Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(87)

My head spun as I ran through every possible scenario.

“Did you tell him where I was?”

“No,” Mikaela said slowly. “I didn’t know where you were. Remember?”

“Right. Sorry.” I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to sort through my thoughts. “My brain is fried right now. Can we pick this up later?”

“Sure. I have a dinner reservation soon anyway.” Worry slid across her features as she packed her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Are you sure nothing else is the matter? You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”

“Yes, I’m just stressed. I need a vacation.” I forced a laugh. “I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy dinner.”

After Mikaela left, I set my notes on Erhall aside and answered that week’s letters from citizens instead. The mail volume, both physical and electronic, had grown so much I’d had to bring on assistants, but I still liked to reply personally when I could. Besides, it was a good distraction from my worries over Andreas.

I was reading too much into one throwaway comment from Mikaela. Andreas could’ve been looking for me for any number of reasons, and he had a skewed idea of what was important. He’d probably wanted to complain about being seated at the wrong table for the reception or something.

I’d made it halfway through the pile of letters when my laptop pinged with a new email notification. I almost ignored it, but something compelled me to click into it, and my suspicion spiked when I saw the sender’s email message—a random string of numbers and letters hosted by a domain I’d never heard of—and the one-line message.

Not careful enough, Your Highness.

I stared at the MP4 file attached to the email. No name, no hint as to what it contained.

Not opening strange files from unknown senders was Computer Security 101, but this was an email only my close circle had. I had a separate one for public correspondence.

Then again, it wasn’t difficult to find an email, even a private one.

My curiosity outweighed my reservations, and I clicked on the file.

Forgive me, computer security gods.

The video popped up and auto-played. It was so dark and grainy it took me a minute to figure out what was happening, but when I did, all the blood drained from my face.

I clutched the edge of my desk and stared in horror at the clip of me and Rhys in Nikolai’s library. Even with no sound, it was damning—me bent over the table, him gripping my hair and pounding into me from behind.

It was dark enough we would’ve been unrecognizable had I not turned my head halfway through the video. Rhys’s face never showed on camera, but his hair, height, and build made his identity a foregone conclusion, and it wouldn’t take much editing to clean up the quality and brighten it enough that anyone who watched would know exactly who was doing what.

I’m going to be sick.

My skin felt hot and clammy, and a strange buzzing filled my ears as question after question raced through my head.

Where did the video come from? Who could have gotten their hands on it so quickly? Who knew where to look?

Judging by the angle, the camera had been inside the room, even though Nikolai and Sabrina had been adamant about not having security cameras in their private quarters. Someone must’ve planted it there. Were they hoping to catch Nikolai and Sabrina doing something and caught Rhys and me instead? But why would’ve they have planted a camera in an unfinished library, of all places? Why not the bedrooms or office?

Most importantly of all…what did the sender want?





38





Bridget





I was a mess of nerves for the rest of the week. I tried to hide it, but everyone noticed—Rhys, Mikaela, my family. I blamed it on stress, but I wasn’t sure anyone believed me.

I didn’t tell anyone about the video. Not yet. The sender hadn’t contacted me since, and my replies to their email all bounced. I convinced Nikolai and Sabrina’s security team to sweep their house for bugs as a “preventative measure,” but they didn’t find anything, not even in the library.

It should’ve made me feel better, but it only put me more on edge. Whoever the sender was, they could move in and out of one of the city’s most highly guarded buildings without being detected, and that wasn’t good. At all.

My top suspect was Andreas, but he wasn’t the type to hold back. If he had a damning video of me and Rhys, he would hold it over my head. Taunt me with it. Probably blackmail me. He wouldn’t send it once and not follow up again for almost a week.

He’d looked for me at the reception—I still didn’t know what for, as I hadn’t seen him since the wedding and he hadn’t contacted me—but that was while Rhys and I were in the library.

If it wasn’t Andreas, who could it be? And when would the other shoe drop?

Because there was another shoe. I was sure of it.

“Something’s bothering you,” Rhys said on our way back to the palace from a charity shop ribbon-cutting ceremony. “Don’t tell me it’s stress. It’s not.”

I mustered a weak smile. “You think you know everything.”

I should tell Rhys. He’d know what to do. But a small, stupid, selfish part of me was afraid of what telling him would do to us. If he found out someone knew about us, would he withdraw and break things off?