“Perfect. I want you to go now, and call room service. Have them deliver something to your room. Tea, or something that won’t take long. The waiter will have to pass by my room to get to the stairs. Hopefully we can time this right and the waiter will see Spencer.”

I didn’t like it one bit.

“And then when he leaves, I need you to come back. To help me get everything together. Think you could do that?”

I could do that, sure, but I felt like I was about to throw up.

“What if Spencer—what if he puts two and two together, Kaavs? What if he figures it out?”

“He won’t. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Kaavi. He can be dangerous.” An idea suddenly popped into my head. I pulled out the knife I had put away in my bag. It looked juvenile and ridiculous in this five-star hotel room, but it would serve its purpose, if needed.

“Keep this.”

Her eyes went from the knife to my face a few times. I could almost see her try to work it out—why I would have a knife from home with me today.

But if she thought it was strange, or downright psychotic, she didn’t say anything. She just took the knife from me and set it in her desk drawer. Perhaps she just wanted the blade away from me as soon as possible.

But then I saw her eyes glint.

And I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say next.

“Ams, I need one more favor from you, okay? Not now. After Spencer leaves. I need you to do something so that everyone believes, without a doubt, that Spencer was a terrible, abusive asshole. So that everyone knows that I had no choice but to get away.”

I instinctively looked at the time. 11:11 p.m.

“Of course. Anything.” And I meant it.

There wasn’t a hint of humor on her face when she asked. She was hard, cold, and unbreakable—just like the engagement ring that sparkled on her finger.

“After Spencer leaves, we’re going to have to wreck this room so it looks like I’ve been attacked. And I’ll need you to punch me in the face.”

—

I took another deep breath, willing myself into the present.

The crowd had died down around me. They were all probably at the ballroom now. I leaned against the wall.

Think, Amaya. Think.

There has to be a way out of this.

But my mind kept finding its way back to her. To the way she looked in that video.

What was she getting at? Why didn’t she just name Spencer if she was trying to shift the focus onto him? Why didn’t she show her face with the bruise I’d left on her cheekbone? Did she even intend for someone to watch the video, or had she left her phone behind by accident? Was she unable to take her phone with her because she was attacked, or hurt for real?