My whole body is shaking now, and I am thinking through my next move. Sebastian is far enough away, his back half turned. I could probably make it to the hall, but not without Beatrix, and I would never leave her here. My only move, the only thing I can come up with, is one of defense—to drape my body over hers, sacrifice myself by covering her body with mine, taking her bullet.

Sebastian’s grin is slow and sinister, like he read my mind. “Such a shame. I thought you were smarter than this.”

Are we still talking about the cameras? The kids? Cam? I have no idea, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to. This whole conversation feels staged, another one of his sneaky attempts to control and manipulate. These threats he’s lobbing, they’re vague on purpose. Meant to throw me off.

And it’s working.

My cheeks are hot, burning like smoldering coals.

“We’ve met, you know. More than once.”

This surprises me, and it doesn’t. He was in business with Cam, which means at some point our paths would have crossed. Cam parades me by all his staff, especially management and investors, but the problem is there are so many. I’m not like Tanya. It’s impossible for me to remember them all.

“Sorry, but I—”

“And you know what you said, every single time?”

I shake my head.

“You stuck out a hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m Jade Lasky. So nice to meet you.’ Don’t you just hate that? When people you’ve met and talked to multiple times treat you like a total stranger? When they think so little of another human being that they can’t be bothered to remember your face or name?”

Prosopagnosia. It’s a neurological disorder that makes people unable to distinguish between faces. I know because Cam is always teasing me that I have it.

In my defense, I meet a lot of people. People who see me at the restaurants or with Cam at parties, who buddy up to us and act like we’re old friends, but none of it is real. They don’t know me, not really, and I sure as hell don’t know them. It’s part of being a celebrity chef’s wife; I’m lit up with the glow of his stardom.

“I can’t see your face,” I point out instead.

He comes closer, marching across the carpet and around the table until he’s close, standing right in front of me. I try to move back, but there’s nowhere for me to go. My calves are already pressed against the soft leather of the couch. I stare into his eyes and search for something I recognize, something unique in the shape or size or color, but there’s nothing. Hazel and almond-shaped, like half the people on the planet.