Every camera in the room locked on us at once.

I had no choice.

I put on a perfect fake smile, walked over, and reached for Victoria's bracelet.

But the moment I leaned in, her hand tipped—and a full flute of champagne landed squarely on my dress.

Victoria clapped a hand over her mouth, tears flooding her eyes instantly.

"I'm so sorry, Deidre! My hand slipped. I didn't mean to!"

She was crying prettily, trembling all over, the picture of someone deeply wronged.

The whispers around us shifted direction immediately.

"What is wrong with that woman? Victoria was being gracious, and she goes and throws a drink on her?"

"Didn't you see? Victoria splashed her fir—"

"Victoria would never do that on purpose. Look at her crying like that, and Deidre's just standing there stone-faced. She's clearly the one making a scene!"

Everyone had seen exactly what happened.

Not one person spoke up for me.

I stood there in my soaked dress, dripping under every light in the room.

Clyde barely spared me a glance before hurrying over to console the teary-eyed Victoria, leaving me stranded alone in full public view.

"Oh wow, Deidre really went there! A wet-dress seduction at a public event—she must be desperate to move up."

"Get the camera on that. From this angle, she'll be front-page news by morning!"

"That figure, that cleavage. Unreal."

Gasps rippled through the crowd, punctuated by the relentless clicking of shutters.

I fled to the restroom. Clyde followed.

"Deidre, Victoria didn't do that on purpose. But honestly, the result worked out even better, didn't it?"

He held out a check as he spoke.

"I know tonight was rough on you. Consider this extra compensation."

I looked at the man in front of me, standing under the lights like some upstanding gentleman.

Too bad I knew exactly how disgusting he was underneath.

"Then thanks, I'll take it."

I didn't bother with politeness. I took the check.

The humiliation had already been paid for. Might as well make sure the money was, too.

I turned and walked into the restroom.

I took out my phone and sent a message to Noel Henson.

"Attorney Henson, I need you to draft an agreement for me."

The day before Victoria's new drama premiered—nine a.m. sharp—"Deidre Morton Escort Scandal" shot to number one on the trending list.

The attached photos were from a private club gathering I'd attended three months ago.

In them I wore a red dress, held a glass of wine, and was smiling while talking to a middle-aged man.

The angle was deliberately misleading, making it look intimate.

Comments poured in.

"Wow, spicy. She just got engaged and now escort photos surface? What kind of woman is she?"

"Run, Young Mr. Gilbert. Marry a woman like that and you're bringing home a ticking time bomb."

I closed the page and opened my own social media.

The comment section was already a wasteland.

"A slut like her finally gets what's coming? Hilarious. Thought you'd latched onto money, and now the whole internet's digging up your dirt."

"You think you're good enough to marry into the Gilbert family? Take a good look in the mirror."

"Sterling City's biggest slut. The title fits. Young Mr. Gilbert sure has interesting taste, hahaha."

"Heard she once knocked on a director's door just to land a magazine cover. Who knows if it's true, but with that face? I'd bet on it."

The comments were all abuse, wall to wall.

Once in a while someone tried to speak up for me and got buried instantly.

Then Clyde's phone rang. His mother.

Nora Henson's voice came through like a slap.

"Break off the engagement with Deidre Morton. Now."

"A woman with that kind of personal life is never marrying into the Gilbert family."

Clyde raised an eyebrow. "Fine. But my condition is that I marry Victoria."

Teeth-grinding rage came through the line. "As long as you cut ties with that woman immediately, I don't care who you marry."

Standing off to the side, I let out a breath. "Clyde, you got what you wanted. Can you let me go now?"

"Not so fast."

He smiled and stroked my cheek. "There's one last show left, and it hasn't started yet."

"Deidre, I just need to lock down my marriage to Victoria. No loose ends."

"Get through this one last thing, and you walk away with five million. Easiest money you'll ever see."

Three days later, Clyde arranged a livestream.

I sat in front of the camera, the teleprompter scrolling the public confession statement Clyde had written himself—line after line after line of it.

"Regarding the videos circulating online, I owe everyone an apology. Those were the result of my own reckless behavior when I was young. My personal life was a mess, and I deeply regret the negative impact it has had on society…"

"I'm not worthy of Clyde Gilbert. I'm willing to voluntarily call off the engagement with Young Mr. Gilbert and leave the entertainment industry for good…"

The men in those videos? I didn't know a single one of them.

Those escort scandal photos? Every last one had been maliciously cropped and spliced.

But I was supposed to sit in front of two million people and tell them it was all true—all me.

And then grovel. Promise to crawl out of the industry and never come back. Burn my own career to the ground on camera.

I took a deep breath, eyes already stinging, and looked at Clyde.

"You're really going to make me do this."

"Aren't you afraid I'll go off-script on camera?"

He smiled and pinched my cheek.

"Your brother goes to school right here in Sterling City. Your parents are coming next month—I already bought their plane tickets for them. So tell me, Deidre. What kind of daughter do you want them to find when they get here?"

I swallowed every word I had left.

The livestream began.

Ten minutes in, two million viewers had poured into the room.

The comments flew so fast they blurred, and eighty percent of them were tearing me apart.

"Deidre Morton—get OUT of Sterling City!"

"Shameless tramp! If she hadn't crawled into his bed herself, Young Mr. Gilbert would never have looked twice at a nobody like her!"

"Victoria is the one who actually matches him. Too bad this scheming woman got there first. Hope Clyde kicks her to the curb!"

…

I ignored all of it and gave the camera a composed smile.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Deidre Morton."

"I'm here today to publicly address some of the recent rumors circulating about me online."

First line of the script: admit the videos were real, say I was young and didn't know better.

I looked at that line on the teleprompter. Held on it for half a beat.

Then I lifted my head, slow and deliberate, and looked straight at Clyde.

"Every single story you've heard about me recently is a lie."

"Clyde Gilbert planned all of it. And right now, I'm going to show you the proof."