Prologue
Eva's eyes swept over the glittering hall. She blinked, half-dazed, when her name echoed through the speakers—crisp, certain. Was that really her? The same woman who'd spent last night rocking a colicky baby until dawn, her nightgown spotted with milk and tears?
Daniel leaned in. His lips brushed her cheek, lingering long enough for the world to pause. "Told you you were magic," he murmured. "Even with the spit-up on your dress."
She swatted his chest, a laugh escaping before she could stop it. "Shut up."
"Let's welcome Eva Winslow up on here!" the host boomed, snapping her back to reality. "She's done a tremendous job this year—balancing a newborn, a demanding career, and still managing to break ratings records. If this isn't girl power, I don't know what is! This award is well deserved—Media Personality of the Year!"
Thunderous applause erupted, echoing off the walls. Eva's heart pounded, her nerves buzzing as she rose, one hand instinctively smoothing her dress. The fabric whispered with each breath she took. Her heels, despite being her own small act of rebellion against postpartum exhaustion, wobbled slightly.
God, who invented stilettos? Probably someone who hated women.
Daniel's hand brushed her lower back, steadying her. "Careful," he murmured. "Wouldn't want the star of the night to fall flat on her face."
She shot him a mock glare over her shoulder. "If I do, I'm blaming you."
"You can punish me later," he said smoothly.
Eva walked toward the stage, feeling the bass of the music thrum through her body.
A famous actor waited at the podium, all sculpted jaw and devastating charm. He held the crystal award in one hand, smiling. As Eva reached him, he leaned down just slightly. "Congratulations. You look absolutely breathtaking tonight."
She reached for the award, momentarily forgetting which side was up. The base caught the light. Her brain whispered, You're holding it upside down, babe.
He chuckled softly, correcting it for her. "There you go," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
Camera flashes exploded, painting the moment in gold and white. She blew Daniel a kiss from the stage, watching the corners of his mouth twitch up before he covered his face with his hand, laughing. That private sound that used to echo against her skin in darker, softer hours. He mouthed, show-off.
She mouthed back, always.
She stepped up to the microphone, clutching the award. She stared at it for a beat and then looked out at the sea of faces. "I am just amazed, people. Whaaaaat?!"
The audience broke into laughter. Her confidence expanded, filling her chest. "I didn't think I would win," she said, shaking her head. "In fact…" She paused, letting suspense dangle between them. "I never thought I could win anything in my entire life." She let her gaze drift to Daniel, her lips curving in a secret smile.
"Well, except maybe my husband's patience—and that was a full-time job."
But she never got to finish the speech.
The next word died on her tongue. A collective gasp sliced through the hall. Murmurs rose. The music stumbled to an uncertain halt. Camera flashes that had moments ago worshipped her now pivoted elsewhere, lighting up confusion, panic, and gossip in real time.
She found Daniel in the crowd. His face was wrong. Frozen. Every muscle locked.
"Bitch!" someone shouted from the crowd.
Eva blinked, forcing a tight smile. "Okay, where did that come from?" She gave a shaky laugh.
Then another voice—male, venomous—snarled, "Fag!"
Eva's chest tightened. What the hell is happening?
The famous actor beside her stepped closer, his palm brushing the small of her back. "I think you should look behind you."
Her throat went dry. She turned slowly.
The massive display screen towering behind her flickered once, twice, and then changed. The glittering reel that had moments ago shown her proudest moments—award clips, interviews, smiling photos of her cradling her baby—was gone. In its place, grainy footage filled the screen.
"No…" she whispered.
Her legs went numb.
Her own face stared back at her.
But not just her face—her body. Her and Mary. Naked. Tangled. The image was so vivid, so intimate. A tangle of limbs, hair, and flushed skin.
Eva's knees buckled. Her entire body went cold. The images on the screen were cinematic—shot with intention. Professional. Lit perfectly, framed perfectly, designed to destroy. The slideshow continued mercilessly—her and Mary, wrapped in sheets, caught in poses that left nothing to interpretation.
Every flicker of the screen was another cut to her sanity.
"No…No. No. No. No!"
She stumbled backward, the award slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. Her vision blurred.
This isn't real. It couldn't be. She wasn't into women. She wasn't.
And yet there it was—her body arching toward Mary's, her mouth parted in pleasure. The lighting made it artful.
This was a lie. A violation so intimate it scraped against her soul. Someone had taken her face—her body—and twisted it into a weapon. The images were surgical. Precision edits. Shadows matched, skin tone flawless. Whoever had done this wanted to erase her.
Her mind spun, a cyclone of disbelief and panic. This can't be real. She searched desperately for reason, for logic, for someone who would see through the chaos and believe her. Every breath hurt. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat of terror.
Then she turned—her instinct driving her toward the one constant in her world. Her anchor. Her husband. Her Daniel.
He was gone.
Her eyes found him just in time to watch the back of his head disappear into the blur of tuxedos and sequins. The man who had once sworn that nothing would ever come between them was already halfway out. Moving quickly. Purposefully. Leaving.
"Daniel? Daniel!"
He didn't stop. Didn't turn around.
And just like that, she was alone.
If Daniel didn't believe her—if he thought this was real—then what possible hope did she have with the rest of them?