Page 23 of Betray Me (Devastation Game #2)

Now

The dining room feels like a mausoleum tonight, all crystal and shadows under the massive chandelier that’s witnessed decades of Gallagher family secrets.

I sit at my usual place—the dutiful daughter’s chair to Father’s right—while the wire feels like a burning brand against my skin, the tiny recording device taped beneath my bra more crucial than ever.

Dominic knows, and yet, he didn’t give me up.

Yet. Every breath threatens to give me away, every heartbeat pounds against the recording device that’s capturing the final act of my family’s empire.

Mother enters first, elegant in midnight blue silk that makes her look like a beautiful corpse. She’s carrying a silver tray with our traditional pre-dinner cocktails—martinis for the adults, sparkling cider for me. Except tonight, I know my glass contains more than apple juice and bubbles.

“Darling,” she murmurs, setting the crystal flute before me with practiced grace. “Your favorite. I had the cook prepare it specially.”

The liquid catches the light, innocent and golden.

Beautiful, like everything else in this house that’s designed to destroy.

I lift the glass to my lips, letting the rim touch my mouth without actually drinking.

The scent is familiar—crisp apple, a hint of vanilla, and underneath it all, something bitter and medicinal that makes my stomach turn.

“Thank you, Mother.” The lie slides off my tongue like silk. “It’s perfect.”

Father settles into his chair at the head of the table, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier.

Victor Reeves takes the seat across from me, his pale eyes tracking my every movement like a predator watching prey.

Dominic slides into the chair beside him, his casual elegance hiding the violence that lurks beneath his expensive suits.

“A toast,” Father says, raising his own glass. “To family. To loyalty. To the bonds that can never be broken.”

The irony burns in my throat as I raise my glass with the others, crystal chiming against crystal in a mockery of celebration. They think they’re about to drug me back into compliance, to reset my memories and reshape me into their perfect weapon.

“To family,” I echo, letting my voice carry just the right amount of reverence. The daughter they created, speaking the words they want to hear while the woman I’ve become plots their destruction.

Victor’s gaze never leaves my face as he takes a sip of his martini. “Belle’s grown into such a remarkable young woman,” he observes, his voice carrying undertones that make my skin crawl. “So like her mother at that age. Beautiful, intelligent, perfectly trained.”

The word ‘trained’ hits like a physical blow. Not raised or educated—trained. Like an animal or a weapon. Which, I suppose, is exactly what I am to them.

“She’s everything we hoped she’d become,” Mother agrees, settling into her own chair with fluid grace. “Our greatest achievement.”

Achievement. Not daughter, not person—achievement. I force myself to smile, to look pleased by their praise while the wire captures every damning word.

“I’ve been thinking about Janet Wilson lately,” I say suddenly, watching their faces for reactions. “What happened to her was so tragic. A girl that young, disappearing without a trace.”

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.

Father’s knuckles whiten around his glass, while Victor’s expression turns to stone.

Only Dominic maintains his casual demeanor, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes and the way they flicker down to my dress to the place where the wire used to be.

“An unfortunate situation,” Father says carefully. “Best not to dwell on such unpleasant matters.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about it,” I continue, injecting just the right amount of innocent curiosity into my voice.

I still need to know the details and the role I played in her murder.

“The police never found her body. Her parents must be devastated, not knowing what happened to their daughter.”

“Some questions are better left unanswered,” Victor interjects, his voice carrying a subtle warning. “Some mysteries should remain buried.”

Buried. The word choice is interesting, considering we all know exactly where Janet Wilson is buried or was that is.

I don’t plan on telling them the police found her remains.

My hands remain steady as I reach for my untouched drink, lifting it toward my lips while maintaining eye contact with Victor.

“I suppose you’re right,” I murmur. “Some secrets are too dangerous to uncover.”

That’s when I see it—the flash of satisfaction in Victor’s eyes, the slight relaxation in Father’s shoulders. They think I’m about to drink their poison, to surrender my memories and my will to their control. They think they’ve won.

I bring the glass closer to my mouth, letting the bitter scent fill my nostrils.

The wire continues to transmit our conversation to David Stone's team, my technological lifeline to the outside world still intact. David Stone and his team can listen to our every word, can record their confessions. I hope they’re preparing to act on the evidence they heard.

And I hope they’ll do it sooner rather than later. I’d hate to die tonight.

Dominic excuses himself to go to the bathroom. My eyes follow him as he leaves the table when suddenly a beam of a flashlight outside the window catches my attention. Relief washes over my body, allowing my muscles to relax ever so slightly.

It’s over.

“Actually,” I say, setting the glass down without drinking, “I have something to confess.”

The change in atmosphere is immediate and electric. Father’s eyes narrow, Mother’s hand freezes halfway to her own glass, and Victor leans forward like a snake preparing to strike.

“What kind of confession?” Victor asks, his voice dangerously soft.

I stand slowly, my movements deliberate and controlled.

Years of training serve me well as I project calm confidence while my heart hammers against my ribs.

“I've been wearing a wire. Everything you've said tonight has been recorded and transmitted to federal agents who are positioned outside this house. And in approximately thirty seconds, federal agents are going to come through that door to arrest you all.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Then chaos erupts.

Father lunges toward me, his face contorting with rage and betrayal. “You little bitch—what have you done?”

But before he can reach me, the dining room doors explode inward. Federal agents in tactical gear flood the room, weapons drawn, shouting commands that cut through the elegant atmosphere like chainsaws through silk.

“FBI! Get on the ground! Now!”

Father stumbles backward, his hands raised in shocked surrender.

Mother’s martini glass shatters against the marble floor, gin and broken crystal spreading like tears across the pristine surface.

Victor remains seated, his pale eyes fixed on me with an expression of such pure hatred that it steals my breath.

“Richard Gallagher, you’re under arrest for conspiracy, human trafficking, and murder,” Agent Smith announces, her voice carrying over the chaos. “You have the right to remain silent…”

The words fade into background noise as I watch my father—the man who shaped me into a weapon, who stole my childhood and replaced it with training in deception and violence—being handcuffed like a common criminal.

His silver hair is disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled, his carefully maintained facade crumbling to reveal the monster beneath.

“Belle,” he calls out as they drag him toward the door. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. You have no idea what’s coming for you now.”

The threat sends ice through my veins, but I force myself to meet his gaze steadily. “I understand perfectly. I’m saving myself and every other girl you would have destroyed.”

Agent Smith appears at my elbow, her expression professional but not unkind. “Ms. Gallagher, we need to get you out of here. There may be other assets in play, other threats we haven’t identified.”

I nod, allowing her to guide me toward the door. But as we pass Victor—now being roughly manhandled into handcuffs by two agents—he speaks in a voice so low only I can hear.

“Your father was right about one thing, Belle. You have no idea what’s coming. This network is bigger than your family, deeper than you can imagine. And the person who’s really in charge? He’s been watching you for years, waiting for exactly this moment.”

The words hit like ice water, but before I can respond, the agents drag him away. His pale eyes hold mine until the door slams shut between us, carrying a promise of retribution that makes my knees weak.

Agent Smith’s hand on my arm steadies me as we move through corridors I’ve known my entire life—corridors that now feel foreign, hostile, contaminated by the weight of what’s been revealed.

Staff members huddle in doorways, their faces shocked and confused as federal agents swarm through the mansion like antibodies attacking an infection.

“Is it over?” I ask as we reach the front entrance, my voice smaller than I intended.

“This part is,” Agent Smith replies. “But Ms. Gallagher, you need to understand—taking down your family was just the beginning. The evidence you’ve provided has implications that reach far beyond what we initially suspected.”

“What about Dominic?” I ask. “Did you get him?”

Agent Smith shakes her head. “He must’ve used one of the secret tunnels we don’t know about. But don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

The black SUV waiting in the circular drive looks like a hearse in the evening shadows.

As Agent Smith helps me into the back seat, I catch a glimpse of movement in an upstairs window—a figure in dark clothing watching our departure.

But when I look again, the window is empty, and I can’t be sure I saw anything at all.

“You did good, Belle,” Agent Smith says, using my first name for the first time. “What you’ve done tonight will save lives.”

But as I sit in the sterile interrogation room, giving my statement to a parade of federal agents and prosecutors, Victor’s words echo in my mind: The person who’s really in charge has been watching you for years.

Who could be above my father in the hierarchy?

Who has been pulling strings from shadows so deep that even Richard Gallagher answered to them?

The network we’ve exposed tonight feels massive, tentacled, reaching into institutions and corporations I never suspected.

But if there’s someone else out there—someone my father feared enough to go pale at the mention of—then my betrayal hasn’t ended the threat.

It’s just redirected it.

Hours later, as dawn breaks over the city in shades of gray and gold, I find myself in the back seat of another government vehicle, being transported to a safe house whose location is classified.

The familiar landscape of my childhood slides past the bulletproof windows like scenes from someone else’s life.

My phone—a new, secure device provided by the FBI—buzzes with a text from an unknown number: Impressive performance tonight. But the real show is just beginning. You’ll hear from me soon. —A Friend

The message deletes itself before I can screenshot it, leaving no trace except the ice in my veins and the growing certainty that destroying my family has only revealed how much deeper this goes.

As the safe house comes into view—a nondescript building surrounded by chain-link fencing and government surveillance—I realize that tonight’s victory may have been exactly what someone else wanted.

Someone who’s been orchestrating events from the shadows, using my rebellion as just another move in a game I don’t understand.

But as the SUV stops and Agent Smith opens my door, offering her hand to help me step into my new life, I feel something I haven’t felt in years: the possibility of choice. Whatever’s coming, whoever’s really pulling the strings, I’m no longer my father’s weapon.

I’m Belle Gallagher, federal witness and survivor, walking into an uncertain future with evidence of atrocities burning in my memory and the promise that some truths are worth dying for.

Even if they might kill me in the end.