Three days later, Chloe asked to meet me alone.

We chose a café near her hotel, one with large windows and enough noise to prevent our conversation from turning into a performance.

She arrived wearing jeans and a plain sweater instead of the expensive clothes she’d been posting online.

Her eyes were red.

“I haven’t slept,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

“Mom says you’re going to ruin her.”

“I’m asking her to explain what she did.”