We walked in silence for a couple of minutes, Colton leading the way, seemingly preoccupied by thoughts that brought ridges to his brow. As we stopped at a traffic light, I noticed a newspaper stand across the street. When the light turned green, I rushed over, holding my breath.
I grabbed a newspaper from the pile and reached inside my purse for some change, but Colton was faster. He clasped my forearm.
“Hattie, no,” he said. “Please. Let’s do this at home.”
The newspaper salesman looked at me intently, with a crooked grin on his face, showing tobacco-stained yellow teeth. “Hey, aren’t you her?” he asked, tapping on the pile of folded newspapers with his fingers. “C’mon, you know, the girl who killed that rich guy? Why’d you kill him, huh?”
“Ah, go suck a tailpipe,” Billy Ray snapped, underlining his statement with a matching gesture.
Gasping for air, I pulled myself free of Colton’s grip. Still holding on to the newspaper, I ran away, feeling my face burning with shame. As soon as I turned a corner, I stopped and opened the paper.
A picture of me took about a third of the first page. I didn’t recognize it, but I recognized the moment it had been taken—immediately after Winston had proposed, but he’d been removed from the shot. The expression on my face was conflicted, showing a mix of the enchantingsurprise I’d felt and my underlying sadness, knowing I’d have to walk away, to leave Winston. The headline, printed in big, bold letters, read,Murder One: Olivia Taylor Charged in Fiancé’s Killing.
Cringing, I started reading the unforgiving article.
The darker side of Las Vegas high society emerged today as Olivia Taylor, the well-known philanthropist and casino heiress, was formally charged with the murder of Winston Donovan, one of the city’s most influential financial leaders. The case has stunned the community, not only for Donovan’s prominence but also for the complex personal history that has now come to light.
Taylor, once praised for her charitable work and polished public image, now faces scrutiny over her relationship with Donovan, which began while he was still married. Sources close to the couple describe their affair as intense and complicated, fueling widespread speculation about motives and loyalties during the final months of Donovan’s life.
Police sources confirm that Taylor’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon and that surveillance footage places her at the crime scene. Despite her attempts to maintain a facade of innocence, the evidence is overwhelmingly incriminating. It will be an easy job for ADA Dylan Mitchell to secure a guilty verdict.
“She’s nothing more than a heartless manipulator,” an anonymous source close to the investigation revealed. “Olivia Taylor has always been after one thing: money. And she was willing to kill for it.”
As the trial looms, the media circus intensifies. Taylor’s high-priced defense team, led by the notorious Colton Blake, is fighting an uphill battle against the damning evidence. However, in the court of public opinion, Olivia Taylor is already condemned.
The once-respected figure has left a trail of broken promises and discarded lovers, and now faces a future marred by scandal and infamy. With every sordid detail of her affair and alleged crime splashed across the tabloids, Taylor’s reputation is in shreds. As the world watches, the question remains: Will justice be served, or will this cunning celeb evade the consequences of her actions?
My heart thundered inside my chest. I folded the paper, my eyes glued to a certain damning phrase.A trail of broken promises and discarded lovers.They must’ve found out somehow ... maybe not all there was to find out, or they would’ve spilled all of it in the article. But if the media knew something about my previous life, soon everyone would. Including a jury of my peers, who were reading the papers or watching the news, finding me guilty in their minds.
With the secrets of my past revealed and displayed in public view, I didn’t stand a chance in hell.
The paper slipped out of my hands, landing on the sidewalk. Feeling weak at the knees, I looked around for a place where I could sit, but there wasn’t one. Just a dirty, cracked sidewalk.
Footsteps pounded behind me, drawing closer. Then a hand touched my shoulder, gentle, hesitant. I flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“Hattie, please,” Colton said, bringing his face close to mine, his eyes searching. “Don’t do this to yourself.” I nodded, unable to say anything. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll have dinner, and everything willseem better after we eat.” He picked up the newspaper and folded it under his arm.
“Why, Colton?” I asked, my voice fraught with tears and raised, pleading and desperate. “Why are we here, where everyone can see me? Why can’t we just go home?”
Billy Ray was staring at Colton with a stubborn expression on his face, like I’d seen on him as a kid, before saddling the meanest horse in our stables. He was about to challenge his old pal. Maybe start a fight.
Colton ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m asking you both to trust me, all right?”
I shook my head. “Just tell me why you’re doing this. I have a right to know. It’s my life, Colton—mylife.” I looked away, painfully aware I was demanding the truth from the man I was lying to.
He moved around restlessly, his shoes scuffing against the asphalt, hands on his hips under his unbuttoned suit jacket, tension radiating off him in waves. It looked like he was fighting himself as much as me.
“All right, if you must know ...” He exhaled sharply, meeting my eyes. “Because they need to see you.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“The jury pool. The public. Right now, all they know is what the media’s spoon-feeding them—headlines that make you sound guilty before you’ve even had a chance to defend yourself.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If they see you out there, just living, not hiding, not running—it humanizes you. It makes it harder for them to believe you’re this cold, calculated killer they’re painting you as.”
“What are you saying, Colton?” I whispered.
His voice softened, almost pleading. “Let them see the real you. It might be the only way to save you.”
I felt the color draining from my face. My hand flew to my open mouth. “You think we’re going to lose!” A wave of dizziness washed over me. “Oh my God ... is that it?”
