Chapter 3

I lay in bed. My temples throbbed.

I couldn't sleep.

I pulled out my phone and started searching, over and over.

"What to do if your boyfriend takes nude photos of you."

"Will a boyfriend leak private photos."

"Intimate photos shared without consent."

…

I read through story after story just like mine. The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe.

I pulled the covers tighter. Clicked, stiff. "How to protect yourself when intimate photos are circulated."

The guides made it sound easy. Tell your family. Tell your friends. Seek help.

Light. Weightless. Simple.

I played it out in my head, over and over.

But none of it would work on Sebastian. He wasn't afraid of anything. And he could make anything disappear.

Tears soaked the pillow.

Eventually I couldn't hold on. I passed out.

I slept poorly. Somewhere in the fog, I heard the click of a camera shutter.

I jolted awake, pulled the blanket up.

The room was dim. Just the red dot of a camera blinking.

Sebastian was in the shadows. A smile lifting the edge of his brow, his eyes drunk-red. "You're beautiful."

I scrambled out of bed, trying to hide. But he pulled me easily into his arms. His cologne mixed with cigarette smoke hit me straight in the face. I couldn't stop coughing.

Sebastian's arms tightened. His voice went low. "Don't move. God, I missed you."

My nerves were stretched to a wire. Pulled on, plucked.

I grabbed his sleeve. My voice was hoarse. "Delete—them."

Sebastian sat me on his lap. "What's wrong with your throat? Didn't drink the honey-lemon tea last night? The driver said he couldn't find you. Still angry?"

My stomach flipped. Nausea rose.

I clenched my fists in silence. Tried to pull free.

Sebastian sighed, as if exasperated. "I already looked through your phone."

The haze in my head cleared for a second.

My whole body shook.

The plane ticket…

Sebastian rubbed my back, soothing. "Your little friend went running to you, right? I did bring Chloe to the mixer last night. It was her birthday. No one was with her. It was nothing. Sophia. Don't overthink it."

The fight drained out of me. My voice was barely there. "Sebastian. The photos you just took. Delete them. Please."

"I don't like it. I don't want to be photographed."

Sebastian stilled.

His voice turned cold. "Still acting out?"

"This is exactly why I shouldn't have told you. How many times do I have to say it? I just feel sorry for her."

"Sophia Harrington. I don't have unlimited patience for you."

Sebastian's lips kept moving. Accusation after accusation. Each one landing like a hammer blow. No mercy.

I shoved him away and ran for the bathroom.

My throat burned. I doubled over in pain. But I hadn't eaten all day. All that came up was bile.

Fast footsteps behind me. Sebastian scooped me up.

His lips pressed into a thin line, anxious. "You didn't eat again? Let me take you to the hospital."

I grabbed his collar, choking on a sob. "No. No."

"Sebastian, please just delete the photos. Please."

He looked down at my swollen eyes. Something flickered in his expression—something like conflict.

But in the next second, his phone buzzed on the table.

He glanced at it. And everything in him snapped clear.

He laid me on the bed, pressed the camera into my hands. "I'll send the family doctor over."

"Get some rest."

"Delete whatever you want from the camera."

"As for the other photos…"

Sebastian paused, tucked the blanket around me. "Seven days. After the competition, I'll delete them."

He stood up and answered the call.

His voice went impossibly gentle.

"What is it? Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."

The door slammed behind him.

Faintly—I could hear Chloe crying.

The camera was heavy. It sat dead weight in my palm.

On the screen was a photo of me sleeping. Brow furrowed, tears still clinging to the corner of my eye. My nightdress had slipped off one shoulder, baring too much skin.

I hit delete, slow.

Then I swept through the rest of the camera.

Nothing.

Nothing of me.

My finger moved faster. Eventually I only found photos of Chloe.

Chloe in neat clothes, smiling at the lens. Chloe reading quietly. Chloe from behind, heading into lecture with her books. Chloe in profile during vocal class, taking notes.

…

Countless photos. So many.

Every little moment of her life. Captured. Cherished.

I laughed through tears.

So this was what Sebastian meant by "just feeling sorry for her."

When Sebastian first bought the camera, we drove out to the coast. Someone asked him to take their picture. He'd smiled at her, distant and polite. "Sorry. I only photograph Sophia Harrington."

The sunlight had been blinding that day. My face had gone red.

I used to believe I was the one thing in Sebastian's heart no one else could touch.

Apparently not.

I went a little mad.

I dug out every framed photo of us in the apartment. Used the camera to smash them, one by one. Glass everywhere. Until my arms gave out.

Shards all over the floor. A complete mess.

I sat in the middle of it and realized—loving someone alone, chasing him alone, was exhausting. I couldn't do it anymore.

The sky darkened. My empty stomach protested.

I got up barefoot and made myself a bowl of pasta. The water in the pot was still, like a mirror. It reflected back the wreck of me.

While I waited for it to boil, my phone buzzed.

Madeline had sent a screenshot. Chloe's Instagram Stories.

"Got harassed while singing at the jazz bar tonight. Thank god he was there."

Attached: a photograph.