By morning, the world had already changed.
Tracy woke to the faint vibration of her phone — a low, insistent buzz that pulled her out of a restless sleep. Her first thought was Alex. Her second was please, not again.
But it wasn’t a call. It was a storm.
Hundreds of notifications — headlines, mentions, and hashtags, all bleeding across her screen. #TracyMorganExposed. #KnightScandal. #LiarInDesignerHeels.
Her stomach turned cold.
She sat up in bed, the silk sheets sliding down as the newsfeed refreshed. There it was — a perfectly edited video of her at the gala. Only this one had been doctored.
Carter’s team had twisted her recorded escape into a betrayal. The clip showed her slipping into the west corridor, spliced with grainy footage of her meeting Sophie in the café the next day.
