I don't hear from Damien all day.
No texts. No calls. Just silence while Victoria's countdown ticks down and the internet loses its mind speculating about my cryptic i********: post.
At 11:55 AM, five minutes before her threatened exposure, I get a text from an unknown number.
I'm giving you one more chance. End this. Now. Or I release everything. —V
I text back: Do what you have to do.
Noon comes.
Nothing happens.
At 12:05, another text: Fine. You want to play hardball? Let's play hardball. Check your email.
I check. There's a message from some anonymous account. Subject line: PROOF.
Inside: Documents. Photos. Evidence of the twenty-one-night arrangement. Not the actual contract—but close enough. Screenshots of text messages. Photos of us together at the Bellagio. At the Venetian
