A Spider
There was no talking Colton out of going to dinner—the three of us—to celebrate the exclusion motion we’d been granted.
I hadn’t thought those initial statements were so important, and I could barely recall what I’d said when arrested, but Colton seemed to think it was a big deal, and I believed him.
Leaving the courtroom, though, a weariness seeped into my body, weighing me down like liquid lead.
I’d been avoiding the news, any kind of television, and the boys were shielding me from it.
Regardless, I knew, considering who Winston used to be, that my case had to be a landmark case.
Prosecution had a lot to lose, career-wise and politically, if they lost; it was an election year, and the state’s district attorney needed the win.
The people of Las Vegas must’ve been demanding blood.
Mine.
Colton drove us to the Strip, despite my vocal protests.
I wanted something quiet, a place where no one would recognize me, but he seemed adamant.
And he was doing so much for me, and expecting nothing in return.
The least I could do was give him the occasional ask.
After parking his SUV at one of the hotels, we walked the Strip toward the restaurant he’d chosen.
“We’ll go to Prime,” Colton offered. “We can have an early dinner and watch the fountains.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t see the fountains. It was too soon. “Could we go someplace else instead?”
He gave me a quick look. His eyes were cold, scrutinizing. “Sure. How about Kassi Beach House instead? We’ll grab something on the patio lounge. I know you like to eat outside.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, managing a faint smile. “Billy Ray, you okay with it?” I asked, more to deflect attention from me. He’d been increasingly quiet lately.
My brother shrugged. “Hey, wherever you wanna go, that’s fine by me. I ain’t never been nowhere.”
We walked in silence for a couple of minutes, Colton leading the way, seemingly preoccupied by thoughts that brought ridges to his brow. As we stopped at a traffic light, I noticed a newspaper stand across the street. When the light turned green, I rushed over, holding my breath.
I grabbed a newspaper from the pile and reached inside my purse for some change, but Colton was faster. He clasped my forearm.
“Hattie, no,” he said. “Please. Let’s do this at home.”
The newspaper salesman looked at me intently, with a crooked grin on his face, showing tobacco-stained yellow teeth. “Hey, aren’t you her?” he asked, tapping on the pile of folded newspapers with his fingers. “C’mon, you know, the girl who killed that rich guy? Why’d you kill him, huh?”
“Ah, go suck a tailpipe,” Billy Ray snapped, underlining his statement with a matching gesture.
Gasping for air, I pulled myself free of Colton’s grip. Still holding on to the newspaper, I ran away, feeling my face burning with shame. As soon as I turned a corner, I stopped and opened the paper.
A picture of me took about a third of the first page.
I didn’t recognize it, but I recognized the moment it had been taken—immediately after Winston had proposed, but he’d been removed from the shot.
The expression on my face was conflicted, showing a mix of the enchanting surprise I’d felt and my underlying sadness, knowing I’d have to walk away, to leave Winston.
The headline, printed in big, bold letters, read, Murder One: Olivia Taylor Charged in Fiancé’s Killing.
Cringing, I started reading the unforgiving article.
The darker side of Las Vegas high society emerged today as Olivia Taylor, the well-known philanthropist and casino heiress, was formally charged with the murder of Winston Donovan, one of the city’s most influential financial leaders.
The case has stunned the community, not only for Donovan’s prominence but also for the complex personal history that has now come to light.
Taylor, once praised for her charitable work and polished public image, now faces scrutiny over her relationship with Donovan, which began while he was still married.
Sources close to the couple describe their affair as intense and complicated, fueling widespread speculation about motives and loyalties during the final months of Donovan’s life.
Police sources confirm that Taylor’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon and that surveillance footage places her at the crime scene.
Despite her attempts to maintain a facade of innocence, the evidence is overwhelmingly incriminating.
It will be an easy job for ADA Dylan Mitchell to secure a guilty verdict.
“She’s nothing more than a heartless manipulator,” an anonymous source close to the investigation revealed. “Olivia Taylor has always been after one thing: money. And she was willing to kill for it.”
As the trial looms, the media circus intensifies. Taylor’s high-priced defense team, led by the notorious Colton Blake, is fighting an uphill battle against the damning evidence. However, in the court of public opinion, Olivia Taylor is already condemned.
The once-respected figure has left a trail of broken promises and discarded lovers, and now faces a future marred by scandal and infamy.
With every sordid detail of her affair and alleged crime splashed across the tabloids, Taylor’s reputation is in shreds.
As the world watches, the question remains: Will justice be served, or will this cunning celeb evade the consequences of her actions?
My heart thundered inside my chest. I folded the paper, my eyes glued to a certain damning phrase.
A trail of broken promises and discarded lovers.
They must’ve found out somehow . . . maybe not all there was to find out, or they would’ve spilled all of it in the article.
But if the media knew something about my previous life, soon everyone would.
Including a jury of my peers, who were reading the papers or watching the news, finding me guilty in their minds.
With the secrets of my past revealed and displayed in public view, I didn’t stand a chance in hell.
The paper slipped out of my hands, landing on the sidewalk. Feeling weak at the knees, I looked around for a place where I could sit, but there wasn’t one. Just a dirty, cracked sidewalk.
Footsteps pounded behind me, drawing closer. Then a hand touched my shoulder, gentle, hesitant. I flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“Hattie, please,” Colton said, bringing his face close to mine, his eyes searching. “Don’t do this to yourself.” I nodded, unable to say anything. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll have dinner, and everything will seem better after we eat.” He picked up the newspaper and folded it under his arm.
“Why, Colton?” I asked, my voice fraught with tears and raised, pleading and desperate. “Why are we here, where everyone can see me? Why can’t we just go home?”
Billy Ray was staring at Colton with a stubborn expression on his face, like I’d seen on him as a kid, before saddling the meanest horse in our stables. He was about to challenge his old pal. Maybe start a fight.
Colton ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m asking you both to trust me, all right?”
I shook my head. “Just tell me why you’re doing this. I have a right to know. It’s my life, Colton—my life.” I looked away, painfully aware I was demanding the truth from the man I was lying to.
He moved around restlessly, his shoes scuffing against the asphalt, hands on his hips under his unbuttoned suit jacket, tension radiating off him in waves. It looked like he was fighting himself as much as me.
“All right, if you must know . . .” He exhaled sharply, meeting my eyes. “Because they need to see you.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“The jury pool. The public. Right now, all they know is what the media’s spoon-feeding them—headlines that make you sound guilty before you’ve even had a chance to defend yourself.
” He ran a hand through his hair. “If they see you out there, just living, not hiding, not running—it humanizes you. It makes it harder for them to believe you’re this cold, calculated killer they’re painting you as. ”
“What are you saying, Colton?” I whispered.
His voice softened, almost pleading. “Let them see the real you. It might be the only way to save you.”
I felt the color draining from my face. My hand flew to my open mouth. “You think we’re going to lose!” A wave of dizziness washed over me. “Oh my God . . . is that it?”
He lowered his head for a moment, then looked straight at me. “I’m not going to lie to you. We’re not in a good place. I have to prepare for every scenario.”
I looked at Billy Ray and saw his eyes widened in shock, his face a sickly pale.
“All right,” I managed to whisper, more for Billy’s sake than mine. I didn’t believe it. “It’s all right,” I repeated, gaining more courage as I spoke the words. “Dinner it is, if you say so.”
Regardless of what Colton had said, I still wanted the earth to split open and swallow me whole.
I wasn’t ready to be looked at, judged, and convicted by the public before my trial even started.
A few moments later, on the way to the restaurant, I bought an overpriced white silk scarf from a small store, and wrapped it around my head.
With that and my shades, I could be any woman.
Only, I wasn’t. The waitresses at the restaurant started whispering and throwing mean glances my way.
I caught one of them taking photos of me with her phone.
I wanted to say something, but Colton put his hand over mine, and I let it happen.
I wondered why I should touch any food that came from their hands.
We ate in silence, only occasionally making small, meaningless talk. I was painfully aware of the stares, of the phone cameras, and could barely eat anything. Billy Ray wolfed down his food in about a minute, scraping the plate clean and making me worry again that he wasn’t eating much at home.
After taking a sip of cold water, I leaned toward Colton and said, “I want to speak with Claire Donovan. I want to ask her why she did it.”
He dropped his fork on the plate and gawked at me. The rattling silverware drew a waitress’s attention, but he didn’t seem to care. “You can’t go anywhere near that woman! Do you understand me?”
“I just need to know why he’s dead,” I said, stubbornly digging my heels in.
“I’ll tell you why,” he hissed, shooting a dismissive look at the lingering waitress. “She was going to lose a lot of money. People do lots of things for so much money.”
“She wasn’t—” With a frustrated sigh, I stopped myself short of telling him she wasn’t going to lose anything. I’d given her everything she needed to beat the prenup and get a fair settlement in the divorce.
Unless . . . she’d wanted it all. Winston’s half, too.
I remembered she’d asked me, Why not everything? You could have it all.
My glass froze in midair, inches away from my lips, and I shuddered. Claire must’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to strike, and I’d delivered that opportunity into her hands. But it hadn’t been about jealousy. It had been about money.
“What’s wrong?” Colton asked.
I set the glass down. “Nothing . . . it’s just that I can’t believe how quick she was to kill him after she must’ve heard about our engagement. It only took her a few hours to do it.”
Colton frowned slightly. “How did she find out, by the way?” His eyes drilled into me again, searching for the truth I wasn’t willing to share.
Pretending I didn’t notice what he was doing, I shrugged. “Who knows? Winston made the proposal quite public, and he was well known. People talk. Someone must’ve talked right away. Or it’s all a coincidence.”
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms at his chest. A long breath of air escaped his lips in a low hiss.
“You’re lying to me, Hattie. And I can’t defend you like this.
” He raised his arms in the air for a moment, before yanking the napkin from his lap and throwing it on the table.
“I can’t risk finding out the truth from prosecution witnesses, on the stand. You need to tell me everything.”
The air felt thinner, as if the oxygen had vanished and I was about to choke. I reached for my glass with a shaky hand, feeling his eyes drilling into me as I took a sip. I forced some air into my lungs and raised my eyes to meet his.
“There’s nothing to tell, Colton. You need to trust me.” My throat felt dry, and my voice faltered. “I just . . . fell in love with a married man, and his wife knew about it. End of story.”
For a long, loaded moment, he stared at me. He could probably tell I was lying, but he didn’t ask anything else. After the check had been taken care of, he stood and buttoned up his jacket.
“It’s possible you stepped on a spider, and it bit you,” he said grimly. “A black widow.”