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“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Renee. She looked at Ket Siong.

Ket Siong’s hair was mussed and he was breathing fast, but he was otherwise remarkably composed for someone who’d just pulled a move out of a Jackie Chan film. “I’m fine.”

“You won’t be when I sue you for assault!” snarled Jason.

Renee didn’t see what Ket Siong did, but Jason squeaked and shut up. She bent down to look him in the face.

“Let’s try this again,” she said. “You’ve got a few options here. You could have a sensible conversation with me. Or I could postthat video we just took, with me accusing you of cheating on me. Or—here’s an even better idea—I could ring the police and report you for distributing revenge porn. That would probably go viral, don’t you think?”

A number of different expressions chased themselves across Jason’s face in rapid succession.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sulkily. “If you’re going to physically assault me, fine, I’ll do whatever you want. It’s not like I’ve got a choice. But get your bodyguard off me. He’s hurting my back.”

They took Jason outside, to the terrace by the grand portico entrance to the museum, overlooking Trafalgar Square.

The square was busy with tourists, as always, clambering over the lions around Nelson’s Column and taking selfies in front of the fountains and the giant crochet dodo currently occupying the fourth plinth. There was a group of climate change protestors in one corner of the square, chanting slogans and handing out flyers. On the terrace, a busker with a guitar sang throaty renditions of songs from the early noughties. It wasn’t exactly private, but one could be reasonably confident of not being overheard.

Renee made sure Jason had his back to the stone balustrade lining the terrace. If he tried to break free again, he’d have to get past her—and Ket Siong, who was hovering just out of hearing distance, positioned to intercept any attempt at escape.

His expression was inscrutable. Renee had no idea what he was thinking, but she couldn’t afford to care about that right now.

Nathalie was standing farther along the terrace, chatting affably with Jason’s date. The girl looked worried, but she would have needed to be several years older and possessed of significantstrength of mind in order to disentangle herself from a Nathalie determined to hang onto her.

Jason opened his mouth, but Renee got in first.

“You’re a disgusting piece of shit,” she said. “I didn’t think dumping me the day after you arrived was the nicest thing you’ve ever done. But selling my pictures to my brother? That’s low, Jason.”

Jason’s forehead wrinkled. “Selling… you mean photos of us have been leaked?”

It wasn’t convincing. He’d never been a good actor.

“Photos of me, you mean,” said Renee. “Did my brother say he wouldn’t tell me? I told you about my family. You should’ve known it was a bad idea to trust him.”

“Look,” said Jason, “I don’t know what your brother’s told you, but I haven’t sold any pictures to anyone. I’m the last person in the world who’d want a scandal.

“That’s the only reason I ran,” he added. “I’m not here for drama.”

He leaned back, looking pleased with himself, as if he thought she might actually buy that explanation of his behaviour.

Well. Renee hadn’t dated him for his brains.

She was struggling to remember why, exactly, she had dated him—or agreed when he’d asked for nudes. But it had seemed a natural enough thing to do in a long-distance relationship. She’d even been flattered. She knew how many girls there were out there who would fall over themselves to send Jason anything he wanted.

“That’s what makes it so stupid on your part,” said Renee. “It’s not like you needed the money. And I have images of you, too. With audio, remember? That was your idea.

“Nobody cares about me outside of Singapore. Hell, even in Singapore, who’s Renee Goh? Some rich guy’s daughter who sells clothes. But a sex tape of Jason Tsai?” Renee crossed her arms. “That’s going to draw some interest.”

Jason blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have, before my brother started threatening to publish the photos you gave him,” said Renee. “What have I got to lose? The public might as well know who those photos were for.”

“I didn’t know he was going to—I would never have agreed if he wasn’t your brother, Renee,” said Jason. “You’ve got to believe me.”

Renee felt a thrill of grim satisfaction, not unlike the exhilaration of nailing a deal, or having a breakthrough on a knotty point of design—the kind of inspiration that brought a piece or collection together. That this particular thrill was tainted by feeling like she was wading through mud was to be expected. This was what dealing with her family was like. She would have to get used to it, if she was going to take on Chahaya.

“I thought it was about protecting you,” said Jason. “Your brother said he was worried. He’d heard rumours, someone told him I’ve got a bad reputation. Total bullshit, obviously, but that’s what families do, right? They worry. I had no idea he was going to—he told you he’s going topublishthem?”

“So he did threaten you,” said Renee. “I figured he must have gotten dirt on you.”