My only advantage — my absolute power — was that they believed I was a fool.

I rested one hand over my stomach. “I feel incredibly light-headed,” I whispered, swaying just slightly to sell it. “Could you get me a glass of ice water?

From the kitchen?”

Relief, so palpable it was almost sickening, washed over Damon’s face. “Of course. Right away. Just sit down.” He turned toward the hallway, practically sprinting for the stairs.

The moment his footsteps faded, I pulled my phone from my purse. Keeping it low beside my hip, I quietly snapped one high-resolution photograph — the camisole beneath the bench, the unmade bed, the exact layout of their betrayal.

Then I did something else. I walked silently to the closet. I didn’t open it. Instead, I picked up Damon’s discarded, perfectly clean white shirt from the floor.