23.

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Two months later

The lights were too bright. Too hot. I could feel them pressing down on me, making my skin prickle underneath my makeup. The cameras were locked on us, the audience silent, waiting for the perfect soundbite. Wyatt sat beside me, his hand resting on my knee, his smile practiced and perfect.

I was supposed to smile too.

Instead, I was slipping.

I kept playing with the ring on my finger—the one Ren gave me. My fingers traced over the smooth band, the small engraved initials on the inside. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't some giant rock meant to blind people under the lights.

It was real.

Just like Ren.

Just like us.

But that wasn't the ring they wanted me to wear.

No, the one that actually mattered to these people—the one that was supposed to be the center of attention—was Wyatt's. A perfect, carefully selected diamond, shining under the studio lights like a symbol of everything my life was supposed to be.

I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me, just like everything else.

I blinked hard, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. My vision blurred, and I felt the tears coming before I could stop them.

No.

Not here. Not now.

I inhaled sharply, but my fingers kept twisting the wrong ring. The one that actually felt like it belonged on my hand. And then I looked up.

My father was standing behind the cameras, arms folded, watching me. His face was stone, unreadable except for his eyes—sharp, calculating, and laced with irritation.

Then he mouthed two words.

Tighten up.

A warning.

A reminder.

I stiffened, my hand freezing mid-motion. He didn't have to say anything else. I knew what would happen if I didn't get it together. I knew what was expected of me.

So I did what I always did.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Forced my hands to still. Put on the right ring.

And I smiled.

The kind of smile that felt like a noose around my neck.

Two months later

The moment the cameras cut to a commercial break, Wyatt's grip on my knee tightened. Not in a comforting way. Not in a loving way. It was a warning, just like the look my father gave me from behind the cameras.

I barely had time to breathe before Wyatt leaned in, his voice low and sharp in my ear.

"Stop embarrassing me."

I barely turned my head before he grabbed my hand—roughly—his fingers prying mine open.

And then, just like that, he snatched the ring off my finger. Ren's ring.

My heart lurched.

I reached for it on instinct, but Wyatt was faster. He barely even looked at it before tossing it across the room like it was nothing. Like it didn't mean a damn thing.

I heard the small clink as it hit the floor, bouncing once, twice—before rolling under one of the cameras.

I didn't think.

I moved.

I yanked my hand away, pushing back from my chair so fast it scraped against the studio floor. My heels clicked as I rushed after it, my pulse hammering in my ears. I didn't care who was watching, didn't care what Wyatt or my father thought.

I needed that ring.

I dropped to my knees the second I reached it, my fingers scrambling against the cold tile until I grasped it—held it tight in my palm, my chest rising and falling like I had just run a marathon.

Ren gave this to me.

She had slipped it onto my finger herself, her hands steady, her voice soft but firm as she whispered, "Now you got a piece of me with you, no matter what."

And I wore it every day since.

Even when I had to hide it.

Even when I had to pretend like it wasn't the one I actually wanted.

I wasn't letting it go.

I sucked in a shaky breath and wiped my face, trying to get myself together before—

"We're back in five... four..."

Shit.

I rushed back to my chair, barely sitting down in time before the cameras flicked back on, the red light blinking like a warning.

Wyatt reached for my hand again—this time to lace our fingers together for the cameras, like he hadn't just ripped something important away from me two minutes ago.

I forced a smile, my whole body tense, my palm still closed around the only thing that felt real in this entire damn room.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The ride back from the studio was silent on my end. But in the front seat? Wyatt and my father were carrying on like they didn't even notice I was there.

Like I was just some pretty little doll they dressed up and paraded around for the cameras.

Like I wasn't a person with my own thoughts, my own feelings—like I wasn't suffocating under the weight of the life they were forcing me into.

Wyatt was laughing, talking about something that happened during the interview, something he found amusing. My father responded with a chuckle, nodding in approval, his voice smooth and steady.

Bonding.

Like they were old friends. Like they were equals.

And I was just an afterthought.

I stared out the window, my fingers clenched in my lap, my other hand gripping my phone. My chest felt tight, my body stiff from holding everything in. The whole drive, I didn't say a word.

They didn't notice.

I unlocked my phone, my vision blurring as I scrolled through my gallery, past the rehearsed smiles and red carpet appearances, past the photos that were carefully curated to make me seem perfect.

And then I found them.

Me and Ren.

A picture of her smirking at me, her arm slung around my waist like she belonged there. A picture of us in her car, my legs draped over hers as she drove with one hand, the other resting on my thigh. A picture of me laughing so hard my eyes were closed, my head tilted back against her shoulder while she looked down at me with that soft, almost smug expression she always had when she knew she had me wrapped around her finger.

My throat tightened.

She did. She still did.

My thumb hovered over the screen, and for a split second, I wanted to do something reckless. I wanted to text her, to call her, to hear her voice even if it was just for a second.

But I couldn't.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to just look. To hold onto whatever little piece of her I could.

Meanwhile, Wyatt and my father kept talking, laughing, planning—like my future was some kind of business deal they were finalizing.

I squeezed my phone tighter.

They thought they had everything figured out.

They thought I was just gonna fall in line.

But they had no idea.

I wasn't staying in this life.

And I wasn't leaving Ren behind.

When we pulled up to the Hill's estate, I barely waited for the car to fully stop before getting out. Wyatt said something, probably expecting me to respond, but I ignored him. My father didn't even glance my way, already caught up in a phone call, voice smooth and controlled like he hadn't just spent the entire ride treating me like background noise.

Fine.

I didn't have anything to say to either of them anyway.

I walked inside, my heels clicking against the marble floors, but instead of heading to my room or the lounge where I'd normally decompress, I went straight to Mommy's office.

She had decided to stay after everything that went down two months ago. I didn't know if it was guilt, strategy, or some mix of both, but she'd been sticking around, playing her role carefully. She wasn't stupid—she knew how to survive in this world, how to keep herself just close enough to the fire without getting burned.

When I stepped inside, she was behind her desk, sipping a glass of wine, scrolling through something on her laptop. She didn't look surprised to see me.

"Figured you'd come straight here," she said, setting her glass down. "You look tired, Yanna."

I sighed, sinking into the chair across from her. "I am tired."

She raised a brow. "Physically or mentally?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I leaned forward, voice low, my fingers tapping against the desk as I asked, "Have you heard anything about Ren?"

She paused for a moment, then exhaled through her nose like she had been expecting the question. "She's still in the system."

Something in my chest squeezed.

I already knew that. I already figured she hadn't gotten out yet—if she had, I would've felt it—but hearing it still made my stomach twist.

Mommy reached for her laptop again, clicking through a few things before turning the screen toward me. "They updated her charges."

I leaned in.

And then my breath caught.

Attempted manslaughter.

My hands clenched in my lap.

It wasn't just assault anymore. They had upped it. That meant they were trying to bury her even deeper, making sure she stayed locked up for as long as possible.

"Somebody's trying to make an example out of her," Mommy murmured, watching my face closely. "This charge doesn't happen out of nowhere. Somebody pulled strings."

My father.

I already knew it.

My heartbeat was loud in my ears, but before I could say anything, my gaze landed on something else on the screen—

Her mugshot.

And just like that, my anger and frustration took a backseat to something else.

She looked... sexy as hell.

A half-smirk on her lips, like she wasn't fazed at all. Her dreads were pulled into a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Her eyes were sharp, confident, like she was daring somebody to say something.

But it was the side shots that really did it.

The way her jawline looked, the curve of her lips, the way her neck was tilted just slightly—

I bit my lip, tilting my head as I stared.

Mommy chuckled. "I see why you like her."

I snapped my head up, feeling my face warm slightly. "It's not just about that."

"I know that," she said, sipping her wine again. "But that doesn't change the fact that your little girlfriend knows how to work a mugshot."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop looking at the screen.

I wanted to touch her. I wanted to see her. I wanted to hold her hand, hear her voice, feel her next to me instead of just staring at a damn picture.

And I wasn't going to stop until I did.

I sighed, closing Mommy's laptop and pushing back from the desk. "Thanks," I murmured, standing up.

Mommy just gave me a small nod, tilting her glass toward me. "Anytime, baby."

I hesitated for a second, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. She smelled like wine and expensive perfume, something rich and familiar. She reached up and gave my hand a squeeze before I turned and walked out, my thoughts already racing.

By the time I made it back to my room, my body felt heavy. Not from exhaustion, but from the weight of everything sitting on my chest.

I tossed my phone on the bed before falling onto it, staring up at the ceiling for a second. My mind was still stuck on Ren's face—on that smirk, on the sharpness in her eyes, on how even behind bars, she still looked like she knew she'd get out. Like nothing could break her.

Like she was waiting for me.

I turned onto my side, grabbing my phone and scrolling through my contacts before tapping on Rina's name.

I put the phone to my ear, listening to the ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then straight to voicemail.

I closed my eyes, breathing in through my nose.

Again.

I dialed back.

Same thing.

I pulled the phone away and stared at the screen, my jaw clenching. She didn't even bother to send a text. No I'll call you later, no What's up?—just straight up ignoring me.

Like I wasn't her best friend. Like I didn't exist.

Ever since her and Mally became official, it was like I had been pushed to the bottom of the list. One second, we were inseparable—talking every day, meeting up whenever we had the chance—and then suddenly? It was like I barely even crossed her mind.

Now, it was always business trips and baecations, fancy events and exclusive invites—without me.

I was happy for her, sure. But I was also pissed.

Because I never thought she'd leave me stranded.

I sucked my teeth, dropping my phone onto the bed.

Fine.

Whatever.

I wasn't gonna sit here and cry about it.

I grabbed my iPad from my nightstand and unlocked it, pulling up the camera.

I hit record.

"Hey," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "I don't even know why I still do these, but..."

I trailed off, looking at myself on the screen. My makeup was still perfect from the interview, but my eyes looked tired. Not in an I need sleep way, but in an I need a way out way.

I let out a breath.

"I guess I just need to talk to somebody, even if it's just myself."

I shifted, adjusting the camera angle, my nails tapping lightly against the iPad.

"The interview was bullshit. My father and Wyatt are still acting like I don't have a mind of my own. Rina's still ignoring me. And Ren..."

I paused.

Ren.

I thought about her charges getting updated. About that mugshot. About how she was still in there, waiting.

I wet my lips and looked back at the screen.

"I miss her."

I said it like a confession, like an admission I had been holding in for too long.

"I miss her so much, and I feel like I'm losing my damn mind trying to act like I don't."

I ran a hand down my face, shaking my head.

"I don't know what to do anymore."

I stopped recording.

I stared at the screen for a moment, my heart heavy in my chest.

Then, like every other vlog before this one, I closed out of it and saved it to my files.

Unposted.

Unread.

Just another piece of me sitting in silence, waiting for the day I'd finally be able to do something.

I barely had a second to breathe before I heard the door open.

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

Wyatt.

His cologne hit me before his voice did—something expensive and suffocating, like it was trying too hard to prove a point.

I kept my face neutral, tapping at my iPad like I hadn't just spent the last few minutes pouring my heart out into a video that would never see the light of day.

"Yanna," he said, his voice smooth but firm, the kind of tone he always used when he expected me to just fall in line.

I glanced up, forcing a small smile. "Hey, baby."

He closed the door behind him, walking over like he owned the place. Like he owned me.

"You good?" he asked, but it wasn't real concern. It was performative, a script he had memorized just well enough to sound convincing.

I nodded, setting my iPad aside. "Yeah. Just tired."

He hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for my hand. He rubbed his thumb across my ring finger—the same one he had snatched the ring off of earlier—and for a second, I thought he was about to bring it up. Maybe even apologize.

But of course, he didn't.

Instead, he exhaled like I was the one who had been a problem today. "You embarrassed me."

I swallowed, keeping my expression soft. "I didn't mean to."

He gave me a look. "You were crying, Yanna."

I let out a small, breathy laugh, making it sound light. "I was emotional."

"Over what?"

I hesitated, but only for a second before I shook my head. "I don't know, everything, I guess. The engagement, the cameras, the moment—" I forced a little smile. "It was a lot."

He studied me, trying to decide if he believed me or not.

I kept my posture relaxed, my eyes wide and soft, my lips barely parted like I was just a delicate, overwhelmed woman who needed a strong man to steady her.

He liked that.

His grip on my hand relaxed a little. "Just keep it together next time."

I nodded, leaning forward and resting my head against his shoulder. "I will."

He wrapped an arm around me, his fingers trailing lightly down my arm, and I fought every instinct to flinch away.

Instead, I played my role.

Perfect fiancée.

Loving. Obedient. Beautiful.

I let him hold me, let him think he had me wrapped around his finger, let him believe that I wasn't already planning my way out.