But what have I done that makes Dom want to kill me?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force memories that won’t come. The only thing I know for certain is that the Amara who wrote this diary was terrified—of Dom, of her blackmailer, of herself.
And now I’m terrified too.
I flip through more pages, my eyes catching Caleb’s name. My breath hitches as I start reading.
April 10th
Caleb touched my face today. Just a simple brush of his fingers against my cheek, but it felt like electricity. We were alone in his car while Poppy finished her dance class. The way he looks at me when no one else is around... it’s like I’m the only person in his world.
“This is wrong,” he whispered, but his eyes said something else entirely.
“Then why does it feel so right?” I asked him.
His answer was to kissmeso gently I almost cried. Then he said, “We have to be so careful. If Dom finds out... if Poppy found out...everything would explode.”
I run my fingers over the words, trying to feel the emotions behind them. This doesn’t feel like a stranger’s life anymore—it feels like mine. It’s still a little out of reach, but it feels real.
March 20th
Caleb promised we’d run away together after Poppy leaves for Juilliard. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he said. “Paris, Rome, London—anywhere away from here, away from Dom.”
Ibelieve him. The way he looks at me... no one has ever looked at me like that before.
We have to hide everything. Secret texts, stolen moments in his car, carefully timed meetings that look accidental.
It’s exhausting but thrilling. And when he touches me, I forget all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. I just want to have sex withhim,but we never seem to get thetime,and he wants to do it properly.
Curious about how it all began, I flip backward through the pages, searching for the first mention of Caleb as more than just my friend’s father. I keep going until there’s no mention of Pampered Princess, then slowly work forward, page by page.
Finally, I find it:
January 15th
A girl in my English Lit class was bragging about how much money she makes on some app called Pampered Princess. She said she just chats with guys and sometimes shows a little skin, and they pay her hundreds of dollars.
When I looked skeptical, she slipped me a card with the website.
“Professor Miles used to watch my roommate there,” she whispered with a smirk.
I nearly choked. Professor Miles? Dom’s best friend? The same man I’ve been secretly crushing on? The thought of him watching girls on that site made my stomach flip in ways I can’t explain.
I shouldn’t do it. I have an allowance. I have nice things. But I need my own money—money Dom can’t track, money that will let me disappear when I need to.
So I did it. Tonight, I created an account.
SweetBunny is now live on Pampered Princess.
God help me.
There’s a knock at my door. I slam the diary shut, jump on the bed, and push it under my pillow. “Come in.”
I stuff the diary under my pillow just as the door swings open. Mom steps inside, her eyes darting around the room before settling on me.
“Amara, we need to talk.” Her voice is hushed, urgent. She closes the door behind her and leans against it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
