27. Amara
Amara
I wait until Dom’s footsteps fade down the hallway before I spring into action. My heart pounds as I slide off the bed and begin searching frantically for my diary. If I’ve written in it as religiously as Milly suggested, it might hold the key to everything I’ve forgotten.
I check under the mattress first. I’ve searched there already but this time I’m more determined than ever.
Then I check the dresser drawers, rifling through clothes and jewelry. Nothing. I move to my desk, pulling open drawers and sifting through papers. Still nothing.
Frustration builds as I scan the bookshelves, checking behind rows of novels and textbooks. I drop to my knees to look under the bed.
“Where would I hide something important?” I mutter, standing in the center of the room.
Just like days ago, I’m flummoxed. I don’t have a clue where I’d hide it.
I turn around in the room, my arms wide as I take everything in.
I glance upward as I’m about to give up, and I see an air vent in the ceiling.
I narrow my eyes. I wouldn’t hide it there. Unless I had something to hide. But with nothing to lose, I turn off the ceiling fan before I drag my desk chair over, climb up, and examine the vent cover.
One screw is looser than the others.
My fingers tremble as I twist it free and pull the cover away. I reach inside, feeling nothing at first, then my fingertips brush against something leather-bound. I pull out a small black journal, my diary.
“Oh my...” I throw the diary onto my bed and press the vent cover back into place, turning the screw enough to hold it.
Then I step off the chair and grab my diary before sinking to the floor and clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.
My phone rings, startling me.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound normal.
“Hey, it’s me,” Milly says. “Are you okay? Need company?”
“I’m fine.” I feign a yawn. “Just going to sleep.”
“If you’re sure...” She sounds skeptical.
“Positive. Night, Mills.”
I end the call and immediately open the diary, flipping through pages filled with my handwriting. I stop when I see Con’s name.
March 15th
I can’t believe what I saw tonight. Con with his cock in Enzo’s mouth in a bedroom while at the party.
When he saw me, his eyes went cold. He shoved Enzo away and came at me, threatening to “end me” if I told anyone.
I wanted to knee him in the balls. But I ran instead.
Messing with people like Con never helps anyone.
I press my hand over my mouth. Enzo? The same guy Milly’s been hanging around with?
Why wouldn’t I have warned her?
I flip back a few more pages.
March 3rd
Beach day with Poppy was hilarious. Her new bikini top was WAY too small, and her boobs were practically falling out every time a wave hit.
These two surfer guys kept “accidentally” bumping into her, offering to “help adjust her top.” We laughed so hard I snorted water up my nose.
Poppy said next time she’ll just wear pasties and be done with it.
I flip through more pages, my heart racing as I find an entry from just weeks ago.
April 2nd
SweetJustice messaged me again today. Same demands—get dirt on Dom or he releases everything. He knows exactly what buttons to push.
“How do you think Daddy Dearest will react when he sees his little princess showing strangers her tits on camera for strangers?” I wanted to throw up. I need this money to get away from here, but at what cost? If Dom finds out about Pampered Princess, he won’t just kick me out. He’ll DESTROY me.
The way he looked at that guy who disrespected Milly at the restaurant last year... I’ve never seen someone’s eyes go so cold. And that guy just disappeared the next day.
I’m trapped.
If I quit the site, I’ll never save enough to escape. If I stay, SweetJustice has me by the throat. And if Dom discovers either secret... God, I can’t even write it down.
I slap my hand over my mouth, feeling bile rise in my throat. What have I done? The diary trembles in my hands as I read on.
April 5th
SweetJustice knows things. Personal things.
Things only someone close could know. He mentioned the birthmark on my hip—the one I hide when I’m on the app.
But the one shaped like a love heart. How would he know that unless...
unless he’s seen me? Or someone told him?
I’m starting to think it’s someone I know.
I close the diary and lean back against my bed, staring at the ceiling. The fan rotates quickly above me, hypnotic in its steady rhythm.
Is that why Dom’s being so nice to me? Is he waiting for me to remember so he can find out what I know? What I’ve done?
My fingers trace the tennis bracelet on my wrist—the one I apparently never take off. A gift from Dom.
Was it genuine affection or just another way to keep me close, to watch me?
But what have I done that makes Dom want to kill me?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force memories that won’t come. The only thing I know for certain is that the Amara who wrote this diary was terrified—of Dom, of her blackmailer, of herself.
And now I’m terrified too.
I flip through more pages, my eyes catching Caleb’s name. My breath hitches as I start reading.
April 10th
Caleb touched my face today. Just a simple brush of his fingers against my cheek, but it felt like electricity. We were alone in his car while Poppy finished her dance class. The way he looks at me when no one else is around... it’s like I’m the only person in his world.
“This is wrong,” he whispered, but his eyes said something else entirely.
“Then why does it feel so right?” I asked him.
His answer was to kiss me so gently I almost cried. Then he said, “We have to be so careful. If Dom finds out... if Poppy found out...everything would explode.”
I run my fingers over the words, trying to feel the emotions behind them. This doesn’t feel like a stranger’s life anymore—it feels like mine. It’s still a little out of reach, but it feels real.
March 20th
Caleb promised we’d run away together after Poppy leaves for Juilliard. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he said. “Paris, Rome, London—anywhere away from here, away from Dom.”
I believe him. The way he looks at me... no one has ever looked at me like that before.
We have to hide everything. Secret texts, stolen moments in his car, carefully timed meetings that look accidental.
It’s exhausting but thrilling. And when he touches me, I forget all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. I just want to have sex with him, but we never seem to get the time, and he wants to do it properly.
Curious about how it all began, I flip backward through the pages, searching for the first mention of Caleb as more than just my friend’s father. I keep going until there’s no mention of Pampered Princess, then slowly work forward, page by page.
Finally, I find it:
January 15th
A girl in my English Lit class was bragging about how much money she makes on some app called Pampered Princess. She said she just chats with guys and sometimes shows a little skin, and they pay her hundreds of dollars.
When I looked skeptical, she slipped me a card with the website.
“Professor Miles used to watch my roommate there,” she whispered with a smirk.
I nearly choked. Professor Miles? Dom’s best friend? The same man I’ve been secretly crushing on? The thought of him watching girls on that site made my stomach flip in ways I can’t explain.
I shouldn’t do it. I have an allowance. I have nice things. But I need my own money—money Dom can’t track, money that will let me disappear when I need to.
So I did it. Tonight, I created an account.
SweetBunny is now live on Pampered Princess.
God help me.
There’s a knock at my door. I slam the diary shut, jump on the bed, and push it under my pillow. “Come in.”
I stuff the diary under my pillow just as the door swings open. Mom steps inside, her eyes darting around the room before settling on me.
“Amara, we need to talk.” Her voice is hushed, urgent. She closes the door behind her and leans against it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“We need to leave. Tonight.” She moves to my closet and pulls out my overnight bag. “Pack your essentials. We don’t have much time.”
I sit up straighter. “Leave? Why would we leave?”
Mom stops rummaging through my closet and turns to face me. Her usually perfect makeup is smudged around her eyes, like she’s been crying.
“I think Dom tried to have you killed.”
The words hang in the air between us. My heart pounds in my chest.
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
“Is it?” She sits beside me on the bed. “The detective came to see me before he left the house. He said you shouldn’t be living in this house with Dom. That it’s not safe for you to be here.”
I shake my head. “Dom has been nothing but nice to me since the accident.”
“Of course he has!” She grips my arm. “He’s covering his tracks. Don’t you see? He was seen throwing you over his shoulder as he rushed out of the club. Don’t you think it’s a bit coincidental that you were hit by a car not long afterward?”
I think about the diary hidden under my pillow. The entries about SweetJustice. The blackmail. Dom’s apparent knowledge of my activities on Pampered Princess.
Could Dom be SweetJustice? Could he have orchestrated everything?
“He has cameras everywhere in this house,” Mom continues. “He watches your every move. Why do you think he’s being so attentive now? He’s making sure you don’t remember what happened that night.”
The diary mentioned cameras. It mentioned Dom’s cold eyes when someone crossed him. It mentioned a man who disappeared.
“Please, Amara.” Mom’s voice breaks. “I’m frightened for you. We need to go somewhere safe, somewhere he can’t find us.”
I look at her, really look at her. The fear in her eyes seems genuine. But something doesn’t add up. If Dom wanted me dead, why keep me alive now? Why the gentle care, the protection?
Unless he’s waiting for something. Waiting to see what I remember.
“I’m staying here,” I say finally.
“Are you for real?” Mom stares at me in disbelief.
“If Dom tried to kill me and I suddenly left with you, he’ll know I’m onto him. I need to stay and figure out what happened.”
“You stupid girl,” she hisses as she shakes her head furiously at me. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Mom paces in front of me, her stomps are hard and angry but cushioned against the plush carpet.
“Amara, you’re not thinking clearly.” She stops and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “It’s the head injury. You can’t possibly understand the danger you’re in.”
I pull my hands away. “I understand enough. If Dom wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.”
“You don’t know him like I do.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “When he decides someone is a problem, they disappear. He’s just waiting to see what you remember.”
“Then running would confirm I remember something, wouldn’t it?”
Her face hardens. “Fine. You want to stay in this house with a murderer, be my guest.” She stands, smoothing her dress. “But when you remember what happened that night, I hope you don’t regret it.”
“I won’t.”
“This is Milly and Lia’s influence, isn’t it?” Her voice rises with each word. “They’ve turned you against me!”
“Nobody’s turned me against you. I’m making my own decision.”
“Your own decision?” She laughs bitterly. “You don’t even know who you are anymore!”
“Then help me remember instead of trying to drag me away!”
“I’m trying to save your life!” She throws her hands up. “But you’re just like your sisters. The three of you are stubborn and blind!”
She storms toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “When you change your mind, call me. If you still can.”
The door slams behind her. I wait until her footsteps fade down the hallway before I grab my phone from the nightstand. I scroll through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Caleb’s name.
Without overthinking it, I press the call button.