Page 26 of Betray Me (Devastation Game #2)

Now

The television screen flickers with breaking news coverage, the anchor’s voice cutting through the silence of the safe house like a blade.

“Richard and Olivia Gallagher, prominent figures in Los Angeles’ financial elite, were arrested this evening on charges of conspiracy, human trafficking, and murder.

This follows the sentencing of Sebastian and Eleanor Queen a year ago… ”

I stare at the images of my parents being led away in handcuffs, their designer clothes wrinkled, their carefully maintained facades crumbling under the harsh glare of camera flashes.

Father’s silver hair is disheveled, and his expensive suit suddenly looks like a costume that no longer fits.

Mother keeps her chin raised in defiance, but I can see the terror in her eyes—the same terror I felt for years whenever I disappointed them.

“The investigation, led by Boston’s District Attorney David Stone, has uncovered a network of exploitation throughout the United States spanning decades,” the anchor continues.

“Sources close to the case suggest this may be one of the largest human trafficking operations ever uncovered in our country.”

Max reaches for the remote, but I catch his wrist. “Don’t. I need to see this.”

His dark eyes search my face with concern. “Belle, you don’t have to torture yourself—”

“Yes, I do.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I need to watch their empire burn.”

The coverage shifts to file footage of the Gallagher mansion—my childhood prison dressed up as a palace. The reporter speaks about seized assets, frozen accounts, ongoing investigations. Everything my family built on the bones of broken children is finally crumbling.

I should feel victorious. Vindicated. Free.

Instead, I feel hollow.

“Federal agents also arrested Victor Reeves, the network’s alleged chief strategist,” the anchor announces, and a mugshot of Victor flashes across the screen.

His pale eyes stare out from the photograph with the same cold calculation that haunted my nightmares.

“Dominic Griffiths remains at large and is considered extremely dangerous.”

Dominic. The man who trained me to be a weapon, who taught me to slip drugs into drinks without detection, who’s been watching me since childhood, and who’s been hired by Sebastian Queen himself.

The fact that he escaped makes my skin crawl.

He knows too much about me, about what I’m capable of, about the gaps in my memory that might hide terrible truths.

“Belle.” Max’s voice is gentle but firm. “Look at me.”

I tear my gaze from the screen, meeting his concerned expression. He’s sitting close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, can smell his familiar cologne that somehow makes me feel safer even when the world is falling apart around us.

“They can’t hurt you anymore,” he says, his hand finding mine. “It’s over.”

But it doesn’t feel over. It feels like the beginning of something worse—a reckoning I’m not sure I’m prepared for.

Because with my parents behind bars, with their protection gone, I’m exposed in ways I’ve never been before.

Every enemy they made, every threat they held at bay through fear and manipulation, could come for me now.

“Is it?” I whisper. “Or am I just an easier target now?”

Max’s grip on my hand tightens. “No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks me. When was the last time someone promised to protect me without expecting something in return? When did anyone care about my safety more than my usefulness?

The news switches to a live feed from outside the federal courthouse, where David Stone is addressing reporters. His tall frame fills the screen, his expression grim but determined as he speaks about justice for victims and holding the powerful accountable.

“This is just the beginning,” David says, his voice carrying clearly over the crowd of journalists. “We will not rest until every member of this network is brought to justice, until every victim receives the closure they deserve.”

Every victim. Including me, I suppose, though the word still feels foreign when applied to myself.

For so long, I thought of myself as a willing participant, a calculated spy who chose her role to avoid something worse.

But sitting here, watching the ruins of my family’s empire broadcast to the world, I finally understand what David tried to tell me during our first meeting.

I was eleven years old when they first dressed me up like a doll and paraded me in front of monsters. Eleven. A child who should’ve been playing with toys and learning multiplication tables, not learning how to survive predators in designer suits.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and making my chest tight. I wasn’t a willing participant. I was a victim who found a way to survive, who adapted to impossible circumstances because the alternative was unthinkable.

“Belle?” Max’s voice sounds distant, muffled. “Belle, what’s wrong?”

I try to respond, but my throat feels closed, like invisible hands are squeezing the air from my lungs. The room starts to spin slightly, colors bleeding at the edges of my vision. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and suddenly, I can’t get enough air.

I’m dying. I must be dying. This is what dying feels like—this crushing weight on my chest, this desperate need for oxygen that won’t come, no matter how hard I try to breathe.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Max’s hands cup my face, forcing me to focus on his eyes instead of the panic consuming me. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re safe, Belle. You’re safe.”

Safe. The word should comfort me, but it only makes the panic worse.

I’ve never been safe. Even now, in this government safe house with federal protection, I’m not truly safe.

Dominic is still out there. The network has tentacles reaching into places I can’t imagine.

And somewhere in the shadows, forces I don’t understand are probably planning their next move.

“I can’t—” I gasp, clawing at my throat. “I can’t breathe—”

“Yes, you can.” Max’s voice is calm, steady, an anchor in the storm of my terror. “Breathe with me. In for four counts. One, two, three, four.”

I try to follow his breathing, to match the rhythm he sets, but my body refuses to cooperate. Everything feels too tight, too fast, too much. The news coverage continues in the background, a constant reminder that my entire world has just collapsed in the most public way possible.

“Out for four counts,” Max continues, his thumbs stroking gentle circles on my cheeks. “One, two, three, four. Good. Again.”

Gradually, painfully, my breathing begins to slow. The crushing weight on my chest eases slightly, allowing precious air to fill my lungs. The room stops spinning, colors bleeding back to their proper places.

“There you go,” Max murmurs, his forehead pressing against mine. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

But I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay.

Because the little girl who was dressed up like a doll at eleven years old, who learned to survive through manipulation and performance, who convinced herself she was in control when she was really just a prisoner with a prettier cage—that girl is still inside me, terrified and broken and desperately seeking safety in a world that has never offered it.

“I don’t know who I am without them,” I admit, the words barely a whisper. “Without the Gallagher name, without my role as their weapon—I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

Max pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his expression fierce with an emotion I don’t dare name.

“You’re Belle. Not Belle Gallagher, daughter of monsters.

Not their spy or their weapon or their victim.

Just Belle—a woman who’s survived hell and chose to do the right thing despite everything they taught her. ”

The simplicity of it—just Belle—makes my throat tight with unshed tears. When was the last time someone saw me as a person rather than a product of my family’s influence? When did anyone look at me and see the potential for goodness instead of the corruption that shaped me?

“But what if that’s not enough?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “What if underneath all their training, all their manipulation, I’m just like them? What if I’m a monster who learned to wear a human mask?”

“You’re not.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “A monster wouldn’t have testified against her own family. A monster wouldn’t have risked everything to save other potential victims. A monster wouldn’t be sitting here having a panic attack because she’s finally free.”

Free. Another word that feels foreign, impossible. But looking into Max’s eyes, seeing the complete faith he has in my capacity for goodness, I almost believe it might be true.

The news coverage shifts to commercial, some bright advertisement for laundry detergent that feels obscene after the darkness we’ve just witnessed. Max reaches for the remote and finally turns off the television, plunging the safe house into blessed silence.

“Come here,” he says softly, pulling me against his chest.

I resist for a moment—old habits of self-protection dying hard—but then I let myself melt into his embrace.

His arms come around me, solid and warm and safe in a way I’ve never experienced before.

I can hear his heartbeat under my ear, steady and reassuring, proof that he’s real and here and choosing to stay despite everything he knows about my past.

“Thank you,” I whisper against his shirt.

“For what?”

“For seeing something in me worth saving.”

His arms tighten around me. “Belle, you saved yourself. You made the choice to walk into that federal building, to wear the wire, to risk everything for justice. That wasn’t me or David Stone or anyone else. That was you.”