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The irony of his words isn’t lost on me. Though looking at Dad you’d never know the hypocrisy of what he just said.
“Bexley Hastings is one of New York’s top philanthropists,” a new voice scoffs. “Youwere married to her? And divorced?”
“She was the other woman,” Claude dismisses. “We all read the articles and saw the pictures.”
“Bex is not and has never been theotherwoman,” I snap. Everyone balks at the rage emitting from my tone. I make sure to level them all with the same cold, heartless stare they often turn on me. “I made several misjudgements in my youth, as I’m sure many have. If you’re not, congratulations on being the only perfect person to grace God’s land, but here’s the door because I don’t expect people in this room to be perfect, I expect them to be decent and human. Let me be clear, Bexley is not the other woman. She is theonlywoman in which I ever saw myself settling down with. Tabloids run what will sell magazines, they’re not in the habit of spreading truths. She is not going to judge me based on some random fodder, so I have been spending time with her because it suits me.”
And that’s as close to the truth as you arrogant fuckers are going to get. I avoid saying it aloud, but marginally. Very few look ready to debate the topic with me, as most seem to be actually hearing what I’m saying instead of only listening to the sound of their own voices.
“You’ll be going on television for this interview in regards to your thirtieth birthday?” Salem Draggart asks. He’s older than everyone here. Rarely invests in stating his opinion until he’s looked at every facet.
“I will be, yes.”
“Are the police still investigating?” Salem’s thin lips tug downwards, making the already harsh lines surrounding his mouth more stark.
“If you can call it that,” I scoff. I glance at everyone around the room, now silent as Salem converses with me. My eyes land back on the elderly man. “Who wants to investigate the alleged rape of a man? Who is going to take that seriously? Especially when the media contributes to so much dissonance between who I am and who the media is portraying me to be. Like many here, I imagine the police have mostly written it off.”
“Walk me through it once more.”
I clench my jaw regardless that I know he’s not asking to be patronizing. But if I’m going to sit in front of a live camera and spill my soul to the world, the least I can do is unravel the tale again to avoid shock.
Dad’s hand rests on my shoulder. One quick squeeze before the weight is gone.
I open my mouth and regale them once more with what happened, my voice timeless and flat. “King, Aillard, and I began our night atDeliriumin the private lounge to not be disturbed. I had sent out a guest invite to close friends and business associates for a small birthday party at my apartment later that night. The catering company was setting everything up and we decided to stay out of their way. After two hours we went back to my place.” I pull in a deep breath. “We were drinking, enjoying the spread from one of my favorite Italian restaurants, when a few people announced they were invitingtheirfriends. I saw no reason to not allow it, at this point everything was mellow and friendly.”
Until it wasn’t.
“After that it became a clusterfuck.” I ignore the scowls sent my way due to my language. “Those friends invited more friends until my place was overrun with people I barely knew. I had several glasses of whiskey, but nothing that would impair me. However, I began to feel tired and sluggish. I thought perhaps the food had gone bad and I was beginning to experience food poisoning. I intended to find Aillard or King, let them shut down the party while I went to lie down or puke my brains out. There’s a haze that comes then. I remember feeling weak, hot, and nauseous. I made it to a spare bedroom and fell on the bed, hoping no one would disturb me.”
What should have been a place of solace, my own damn house, was painted red and no longer somewhere I found safe after everything occurred.
Gritting my teeth together, I force the rest of the story out. “I woke up to find shouting. A man I didn’t know was passed out in the corner of the room while two escorts were doing cocaine beside me on the bed. My clothes were in disarray. I’m unsure if I tried taking them off due to the fever or if one of the women or both tried to undress me. King had barged in because I’d been missing for quite some time. He shut down the party immediately and then Aillard and he took me to the emergency room where I had blood drawn and was given an exam. The police were informed immediately. They took statements and were granted access to my apartment for whatever they needed. However, they have not been able to determine what happened beyond I was slipped GHB, otherwise known as a date rape drug.”
My entire spiel is met with silence. Similar to before, no one spoke then either but this time it seems as though everyone is hearing me. Several faces are screwed up in disgust and ire. I’m sure they’re thinking about what would have happened tothemortheirson.
“Does anyone have any knowledge as to why someone would have slipped you something so atrocious?” Salem’s kind voice soothes the boiling edge my blood has taken on over this ghastly conversation.
“There’s theories at best. Someone wanted compromising photos to sabotage my name, which is why the photos exist in the first place. Someone wanted to use me, perhaps to get pregnant or for blackmail. And there’s always the infamousbecause they could get away with it. Which they certainly have.”
Again, silence reigns.
Dad clears his throat. When I turn to look at him, I’m almost taken aback by the tears rimming his eyes, though they never fall. “I believe King and Aillard are more than equipped to find out who did this and their reasoning. We, of course, will back you both spiritually, physically, and emotionally.”
“Agreed,” Salem’s voice booms.
And just like that, everyone goes from demanding I piss in a cup to PR control and drafting statements to potential media circuits.
Pulling out my phone, I send a quick text to King:Ravenscroft is on board with a televised interview.
King:Makes my life easier when everyone gets along. I’ve narrowed it down to two candidates. Emilia is meeting with them.
King:Gabriel Donner would be my prime suspect if he’d been at your apartment.
I sigh before typing back:He would have been mine too. Seems he simply saw an opportunity and leapt at it.
King:We’ll find him. Aillard and the police are compiling photographs taken from your party and identifying who each individual is. We already know most of the women were hired prostitutes.
My gut turns just thinking about it. No one in our circles runs around with women being paid for. More often it’s publicists pushing clients together in a way to make more screen time and a name for themselves. I quickly type out:They won’t be from our circle.
