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Chester: !!!!
Why what?Did someone post pictures of me at the police station or something? If so, it certainly wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. I could tell the truth and people would understand that I wasn’t in trouble for anything, so long as I did it fast enough that the rumor mill didn’t run away with some weird fake story.
I scrolled down, but looked up from my screen as I felt the turn and deceleration of reaching the gate to Gabriel’s fancy walled-off community. There wasn’t really anything to see in the dark, but I figured all of the day’s madness would be easier to deal with once I reached Gabriel.
Harold pulled up to the gate and rolled down the window.
“Layana Hartley and Harold Jones here to see Gabriel Stryker,” Harold told the guard.
The guard scanned his clipboard. “I don't have either of you on the list.”
His words registered slowly, sluggishly, like my brain was trudging through molasses. Gabriel always made sure I was on the list. Always. So why wasn't I now?
“There must be some mistake,” I said. “Please call up to the house.”
“No can do, miss. No name, no entry.”
Harold gave me a sympathetic look in the rearview mirror. “I can try calling Mr. Stryker directly.”
“Yes, do that,” I said.
Gabriel would get on the phone and fix this. He’d tell them I was supposed to be snuggled up on his sofa, getting kisses and eating olives and fancy cheese. I was supposed to be watchingthe fire from in his arms while he petted my hair and told me everything was going to be all right.
Harold stepped out of the car with his phone, which I assumed was to let Gabriel tell the guard that I was supposed to be here.
This was my safe place.
While I waited, I flicked my attention back down to my phone.
Juno: Did your account get hacked?
A knot formedin my stomach. What account?
Chester: That’s the only reasonable explanation
Morgan: This is a lot for a Monday. What’s going on?
Juno: Looks like Layana’s blog got hacked
Chester: It’s wow. I can’t look away
My blog?A sinking feeling fell over me. Could Maxim have gotten into my blog when he stole my laptop? It wasn’t possible. My laptop was password-protected.
Frantic, I pulled up the blog on my phone, and looked back out the window at Harold. What was taking so long? Whatever Maxim posted on my blog had to be terrible, and I wanted to be with Gabriel for the blow. I needed him, now more than ever.
Against my better judgment, I looked at the phone. The latest post loaded on my screen: My Most Private Thoughts and Feelings (and other things I never wanted you to know) by Layana Hartley.
“What the bloody barnacles….”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but forced them open again. This had to be a nightmare. But the words were still there in black and white when I looked.
Page after page of my private journal entries—my uncensored thoughts and feelings that I’d recorded since meeting Gabriel—all of it was right here for the whole world to see.
Bile burned my throat. I was going to be sick.
I had no idea how he’d cracked my passcode, but Maxim freaking Loughty had violated me more intimately than I’d ever thought possible. He’d shared my innermost secrets not to pawn it for cash, but to seek his own twisted revenge by exposing my most vulnerable thoughts.
It was a dagger to the heart, a boulder falling from the sky and crushing me down to the pavement. I couldn’t breathe.
