Chapter 4
Lauren and Mark were brought to the lobby separately.
Claire did not slap him.
I respected her for that.
I might not have managed the restraint.
Mark saw me and stared.
His face changed from confusion to horror.
“You’re real,” he said.
I almost laughed.
“What did you think I was?”
He looked at Lauren.
Lauren folded her arms.
“This is being blown out of proportion.”
Claire turned slowly.
“You were in a hotel room with her.”
Mark swallowed.
“I thought she was helping.”
“Helping you sleep with her?”
“No. I thought—”
Alicia cut in.
“Mr. Bennett, you should not speak without counsel if there may be extortion involved.”
Mark looked relieved.
Claire did not.
Lauren’s eyes narrowed at Alicia.
“And who are you?”
“Counsel.”
“For who?”
“Currently? The woman whose identity you appear to have stolen inside a corporate defamation event.”
Lauren looked at me.
“Hannah, tell them this is ridiculous.”
I stared at her.
“You used my photos.”
She laughed.
“Everyone uses photos. It was just flirting.”
“You sent hotel addresses.”
“I never said you were actually coming.”
I stepped closer.
“You used my name.”
Her smile flickered.
“You weren’t using it for anything interesting.”
That sentence did something to me.
Not rage.
Clarity.
Lauren had not made a mistake.
She had resented me.
Maybe for years.
My job.
My clean record.
My boss trusting me.
Men believing I was respectable.
The “trustworthy face.”
She wanted access to what my name gave her.
And she hated me for having it.
The police took statements.
Mark admitted he believed he had first been texting me.
Then claimed Lauren later told him she was “helping Hannah manage the situation.”
Claire stared at him.
“What situation?”
His face burned.
He looked at me, then away.
“The affair.”
I said, “There was no affair.”
“I know that now.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“Now?”
Mark covered his face.
Lauren said, “He knew enough.”
Everyone looked at her.
There it was again.
Enough.
The word people use when they hope responsibility can be shared thinly enough to disappear.
A search of Lauren’s bag found two phones.
One personal.
One prepaid.
The prepaid phone number matched the messages sent under my name.
My photos were saved in folders.
Work Hannah.
Cute Hannah.
Cabin Hannah.
Serious Hannah.
The labels made my skin crawl.
There were also photos of other women.
Some I recognized from Lauren’s Instagram.
Some I did not.
Alicia’s expression changed.
May you like
“Hannah,” she said quietly, “you may not be the only one.”
Lauren’s face went white.
