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“Excuse me.”

I turn around to find Mrs. Utica, one of Big Ridge’s self-appointed moral police officers, staring at me. She makes it her personal mission to tell everyone else how they should be living their life. Her graying brown hair is pulled back in the tightest bun known to mankind and her lips are pursed like she’s been sucking on lemons for the past decade.

“Hey, Mrs. Utica. Can I help you?” I drop a bag of organic apples into my cart.

Her eyes narrow into slits. “I certainly hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry?” I should have expected she’d find me eventually to scold me about my relationship.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You posted those vile pictures online for the whole world to see. Have you no decency? No self-respect?”

What the hell is she talking about? I blink at her, genuinely confused. “I honestly have no idea what you’re⁠—”

“Oh, please!” She waves her hand dismissively. “The whole town is talking about it. Your poor mother would be ashamed of you if she knew what kind of behavior you’re engaging in.”

Heat floods my cheeks. How dare she bring up my mom. “I don’t know what pictures you’re referring to, but I can assure you that I haven’t posted anything inappropriate anywhere. I don’t even have my phone today.”

Shout out to my self-control for keeping the fuck you in my head and not on my lips.

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of her head. “Sluts and whores, that’s what all you young women are these days. First Callie, now you. No morals, no shame.” She spins on her heel and storms off, muttering under her breath about the degradation of society.

I stand there, mouth hanging open, completely bewildered. What pictures was she talking about? Moreover, what right does she have to judge me or Callie? Maybe she needs to get laid.

“Well, that was quite the performance.”

I turn to find Maura standing a few feet away with her own shopping cart, shaking her head at Mrs. Utica’s retreating figure. Maura’s always been one of the more level-headed people in this town. Seeing her friendly face after that bizarre confrontation is like a breath of fresh air.

“Did you hear all that?” I ask, still trying to process what just happened.

Maura nods, her expression sympathetic but concerned. “Unfortunately, yes. And I know what she’s talking about.”

My mouth parts and an eyebrow inches up my forehead. “You do?”

She searches my face. “You didn’t post pictures this morning?”

“I haven’t posted pictures online in months.”

“Oh dear.” She sighs and pulls out her phone, her fingers scrolling through something. “You might want to prepare yourself for this.” She holds out her phone to me.

I take it, confusion settling in my gut like a rock. As soon as I see the screen, my blood turns to ice. What the actual fuck?

There are photos from my account posted this morning, only I didn’t take them or post them. And yet, there they are. Photos in the highest resolution. Me in my bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, reaching for my face lotion on the counter. It looks like a selfie but that’s impossible since I didn’t take it and there are no cameras in the bathroom. Or at least, I didn’t put any there.

I swipe to the next photo and my knees almost buckle. It’s me in my bedroom, completely naked, standing in front of my dresser as I search for an outfit. The angle suggests someone was in my closet, or maybe . . . outside my window? There’s a pathetic excuse of a blur over my important bits. Every part of me is on display for the world to see.

There are more. So many more. Nothing from the last few days but there are plenty of me getting dressed or undressed over the course of several days last week. My privacy, my body, some of my most intimate moments captured without my knowledge and plastered across my social media page. There are a dozen shares already, hundreds of views and several comments.

The phone slips from my numb fingers but Maura catches it before it hits the floor.

“Are you okay?” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

I shake my head, unable to form words. My mind is screaming, racing. Fear trickles through my veins. “I . . . I have to go.” I abandon my cart right there in the middle of the produce section, walking out to my car on autopilot. My hands are shaking so violently I barely get the key in the ignition. The engine starts and I pull out of the parking lot, my mind reeling.

How did he do it? How did Matt get those photos? Did he install cameras? How did he post them when he’s in jail? Unless he did it before he was arrested. That would explain why the photos are from last week. There are scheduling apps . . . maybe he preplanned it before he was arrested. The thought makes my skin crawl and my stomach lurch. How vile of a person do you have to be to do that?

I drive toward the police station, my knuckles white as I grip the steering wheel. I’m completely terrified, but I know I have to report this.

The kitchen table is colder than usual as I trace my fingers along its edge and try to process everything that’s happened today. The guys sit around me, their presence both comforting and overwhelming at the same time. I’ve just finished explaining how I found out about the pictures, what happened at the police station, and now we’re all waiting for the officers to finish sweeping the house for hidden cameras.