Page 10 of Twisted Control

“I’ve arranged for someone to keep watch over you,” Dad says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“What?”

“A bodyguard,” Dad says. “He’ll stay in the guest house. I want to make sure none of these nutcases decide to act on their threats.”

The guest house is far enough from the main house that I don’t immediately protest. Having someone else around might actually be a relief. If these people are unhinged enough to spew that kind of hatred online, who knows what they’re capable of in real life. And with Finn gone for weeks…not that he’d be any help. He’d probably pull up a chair and watch the show if someone came after me.

“He’ll also accompany you whenever you leave the house,” Dad adds.

Someone staying in the guest house is one thing. But having a bodyguard follow me around everywhere I go?

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snap.

God, could this get any more humiliating? I’m thirty years old, and my father is assigning me a bodyguard to follow me around like a child. I can already picture the stares, the whispers, the headlines.

Dad’s expression doesn’t soften. “You can’t be too safe right now. It’s non-negotiable.”

Before I can argue further, he turns and heads toward the kitchen, clearly finished with the conversation.

The sight of his retreating back hits me harder than it should. All this talk of threats and protection, of being watched and managed…it makes me feel small and powerless. And the one person I wish would show up and actually care is nowhere to be found.

The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Have you heard from Mom?”

He stops mid-step. His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn around. After a long, painful beat, he gives one sharp shake of his head and disappears through the doorway without another word.

She’s definitely seen the show. Every tabloid from here to London has splashed my public humiliation across their front pages. I try to tell myself she’s just busy, or the reception is bad wherever she is but I know the truth.

She still hasn’t forgiven me.

In my bedroom, I shower again, scrubbing every trace of last night from my skin until it feels raw. I slip into a flowing white summer dress, fix my hair into soft waves, and apply just enough makeup to look effortlessly put-together.

Dad is talking to me again, which should feel like a relief. Instead, it only reminds me how far I’ve fallen in his eyes. I can’t stand the way he looks at me now, like I’m damaged goods. I need to fix this. I need to fix me.

I pick up my phone before I can talk myself out of it.

I deactivate every account in quick, mechanical motions. It takes forever and I have to re-enter my password so many times my thumb starts to ache. When it’s finally done, I delete the apps one by one. The screen goes quiet. No more notifications. No more noise.

For a moment, the silence feels like peace.

I open my chat app, thumb already moving toward the group threads but every single group chat I used to be in is gone.

I sit there in disbelief. The big Alton Hills girls’ chat. The “Weekend Plans” thread. The private one with Jasmine, Lia, and the rest of what I had thought was my inner circle. All of them erased from my phone. Someone has gone through and removed me from every conversation.

My stomach twists.

I tap on a few individual names—girls who used to text me every single day. The last replies I see are from the night of the finale, full of heart emojis and praise about how beautiful I looked.

After that…nothing.

These were the same women who had called me their best friend for years, who tagged me in every post, who begged for invites to my birthday trips and weekends away. The same women who had stood beside me at parties and premieres and charity galas, smiling for the cameras like we were family.

And now I’ve been dumped by them too.

I set the phone down on the vanity, my hands trembling.

This is fine, I tell my reflection. It will blow over. I just have to go back to being Perfect Grace again, and everything will be okay.