Chapter 4

Russell called me half a dozen times. I didn't pick up.

My parents texted me demanding I take the video down. I ignored them too.

Within the hour, Pamela's name topped every trending list. But the tide turned fast.

The Ellison Group put out a statement claiming I was mentally unstable and that nothing I said could be trusted. The Eastwood Group followed with a press conference of its own.

My parents took the stage themselves and released my psychiatric records from overseas—cherry-picked excerpts, taken out of context—claiming I was mentally disturbed and had deliberately slandered Pamela.

My mother sobbed through the whole conference. "My own daughter, so ungrateful. We searched for her for two years, and all along she was alive and never once came looking for us. Now she comes back and starts spreading lies. How did our family end up with a daughter like this?"

Pamela sat beside her, eyes rimmed red. "Harper is my best friend. I had no idea she was sick. I don't blame her for any of this."

Public opinion flipped overnight.

[So she's mentally ill? No wonder none of it can be trusted.]

[Poor Eastwood family, stuck with a daughter like that.]

[My heart breaks for Pamela, being hounded by someone unstable like this...]

Tens of thousands of comments flooded into my video within minutes—the words "crazy," "kill yourself," "there's something wrong with her" filled every line.

I'd barely set my phone down when a crowd of people burst through the door. They were the Eastwood family staff.

"Miss Eastwood, Mrs. Eastwood sent us to bring you home."

Home? What home did I even have left?

I threw whatever I could get my hands on and screamed at them to get out, but it didn't matter—they hauled me into a car and dragged me back to the Eastwood estate.

They locked me in a third-floor bedroom.

From downstairs, I could hear my mother and Pamela talking.

"Don't worry, Pamela, I'll handle this."

"Thank you, Mom. I just worry about Harper, she—"

"That's what she gets. Nobody made her disobey us and run off overseas in the first place."

I sat on the floor and buried my face in my knees.

My whole life, my parents had held me up like a treasure. I'd thought I'd always be the apple of their eye. I never imagined that the one time in my life I ever stood up for myself, it would cost me everything.

They kept me locked up for three days. My phone and computer were both confiscated, and I spent every hour trapped in that cramped little room.

On the fourth day, they brought me downstairs. It was Russell and Pamela's wedding anniversary, and the party was being held at the Eastwood estate.

Pamela wore a wine-red gown, a glittering diamond necklace at her throat—the same necklace Russell had given me as a wedding gift, back when we'd just gotten married.

Russell slid an arm around her waist, and the two of them kissed sweetly to the crowd's cheers.

Fireworks burst across the night sky in a riot of color.

I clapped my hands over my ears, my whole body starting to shake. The crack of the fireworks and the sound of falling shells layered over each other in my head—every burst felt like it was detonating inside me.

"Stop it! Please, stop the fireworks!"

Nobody paid me any attention.

I stood up, trying to run, but Russell caught my wrist.

"Harper, what are you causing a scene about now?"

"The fireworks... Russell, please... make them stop the fireworks... I..."

I clutched at his sleeve, my voice breaking apart.

He pulled his hand free, his expression turning cold. "Harper, drop the act. I know exactly what you're doing."

"I'm not acting!" I screamed, my eyes burning, and the scream collapsed into a broken plea. "Russell, please... no more fireworks..."

Pamela came over and looped her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder with a smile. "Russell, the fireworks are so beautiful tonight. I love them."

He tapped her nose fondly. "Then we'll set off fireworks all night long, just for you."

He hesitated for exactly one second before shoving me at a pair of bodyguards.

"Take her back to her room and lock the door. Don't open it again until the party's over."

I fought with everything I had, but it was useless. I ended up thrown back into that third-floor room, the door bolted tight.

Outside, the fireworks kept going, louder and more relentless by the minute.

I clapped my hands over my ears and screamed until my voice went raw.

I saw ruins. I saw blood. I saw bodies torn in half, and fire filling the sky. I heard the wails of countless people, screaming for help one second and reduced to ash the next.

An overwhelming agony swallowed me whole. One moment it was shells, the next fireworks, then the psychiatric hospital, then home again.

I threw myself against the door over and over until my head split open and my nails tore loose from my fingers, but no one came.

In the end, I stumbled to the windowsill and threw myself off.