He Called It a Joke. I Called My Lawyers. Chapter 04

woke up tied to a chair in the dark.

Somewhere close, a camera beeped. A ring light clicked on and blinded me.

Then I heard Lacey’s voice through the curtain, sweet as syrup:

“We strip her down to her underwear. Put her in the trash-bag wedding dress. Title it The Bride Nobody Wants to ten million views by midnight.”

And then I heard the voice I’d trusted since I was six years old.

“…Fine. Just don’t post her face.”

My fiancé had just agreed to sell my body for her views.

The ropes had already rubbed my wrists raw. I was in the boutique’s back storage room. White dress bags hung everywhere like ghosts. On a rack in front of me, someone had made a wedding gown out of black garbage bags and silver duct tape. A veil of plastic grocery bags.

Through the curtain, Brent was talking.

“Grant, man, she tore Lacey’s dress. Tore it off her. If we hadn’t been there…”

“She thinks she’s untouchable because of her daddy’s money,” Tyler said. “Somebody’s gotta knock her down a peg.”

Lacey’s voice, wounded and soft: “I just wanted to try on a wedding dress once in my life, Grant. Just once. I’ll never be able to afford one. And she called me trash. She said I was dressing up as something I’ll never be.”

I never said a word to her. Not one. This was their script. Their show.

“It’s just underwear, man. It’s basically a bikini.”

“Nobody’s hitting her. It’s a bit.”

“It’s a joke.”

Grant’s voice wavered. “Guys… I don’t know. Nora’s proud. She’d never forgive this.”

Lacey’s tone went sharp. “It’s a lesson, Grant. You said yourself she needs one. Or are you still scared of her?”

A pause.

“Look. Fine. We won’t post her face. Just her body. Okay?”

A long silence.

Then a quiet, defeated: “Okay.”

The tears came before I could stop them. Hot and silent. Again. He had chosen her. Again. Not in a ballroom this time. In a dark storage room, with my wrists tied behind my back.

But not tonight. They would not get this.

Maya’s keychain was in my back pocket. My fingers were numb, but I twisted until I felt the metal. I pried the blade open with my thumbnail and sawed. It sliced my palm. I didn’t stop. The rope gave.

My purse was on the floor, half kicked under the rack. My phone was still in it. The screen showed something that made my breath catch: Voice Memos, still recording. I’d opened it in the cab to record a message for Maya. I’d never bestop.

It had been running for forty minutes.

I saved it with shaking hands.

Footsteps came toward the curtain.

There was a window at the back of the room, painted shut. I shoved it with my shoulder. Once. Twice. It screeched open onto a rusted fire escape.

“Is she awake?” Lacey called.

I climbed out. The fire escape ladder stopped six feet above the alley. I didn’t think. I jumped.

I hit a stack of cardboard and then the concrete. Pain cracked through my hip and down my spine. My palms tore open on the gravel.

Above me, someone shouted my name.

I ran.

Barefoot again. Bleeding again. I flagged down a cab on Newbury Street, and the driver took one look at me and didn’t

ask questions.

“Logan Airport. Please. Fast.”

I made the British Airways flight with four minutes to spare. The gate agent stared at my bloody hands and quietly

handed me a pack of tissues.

In my seat, my phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed.

Grant: Where the hell are you?

Grant: Nora, it was a JOKE.

Grant: Answer me. You’re being insane.

Grant: Fine. See you at the altar tomorrow. You always come back.

I didn’t open them. I blocked him. Then I blocked Lacey, Tyler, Brent, and Josh.

Then I sent one text to Harlan Price.

New evidence. Forty-minute audio recording. Kidnapping, drugging, unlawful restraint. Add Grant Ellison’s name to the

list.

Three dots. Then:

Already done. Is the package delivered to the chapel?

I looked out the window as Boston shrank to a scatter of lights.

Yes, I wrote. Tomorrow at 2 p.m., they’ll find it at the altar.

Grant was right about one thing.

I always came back.

Not this time.