A week before my wedding, my fiancé paid for a man to destroy my face with acid so he could secretly marry another woman. While pretending to remain unconscious in a private room at the hospital, I overheard him say, “After this, who would ever want her?”

An hour after Detective Ward left, my nurse returned to check my dressings. While pretending to adjust the blood pressure cuff on my arm, she slid a small, silver smartphone beneath my blanket.

"A woman in a courier uniform dropped this at the desk," the nurse whispered tightly. "She said if I didn't give it to you, her employer would ensure I lost my nursing license."

"Thank you," I murmured. "You're safe. I promise."

Once the nurse left, I pulled the silver phone out. It had no lock screen, only a single messaging application open with one unread text.

RACHEL: Ward just called my father. She told him you have full retrograde amnesia about the attack. They think they're completely safe.

I tapped out a reply with my left thumb.

MAYA: What is their next move?

RACHEL: Logan is holding a live televised press conference from the hospital auditorium at 2:00 PM today. He’s going to announce that he’s establishing a foundation in your name for acid attack victims. It's a massive PR maneuver to launch his new album pre-orders.

My jaw tightened beneath the gauze. MAYA: And the wedding?

RACHEL: The public wedding is 'canceled due to tragedy.' But my father set up a private, off-grid ceremony at our private estate in the Hamptons for this Saturday. They are going to sign the marriage certificate secretly so Logan legally becomes my husband, allowing my father to transfer twenty percent of Mercer Records stock into his name as a wedding gift.

I stared at the screen, my mind assembling the pieces of a brutal counter-offensive.

MAYA: I need you to bring me something, Rachel.

RACHEL: What?

MAYA: A high-definition pinhole camera, a burner laptop, and the original, unedited audio files of Logan's studio sessions where he talks about my trust agreement. You're going to help me crash that press conference today.

A pause hung in the chat for nearly a minute.