When we come to a stop near a white door, Harry hands me and B a masquerade mask each. He gives my companion a small smile, then glares at me. I ignore his hostility, tilting my head to the right to receive his latest set of instructions like a good boy.

“Follow her lead. When she says it’s time to leave, it’s time to leave.” Harry lets his jacket fall open deliberately. Tucked under his left arm is a holstered handgun. “If you give us any trouble, I won’t hesitate to neutralise you.”

The vein in my forehead that Amber always said was a visible barometer for my temper starts pulsing and I feel my neck warm up as my temper rises. Involuntarily the fingers on each hand curl into a fist and my common-sense screams that now is not the time to lose my cool. My daily quota for threats is about to be breached, so in the spirit of preserving my heads current position on my shoulders, I bite my tongue.

Instead, I offer Harry a one fingered salute and hold my arm out to B like a good gentleman.

“Shall we?” I echo her words from earlier.

“We shall.” She offers me a winsome smile and I can’t help but smile back. For a psychotic bitch, she really does scrub up quite well. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t appreciate her obvious charms, plumped up for display as they are in the constricting bodice of her dress.

“You look beautiful.” I tell myself that I’m playing the game by offering up an unfettered compliment. The truth is that I’m nervous about seeing Amber and I’d like to feel like I have one ally—of sorts—in there with me.

Harry clears his throat and pushes open the door in front of us. The masks are dutifully placed over our faces and we enter what would normally be a large dining hall or something similar that has been turned into a ballroom for tonight’s celebrations. It’s teeming with people in masks, although everyone seems to know each other regardless.

B and I pass through the throng without being accosted. Everywhere I look, banners and posters proclaim Centrifuge as the new wonder drug in the fight against dementia. From the centre of the ceiling, a giant syringe that appears to be filled with some type of reddish-brown liquid hangs with the word CENTRIFUGE emblazoned down its side.

“I can’t help but feel that a set of handcuffs would be better suited,” I murmur to B as she tilts her head back to take in the monstrosity.

“Give it time.” She swipes a glass of champagne from a passing server and tosses it back in one go. “Good things come to those who wait.”

The sound of silverware being tapped against a glass signals that it’s time for the crowd to hush. As if by magic, the people in front of us part and we’re given full view of the developers of Centrifuge.

If I had a gun, I could fulfil three-quarters of my parole conditions right now. Judge McManus stands to the right of Malcolm St. George, who has his arm slung over the shoulders of his lifelong best friend and brand-new business partner, Henry Ray. Next to the beaming men, stands Dr. Jaxon Ray and tucked into his side, a brilliant smile on her face, stands Amber.

She’s dressed in her favourite colour—the striking purple dress catching the light in the room when she moves. A matching pattern adorns her husband’s bow tie and pocket square. They couldn’t look more like the power couple they’re pretending to be if they tried.

Amber is truly stunning. Her radiant smile. The hand that clasps Jax’s like a lifeline. It all adds up to one thing. Pure happiness shines from her eyes when he dips his head to speak to her. The photos B showed me today only told half the tale.

I might have told her to fuck off that day at the prison, but it’s abundantly clear that she had left me long before that. The level of connection between them is impossible to manufacture.

I was sold out. Locked away to pay the price for someone else’s sins. Removed from the equation so my fiancée could claim what was rightfully hers. Money. Power. Fame.

And, all of it with Jax—her supposed tormentor—by her side.

My legs feel like jelly. My heart is thundering in my ears, deafening me to everything but the dawning truth. I turn to look for an exit. My companion lays a steadying hand on my arm to halt me.

“If you cause a scene, Harry will shoot you.”

B’s warning bounces around my head like it’s stuck in an echo chamber.

Jax’s mouth moves as he begins to address the adoring assembly. I can’t hear his words. They’re mired in the manic silence of my meltdown. The crowd claps at his proclamation and he turns to Amber with a comically large pair of scissors in his grasp. My hearing returns when the treacherous woman I love laughs at the size of the implement and I feel my heart crack down the centre at the happy sound. 

“It’s only fair that my muse, the woman who is the sole reason for the discovery of the capabilities of Centrifuge, cuts the ribbon that officially opens our new research, development, and manufacturing facility.”

Amber smiles, moving to the ribbon that is tied to the handles of the double doors behind them. She cuts the material and passes the scissors to the assistant who races to her side to take them. Then her husband takes her in his arms and kisses her. He dips her low, a squeal erupting from her lips when he does so, and they make a spectacle of themselves for their adoring fans.

All around us cameras flash. The photographers who made the cut for an invite inside this ridiculous ruse are keen not to miss a moment of their exclusive. I take a step back on wobbly legs. All I want to do is leave. I need to find a safe place—somewhere I can lick my wounds in peace.

Of course, B doesn’t let me get further than a step. This time she yanks me to a stop. Standing on tip-top, she pulls my head down to hers. Her lips touch my ear and she whispers, “Patience, my love. Things are about to get interesting.”

“We have a short slide show for you,” Jax’s father speaks over the growing noise. “If you’ll turn to the left, we can commence.”

On the only unadorned wall in the ballroom, a short film begins to play. In it Jax speaks first about the medical breakthrough that was the catalyst for the creation of Centrifuge in its current form. He appears to be just getting warmed up, finding his rhythm as he extols the virtue of the drug, when the picture on the wall flickers, and a new montage takes its place.

A murmur of confusion makes its way through the crowd as the content of this short film becomes clear. In it, participants of the secret trials are being interviewed. They tell of life-changing side effects—random heart attacks from the electroshock therapy that accompanied the early rounds of the trial, fugue states where days at a time were lost, and worst of all, the sensation that they were having their true memories replaced. That they were being brainwashed.

It takes but a minute for the damning evidence to become clear. I turn to see how Amber is handling the public revelations—seeing as she is the person who warned me about them when she was fighting to expose the hidden dangers. Jax is attempting to subdue her with whispered words and strong arms that she’s fighting. It’s not working. Her eyes are filled with more than fear. Sheer terror has her in its grips and my protective instinct has me moving toward her the second I recognise it.

My efforts to reach Amber are stopped by Harry. He steps in front of me, places two hands on my chest, and pushes me in the opposite direction. B is right behind me, tugging me along with her.

“It’s time for you to go,” Harry states in a no-nonsense tone when my back hits the wall. 

“Quick, Xander,” B pulls me to the door next to us. I resist her efforts, intent on finding Amber. She’s managed to escape Jax’s clutches and is storming for the exit B is trying to usher me through.

Our gazes meet, then drop when the crowd gets in the way. I seek her out again when it’s clear and watch Amber’s eyes widen first with fear, and then a horrified recognition. Initially, I think she’s recognised me, then I see that she’s staring at the woman standing next to me.

“We have to go.” Harry is striding after us, his hand reaching into his jacket. I decide that B is right. A swift exit is exactly what’s needed right now. Only problem is that everyone else has the same idea. The exit is jampacked with photographers and journalists trying to be the first to break news of the scandal.

“Turn it off.” Amber’s father yells at the man operating the computer. “Turn it off now or my lawyer will have you in court so fast your head will spin.”

Henry Ray and his bodyguard—the one whose fists I know well from my encounter with them at the fundraising ball all those years ago—surround the man. The movie stops and the lights in the room are switched on.

“Come on!” B yanks on my arm, panic making her voice shrill. She pulls me backward through the exit with a dozen or so others.

Every time the doors swing open after letting more attendees leave, I make eye contact with Amber. Jax is standing next to her, and they’re both staring at me and my companion. The good doctor, who’s just had his extensive coverup partially exposed, is seething with rage. He knows exactly who we are and what we’ve done.

Amber, on the other hand, seems upset. Her perfect lips form a questioning circle and she lays a hand on her heart, mouthing one word at me.

“Xander?”