Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

I shook my head. “The help is trained not to carry their phones while they work.” What if they—gasp—took a selfie inside Crowne Hall?

West exhaled and handed me his phone, his look telling me I wasn’t going to like it. Eyeing West warily, I took it.

He’d already brought my name up on the browser. My lips parted, unable to process what I was seeing.

When you googled my name before, random things that didn’t relate to me popped up. Now…now blurry photos from the night of Grayson’s engagement party popped up. The video from his wedding. The photo next to West.

Rumors. Conspiracies.

Truth.

And while some had taken to calling me Cinderella, others had taken to calling me a gold digger. A whore.

“What is this?” I whispered, though I knew. “When I looked last, no one knew my name. Now they know my mother’s name!” Then my eyes popped as I scanned another blog, dedicated entirely to my fucking locket. My head shot up, locking with West. “How do they even know about this?”

He gave me a rueful smile. “You’d be surprised what people find when your life becomes their hobby.”

I felt violated.

Confused.

Scared.

I rubbed my chest. “I spent my whole life trying to hide.”

“Well, you’re at the top now, Story. You can’t hide up here. Everyone’s always looking up, and when they do, they’re gonna see you.”

“I’m not at the top. I’m just a girl…a servant.”

Twelve

GRAY

* * *

Though many of the press had been removed, the Labor Day party still continued. I knew the rule—continue as. Continue as if nothing had happened while everyone was reveling in the scandal. Of course, i

t had been suggested Lottie and I leave.

So as not to draw any more attention.

Now I sat on the windowsill in Lottie’s bedroom, wondering how to fix the ugliness, the black sludge creeping in my marriage.

The door to her walk-in creaked open.

“Lottie?” I looked up. “Lottie, let’s get out—”

I broke off. Lottie stood in the center of the room, dressed in a black-and-violet silk robe—she promptly let the robe fall to the floor.

I looked to the ceiling.

“Why are you looking away? I’m your wife.”

Moments later her soft hand stroked my jaw. I ground my teeth, focusing on the lofted ceilings, the sound of the party continuing outside.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to get out of here. Go into town or to the lake, like we used to when we were kids.”

When shit wasn’t so fucked.