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CHAPTER 60
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2021-05-02 14:59:10I thought my victory over Claire Finch would last as long as the buzz around her scandal. Apparently, I was wrong.
I'm unsure if it's because the heat has lasted longer in the press, at a constant peak, then expected—two weeks. It's all everyone is talking about. It's all everyone has been talking about since Claire came out with the statement.
In my office, I watch an interview that Claire did yesterday with Diane Sawyer about her infidelity scandal. I read the comments more than anything; they're less than sympathetic. I force myself to see the immense positivity in this, but with Sebastian not here to share this victory with me, it's almost useless in a selfish sense. A professional sense? It's an instant boost in my career. A publicist's ace in the
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I should tell someone. I should do something. I should say something to someone I trust, but admittedly, I'm too scared. The journal, dark and tattered but still intact, rest on my lap as I sit in my car, too scared to put the keys into the ignition in fear of the car blowing up with me inside it. I've called Isaac and asked him to pick me up from the restaurant due to "car trouble;" I didn't mention the journal to him. He would only tell me that I should have listened to him about moving to Venetia. He would also tell me that this is certainly Garrett's doing—everything I already know being told to me over again. I don't open the journal again. I feel like I'm invading Sebastian's memories if I were to read it again; he's let go of the drama that's surrounded it. Now that it's back, all of its baggage comes with it. I should burn it. Bury it. Hide it somewhere. Part of me wants to
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** The only thought that races through my mind is death. Alejandro is going to kill me. That's what's going to happen. He's going to shoot me, and the moment everyone downstairs hears the gunshot, it will be too late; the gun is already pressed into my back. All he needs to do is pull the trigger. "I don't want to hurt you, Leslie," Alejandro whispers in my ear. I'm too scared to speak; he told me not to make a sound. I breathe in the rough leather of his glove and tense against the gun on my back. Eyes closed, I wait for him to shoot. But he never does. Instead, he removes the gun, still keeping his hand over my mouth. I'm pressed even further into his chest, smelling the sweat and tobacco stuck to his clothing. The sound of knocking on the door makes us both jump in alarm. "Leslie, it's me," Sebastian says on the other side. The moment I hear his voice, I scream even louder into Alejandro's glove. "Shut up," he growled into m
