eyes fall shut, trying to will her thoughts away.
But Isabella Austin refused to let her be.
“Emily, I’m so sorry—this is all my fault.”
Emily cracked her eyelids, eyeing her through the rearview mirror.



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