Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 25 - More Alike Than You'd Think

"I know, sweetheart, and I will. I'll fix this. You take care."

"Sure." I wish his words didn't do something in me. "I will."

I hang up but hold the phone in place a moment longer. The rough pattern of his voice. The southern accent from his dad. The break whenever he says my name. There's a lot I can't forget.

"Who was that?" Grayson asks in a tone that is so awfully casual.

"No one. Dean," I say. "You wouldn't know him."

"Ah," he says. "Your boyfriend?"

I look ahead. Oren is driving and it's easy to forget he's there. "No."

"Ah."

What do I say? What do I say, what do I say, what do I— "You and each of your sisters are in possession of temporary restraining orders. If your sister's ex boyfriend attempts to contact or comes within a thousand feet of any of you for any reason, he's facing arrest," Oren speaks up. I have never been more glad to have a bodyguard.

Drake is here. In Texas. When Nash called, he said that Libby is safely inside with Alisa, but Drake is spamming her phone with texts and calls, demanding a face-to-face.

"Alisa and I will handle this." Oren says calmly. "Her firm has some contacts on the local police force who know how to be discreet."

I don't fucking care about how discreet anyone is. I only care about Libby. She has her own security detail. Drake won't get a chance to hurt her—physically.

"Alisa is with your sister." Grayson adds. "If the gentleman so much as tries to lay a finger on her, I assure you, the lady would take great pleasure in removing that finger."

"She's not the only one," I murmur bitterly.

"If it would make you feel better, I can have him removed from the property," Oren offers. "But that might cause a bit of a scene for the press."

The press? "The paparazzi are back at the house?"
The wall around the estate can keep the press off the property, but there is nothing stopping them from congregating, legally, on a public street.

"If I were a betting man," Oren comments, "I would guess that Drake placed a few calls to reporters to ensure an audience."

C. R. D. - M. L. T.

The audience that greets us is anything but discreet. A horde of press and many police men are gathered around the gate and somewhere between, I catch sight of Drake. Great. So much for Alisa's and Oren's reliable contacts.

I hold up my hand. "Stop the car."

"Camille," Oren says warningly. "I strongly advise you to stay in this vehicle." His tone tells me that this isn't just a warning. It's an order.

But I'm not a little girl. I'm an adult, and I can make my own fucking decisions. Beside me, Grayson unbuckles his seat belt. He reaches for my wrist, his touch gentle, and I wonder what changed and why I am so willing to go soft at his touch. "Oren's right. You shouldn't go out there."

Quietly, I say, "What lengths would you go to in order to protect your family?" I know his answer. I know it because it's the same as mine. We're the same, and he knows it damn well.

Grayson's knuckles brush against mine as he pulls his hand back. His eyes meet mine. "Do what you have to do," he says, and I reach for the door handle, ignoring Oren's protests.

Right now, Drake is the biggest story the press has on the Hawthorne Heiress front because we haven't given them anything bigger. Yet. But I know how to make a scene.

Chin held high, I step out of the car. Look at me. I'm the story here. I have to believe those words. I have to believe them so I can become them. I walk down the drive, back toward the street. I'm wearing black boots and a black coat with my Country Day pleated skirt. My uniform blazer pulls against my body as I walk. The new hair. The makeup. The attitude. It's all about what kind of story you want to tell.

Of course, Oren steps out with me. "Alisa is going to kill you," he warns me and I smile grimly. That's the one thing I cannot care less about.

The roar of reporters yelling my name gets louder the closer we get. Hearing my name spoken by so many voices is strange. Exhilarating.

When I stand before them, they continue to yell questions at me. How do you silence a mass?

You raise your hand. So I did. The whispers ebbed to a total quiet.

Words. Words, Camille. "My name is Camille Diante, as you may know already." A few snickers. "You have questions. I know the answers. I know why Tobias Hawthorne changed his will."

The response to that announcement is electric. There is a reason why this is the story of the decade, one thing that everyone wants to know. "I know why he chose me." I make them look at me and only me. I sell that lie for all I am worth. "And if you run a word about that pathetic excuse for a human being behind me—any of you—I will make it my mission in life to ensure that you never, ever find out."

The press is akin to a pack of predators, and my narrative, along with my nonexistent answers, are the largest catch in the sea. I'm withholding food from a starving man. There is only so much time I have now before they switch against me, because a starving man will do anything to survive. The clock is ticking.