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Chapter 9

I exhaled, imagining the body I had already touched in my mind since that photo, the body I had traced with phantom hands, and it wasn't enough to sustain the fantasy anymore.

"Let's finish this," I whispered, the sigh that followed more surrender than decision.

I gathered each detail she had ever given me and typed them one by one into the search bar. Nothing came up. Then I found something. The day that changed everything. The day she had told me she had broken down in the middle of an assignment.

I started digging through news from that time, looking for tragedies, stories of mothers and children. And then I saw it. A Brooklyn headline about evictions and the harshness of a reality that gave no one a break.

The door flew open, tearing through the silence.

"My date with Carlo was a disaster," Scott announced with his usual flair. "He dragged me to some place that stank of cheap perfume and cigarettes, then had the nerve to expect me to hand over my ass in the car. Who the hell does he think I am?"

I didn't take my eyes off the screen. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it wanted out of my chest. Scott, seeing me like that, stepped closer, though he knew better than to sit on my bed. He wouldn't dare risk me screaming at him for touching my sheets with street clothes.

"What's going on?"

"Mia... she went out with her friends," I said flatly, as if words themselves might break my focus. "Christ, Scott, I don't get it. I'm on the verge of running through every bar to look for her."

He let out a sharp sound, half sigh and half exclamation, but I refused to look up. His attention was already too much to bear.

"I have to get this out of me. I looked her up. I'm one step away from seeing her."

He leaned in, hungry in his own way, though for reasons that had nothing to do with mine.

"Go on then."

I scrolled until I found the video and pressed play.

A woman was speaking, her face fractured by desperation. The young reporter appeared in profile, just a flicker, until the camera finally caught her full on. My breath jammed in my lungs. That voice, the sweet one I already knew by heart, found its shape in lips that moved with quiet ease. I watched her listening with real attention, asking questions with tenderness, taking the woman's hand when the emotion threatened to spill over. It felt as if the warmth of that touch broke through the screen and reached me.

"I'm fucked," I whispered, barely audible.

Scott looked from her to me.

"It's the angel."

I stared at him, not getting it.

"Don't you remember I told you I had a new model," he pressed. When I stayed silent, he let out a sigh. "The brunette with potential showed up with a blonde. The one I said looked like an angel lit right under the spotlight."

The memory of that dinner clicked in. I nodded.

"Yeah, well, that's her. The blonde friend."

"The model... her name isn't Rhonda, is it?"

"Rhonda Robinson," he confirmed.

I searched for her on Instagram and saw that she had just posted a story. I was about to tap it when Scott stopped me.

"Maybe smarter to do it from my phone. I doubt Rhonda would miss the fact that the great Athena Sterling is checking her stories."

I shook my head, fully aware of the stupidity I was walking into. I held out my hand, and he passed me his phone, already open on her profile. Of course Scott had access, gossip was his lifeblood.