Zayn watched her, eyes dark. “You can be clever all you like,” he said, voice low and dangerously amused. “You can say you’re not involved. But I have evidence. I have photos. I can go wherever I need to take them.” He tapped the top photo with a finger as if punctuating the sentence.
Lena swallowed. The promise she had made to their mother—tight and binding—tangled through her like an iron chain. She could not tell him the truth without dragging Lana into a risk neither of them had counted on. She could not confess they had swapped places; the fallout could be legal and professional and ruinous in a way money might not fix… especially if someone so enraged as Zayn Specter was involved.
“Those are fake,” she heard herself say, the words brittle and immediate. She stood, paper trembling i
