It was me.
I drugged myself.
What a joke.
“You’re smarter than I thought,” I muttered, staring down at the grainy footage like it owed me rent.
The nerve of this b***h.
The woman in the footage…me, smiled directly at the camera. Her walk, her hair, her height. Perfect mimicry. But the second she turned slightly
I saw it.
A f*****g mask of my face. Not a metaphor. Not a disguise. A literal rubber Arianna face like I was watching Scooby-Doo.
I didn’t expect that.
I snapped the phone shut like it burned.
“f**k you, author,” I hissed. “What kind of deranged w*****d-Netflix crossover is this? How can the villain be as smart as the main character? Make it make sense!”
I paced in tight circles around Arianna’s ridiculously glossy bedroom, still fuming.
“She wore a mask,” I said again,
