Chapter 3

"Satisfied?"

Logan threw those words over his shoulder like trash into a bin as they walked out, leaving me alone in the room.

I stared at the hundred dollars on the table.

The bills fluttered slightly under the draft of the AC.

My phone buzzed again. An unknown number. I answered. A man's voice, booming and professionally cold, filled the line.

"Is this Chloe Sinclair?"

"Yes."

"My name is Mr. Vance. I am Logan Carter’s legal counsel. Miss Sinclair, the accusations you made against my client today constitute defamation and malicious prosecution. If you do not issue a written apology and retract all false statements within twenty-four hours, we will pursue full legal action."

"He slapped me in the face. Is that a false statement too?"

"A physical altercation requires proof from both sides. You threw hot boba tea at my clients while driving, which is a hostile action—"

"It was an accident."

"I have the recording of Miss Brooks' live stream. It clearly shows the sequence of events. I suggest you think very carefully about your next move."

He hung up.

The live stream.

Hailey had been streaming the entire time.

She had broadcasted every second of my humiliation. She streamed me getting yelled at. She streamed the slap. She streamed the comments about my car smelling. She streamed them showing off their romance in the back while I drove them like a servant.

How many people saw it?

I opened Instagram and searched for Hailey's profile.

Found it.

"Hailey's Daily Life." 110,000 followers.

The latest stream replay was already posted. The title: *"What’s it like getting an Uber driven by your boyfriend’s crazy ex?"*

I tapped in. The chat was a solid wall of text.

*"This driver is so pathetic lmao."*

*"Imagine getting flexed on by your ex. Ultimate embarrassment."*

*"That slap was brutal though."*

*"She deserved it for ruining their drinks."*

The comment section was even worse. Someone had uploaded a screenshot—a side profile of my face from the rearview mirror, showing the clear red handprint on my cheek. The caption read: *"Craziest Uber Driver of the Year."*

It had over three thousand shares.

I closed the app.

My hands were shaking.

Not because of the insults. Logan had said things to me a thousand times worse than this.

It was because of those three thousand shares.

Three thousand people were laughing at my pain, and I didn't even have a chance to defend myself.

I stood up and went to the restroom to wash my face.

When I pushed the door open, Hailey was inside.

She was standing in front of the mirror, reapplying her lip gloss. She didn't stop when she saw me.

"Sweetheart, I assume Mr. Vance called you?"

I didn't say anything.

"Take my advice." She capped her lip gloss and pursed her lips at the mirror. "Pretend today never happened. Go back to your little driving job, and Logan and I will go back to our lives. Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

"He slapped me."

"He has a temper. You of all people should know that."

Her tone shifted. The sweet, bubbly voice from her live stream was gone. It was flat, cold, and heavy. Like iron in winter.

"Chloe, do you think I don't know why you're driving an Uber?"

She turned around to face me.

"You had a massive blowout with your dad. The sole heiress of Sinclair Logistics, playing the independent rebel to prove a point. It's been two years, and you haven't even found a real job."

She smiled, but her eyes remained dead.

"You can't even put your own life together, and you're trying to play the hero?"

She walked to the door.

Before she pushed it open, she looked back at me.

I will never forget that expression for the rest of my life. It wasn't hatred. It wasn't even contempt. It was absolute, chilling indifference.

"You can't win, Chloe. You never could."

The door swung shut.

I was left alone in the restroom. In the mirror, the right side of my face was still swollen and red.

I bent down and turned on the faucet to splash cold water on my face. It woke me up a bit.

Then, I looked at the water.

The water flowing from the tap was crystal clear. The water leaking from the suitcase earlier was yellowish.

But—

I remembered the photo I took. When Logan was loading the trunk, I had snapped a quick picture from the rearview mirror. The lighting was bad and the angle was off, but I still had it.

I opened my phone and zoomed in on the photo.

In the corner of the trunk, next to the big suitcase, there was a smaller, black hard-shell case. No luggage tag.

And the puddle underneath it—

It wasn't yellow. It wasn't clear.

It was pink.

I stared at the zoomed-in image.

Bright, chemically pink water.

"That's not melted ice."