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By the timeRenee got up from her desk to head home, it was ten o’clock, her room an island of light in the darkness of the office. Her neck ached, her shoulders were stiff, and every time she thought of her exchange with her brother, she felt dirty and gross and ashamed.

So instead of thinking, she put plans in motion. By the next morning her lawyer had confirmed receipt of instructions to draft a formal letter to Jason, and she had a crisis PR consultant on board. The PR consultant set up a press search and a Google Alert, and would let her know as soon as any pictures were released.

Jason hadn’t responded to her text asking to speak, which was no surprise. It had been meant as an opening volley, a chance for Jason to do the decent thing. But he’d never taken any of the chances she’d given him during their relationship, so why would he start now?

What made no sense was why Jason had decided to sell Renee’s pictures to her brother. He was hardly hurting for money. And he’d dumped her, so it couldn’t be about revenge.

Su Khoon must have offered a huge sum, combined with some light blackmail by way of incentive—threats to leak gossip about Jason’s secret relationship with a Singaporean heiress, for example. Even something as unobjectionable as that would go down like a lead balloon with his audience, and there might be worse skeletons in Jason’s closet. She knew he’d been something of a party animal at college.

But all of this was speculation, and not about to make any difference to her position. Having done what she could to protect herself, Renee tried not to worry about it. She didn’t even know if Su Khoon had the images he claimed. She should have demanded proof, but she’d been so sickened all she could think of was getting him out of her space.

It was unlikely he’d been making empty threats. That would be too easy for her to discredit. But possibly he was more reluctant than he let on to pull the trigger on publishing the photos. It wasn’t like disseminating revenge porn of his sister would make him look good in Dad’s eyes—though that assumed she would be able to persuade their father Su Khoon was behind it.

The genius of the threat was its shittiness. Renee wouldn’t have believed her brother capable of it until he’d said it. She should have recorded the conversation. She ought to know by now that no matter how low her expectations of her family were, they would find some way to disappoint her.

At least the biggest splash any photos were likely to make was in Singapore. Renee didn’t have a public profile anywhere else—certainly no one in the UK would be interested. She was trying to build Virtu up in its other markets, though, and having nudes in public circulation wouldn’t help there, given Asian standards for female virtue. But that was what the crisis PR consultant was for—to help her bury the pictures, to the extent she could.

Of course, if it was known Jason Tsai was involved, it would be a much bigger deal. But that was why Renee wasn’t worried about Su Khoon getting any video footage out of Jason. There was only one video, so far as she knew, and Jason was identifiable in it.

She was very ready for the weekend when it came. She felt too fragile about the whole affair to want to tell Nathalie about it—not that Renee could talk about something like this in Ket Siong’s presence, anyway. But hanging out with Nathalie always made her feel better, no matter what else was going on in her life.

It would be good to see Ket Siong, too. The prospect made her chest feel bubbly, as though she’d swallowed a bottle of sparkling water.

Possibly Nathalie had a point about her having a crush.

“Well, maybe that’s what I want,” Renee said defiantly to her reflection in the mirror, while she was putting her face on. “A nice crush on a nice guy. It’s not going anywhere, it’s not doing anything, except distracting me from all the shit I don’t want to think about.” She set her eyeliner pencil down on the dressing table with slightly more force than necessary. “Perfect, if you ask me.”

Her possible tiny inconsequential crushdidmean that Renee spent so long getting ready that she was too late to take public transport to the National Gallery and had to jump in a cab. She was wearing a deep brown velvet dress, belted at the waist, and pointy-toed gold slippers, each topped with a row of black satin bows.

She checked herself again in her compact while the cab set off. She looked fresh and natural. Not at all like she was trying too hard, even if the casual tumble of her hair had taken half an hour to achieve.

Nathalie agreed. “Those shoes aretoocute,” she said, hugging Renee.

Ket Siong made no comment on Renee’s outfit, only looked at her. It was hard to read his expression. He turned away just as Renee was starting to blush.

“Shall we go in?” he said.

Renee could feel Nathalie’s eyes boring into her.

“Sure. How much do I owe you for the ticket?” she said to Ket Siong, as they were waved through into the gallery.

Ket Siong shook his head, which Renee had been prepared for.

“I’ll get lunch, then,” she said, before remembering they hadn’t talked about going for a meal. “You want to come for lunch after? Nathalie and I are going for Japanese. The restaurant’s a bit fusion-y, but good.”

Ket Siong hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. Seriously, come. I think Nathalie booked for three anyway.” Renee knew this for a fact, because she had insisted, over Nathalie’s protests.

“How are we going to do a debrief if Ket’s right there?” Nathalie had said.

“We won’t need a debrief,” said Renee patiently. “Because it’s not a date.”

Nathalie had grumbled, but done as she said.

Renee was vindicated; it didn’t feel like a date. She wasn’t getting to talk to Ket Siong much. The exhibition was popular and the gallery was bustling with people.