The next morning, Logan headed downstairs first to make coffee while I washed my face. Before long, he called up the stairs.
“Hazel! You have to see this.”
After drying off my face, I hurried downstairs to find Logan standing in the living room with the television on.
My heart twisted in fear and trepidation, anxious over what fresh hell could await me on that screen. Yet, when I looked, there was no trace of Logan and me at all.
Instead, the screen showed Tina standing on an expensive looking yacht, her arms thrown around a handsome man, with a tropical coastline behind them.
“Oil heiress Tina St. Louis has recently begun a month long excursion cruise with her new boyfriend, model Franco,” the newscaster said. This was apparently their celebrity news update, a segment they always cu
