29. Azaria
AZARIA
Ifinish my sun salutation and hold downward dog, letting blood rush to my head while I stare at the hardwood floor of Theo's living room.
The yoga helps—always has—but today my mind refuses to quiet.
We're moving too slowly. Logan's investigation crawls along while my reputation disintegrates in real time, and I'm supposed to just breathe through it like some zen master.
I roll up my mat and grab my phone from the coffee table. Instagram opens automatically, muscle memory taking over while my brain searches for somewhere to go that isn't the endless loop of what-ifs and timeline discrepancies.
The feed loads. Sponsored ads for skincare I'll never need, fashion week throwbacks, influencers pretending their lives are effortless. I scroll mindlessly until a familiar face stops me cold.
Margot Dubois. Posted two hours ago.
She's at Le Bernardin, champagne flute raised toward the camera, that glossy smile that photographs better than it reads in person.
Her caption reads something vapid about celebrating new opportunities, but what makes my jaw tighten is how unbothered she looks.
How completely unaffected by the chaos that's been tearing my life apart.
I stare at the post until the screen dims. Then I open my messages.
Margot! I saw your post and couldn't believe you're in Manhattan. I miss you so much.
I pause, considering how thick to lay this on. Margot responds to emotion the way plants respond to water—she soaks it up without questioning where it comes from.
I can't believe you haven't called or even texted once since everything happened in Paris. I thought we were closer than that.
Another pause. Add vulnerability. Make her feel guilty.
The whole thing has been so isolating and I've been thinking about the people I actually considered friends. You know?
I hit send and set the phone face-down on the couch. I get a response barely five seconds later.
Azaria!! Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to say and didn't want to make things worse. You know how I am with drama.
I would love to see you though. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?
Perfect. Margot's never been able to resist the pull of being needed.
I type back quickly, all warmth and gratitude.
Yes absolutely. Anywhere you want. I just really need to see a friendly face right now.
Let's do Daniel at 1? I'll get us a good table.
Perfect. Thank you for this. Really.
I set the phone down and lean back against the couch cushions. Daniel. Of course Margot would pick the kind of restaurant where being seen is half the point. She's never met a public space she couldn't turn into a stage.
The front door opens and Theo's voice carries from the entryway.
"Azaria?"
"Living room."
He appears in the doorway, still in his suit from whatever meeting kept him out all afternoon. His tie is loosened but his jaw is tight. He refuses to tell me what the meeting is about.
"Hi."
"Hi." He shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair. "What about you? You look like you've been planning something."
"I have." I turn the phone toward him, showing Margot's Instagram post. "Remember I mentioned Margot Dubois? One of the models with Massimo in that picture?"
He moves closer, studying the image. "Wow, that one?"
"That's her. And she's here. In Manhattan. We're having lunch tomorrow."
Theo loosens his tie completely and pulls it free.
"What's your plan?"
"Make her comfortable. Let her think I'm desperate for friendly support. See what she lets slip when she thinks I'm too emotional to be paying attention."
"And if she doesn't let anything slip?"
"Then I'll push until she does."
"This could backfire. Confronting her directly might make things worse."
"Sitting here waiting for Logan to find the next thread is making things worse." I cross my arms. "We need more information and we need it faster. Margot's here, she's available, and she clearly wants to see me. I'm not wasting that opportunity."
I arrive at Daniel fifteen minutes early and spot Margot immediately. She's chosen a corner table with perfect sightlines to both the entrance and the dining room—classic Margot positioning. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves over one shoulder, and she's wearing head-to-toe cream.
"Azaria!" She stands as I approach, arms extended for the ritual. "Oh my god, look at you."
We execute the dance—air kisses that don't disturb makeup, the practiced embrace that photographs well even when no cameras are present. I let her hold me a beat longer than necessary, selling the vulnerability I texted about yesterday.
"You look incredible," I say, settling into my chair. "That blazer is everything."
"Saint Laurent. I just picked it up yesterday." She smooths the fabric with obvious pleasure. "But seriously, you look amazing too. I was worried after everything..."
"I'm hanging in there." I shrug, going for brave-but-fragile. "Some days are better than others, you know?"
The waiter appears and we order—salads that we'll pick at, sparkling water we'll actually drink. Margot launches into updates about her life with the enthusiasm of someone who's been waiting for an audience.
"Milan was incredible after you left. I booked three shows, including Versace. Can you believe that? And now I'm here for meetings with IMG."
"IMG? Margot, that's huge."
"I know, right? I honestly never thought I'd get this kind of opportunity. Everything just started falling into place after Paris."
"Tell me everything. Who are you working with? How did this all happen?"
"Well, you know how these things go. Right place, right time, right connections." She waves her hand vaguely. "I met some really influential people at that party, and they must have put in a good word somewhere."
"You're being so modest. This doesn't just happen by accident." I take a sip of water, keeping my tone light and admiring. "You must have really impressed someone important."
"Maybe." Her smile turns coy. "There were definitely some major players there that night."
"Before everything went crazy, you mean?"
"Exactly. What a nightmare that turned out to be."
"I keep trying to piece together what actually happened. The whole thing is such a blur." I shake my head, letting confusion color my voice. "I remember talking to you earlier in the evening, and then everything just... exploded."
"It was terrifying. One minute we're having champagne, the next there are police everywhere."
"Did you have any idea something was wrong before they showed up? I keep wondering if there were signs I missed."
Margot hesitates, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?"
"Just... people acting strange, conversations that seemed off. I remember feeling like something was happening that I wasn't aware of. You always notice everything at parties. Did anything seem weird to you?"
"I mean, there was definitely some tension in the air. I don’t know, Zari."
"Right. You're just so lucky, Margot. Everything working out so perfectly after such a chaotic night. It's like someone was looking out for you."
"I guess I am pretty lucky." Margot blushes, the pink spreading across her cheekbones. "I'm just grateful, you know? For everything working out."
I set down my water glass and look her dead in the eye.
"I know what you did with Massimo."
The restaurant doesn't actually go quiet—conversations continue around us, silverware still clinks against porcelain, the sommelier still pours wine three tables over.
But our little corner of the world stops breathing.
Margot's face does that thing faces do when someone says the thing you've been hoping nobody would ever say—a flash of something real and terrified before the denial kicks in like muscle memory.
"What? Azaria, I don't know what you're?—"
"Let me finish. You can deny it if you want. We can sit here and pretend I'm paranoid and you're innocent, and you can tell me all about your amazing new opportunities with IMG."
She opens her mouth but I hold up one finger.
"Or you can tell me what actually happened, and I can try to understand how someone I considered a friend could do what you did."
"I didn't do anything." But her voice wavers on the last word, and her hands flutter to her napkin, smoothing it obsessively.
"Margot, I understand the pressure. I know how these men operate—how they make you feel special, chosen, like you're the exception to every rule they've ever made." I keep my voice gentle, almost maternal. "Massimo is very good at making people believe they're partners instead of pawns."
Her fingers still on the napkin.
"I know you didn't wake up one morning and decide to destroy my life for fun. That's not who you are." I pause, watching her face. "But something happened. Someone convinced you that this was your only shot, your one chance to get everything you've been working for."
"Azaria—"
"I'm not here to destroy you. I just need to understand what happened that night. Because right now, I'm taking the fall for something I didn't do, and you're booking Versace shows."
Margot's composure cracks like expensive porcelain hitting concrete. Her breath comes out shaky, and when she gazes up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I didn't think it would get this big."
There it is.
"Tell me."
"He said—Massimo said it would just be a small scandal. Something to make you step back from the industry for a while, take a break. He said you'd be fine, that your family has enough money and connections to weather anything."
The words tumble out in pieces, each confession adding weight to the others.
"He promised me representation with his agency, introductions to the right people. He said all I had to do was make sure you were in the right place at the right time, and that someone would tip off security about suspicious activity."
"The jewelry."
"I didn't know about that part until after. I swear, Azaria. I thought it was just going to be a drug thing—something small that would get you in trouble but not ruin your life."
"But you knew I'd be arrested."
"I thought—I thought it would just be overnight. A few headlines, some bad press, and then it would blow over." She's crying now, mascara threatening to betray her. "I didn't know about the trafficking charges or the international investigation. I didn't know they'd make it this big."
I listen to all of it. Every pathetic justification, every weak excuse, every attempt to minimize her role in orchestrating my destruction. When she finishes, I sit in the silence for a moment, letting her marinate in what she's just confessed.
Then I lean forward and smile.
"Margot, you are the scum of the earth, and I hope I never have to see you again in my life."
I pick up my phone from the table, press stop on the recording that's been running since I arrived, and drop it into my bag. The smirk spreads across my face as I stand.
"Enjoy your Versace show."