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Unlike Jacqueline’s adorable house, Nora’s lacks the Victorian charm, but not because it was never here.

No, it’s because Nora has gutted and remodeled it from—what I can only assume is—top to bottom.

Built-in shelves frame the electric fireplace glowing with the light of a fire she turns on with the click of a remote.

The recessed lighting is only upstaged by the ultra-modern chandelier I doubt she ordered from Wayfair.

The rug covering her hardwood floor is bigger than my entire living room and the couch that people are piling onto looks remarkably similar to the Restoration Hardware couch that costs more than six months of my rent.

It shouldn’t be a shock considering what I know she’s already lied about, but seeing with my own eyes that her “struggling teacher act” was just that, an act, takes the knife already lodged in my back and twists it.

“I know everyone has a lot of questions after the garbage the Post published today, and I promise we’ll get to them, but I wanted to start by reminding you about the company you already know and love.

” She turns on the giant flat-screen mounted above the fireplace, and a video much like what they showed at the conference begins to play.

I watch closely, trying to remember what drew me to them back in July.

The luxe shine I thought it had is so clearly plastic.

The video is cheap and flimsy, and everything that seemed so great rings false.

Watching now, it’s obvious that it’s a company built on lies, thriving on the insecurities of women who want something to believe in and a place to belong.

If I wasn’t so pissed at Nora for luring me in, I’d hate myself for falling for it.

The video comes to an end by zooming in on an image of a group of women with their arms draped around one another, the Petunia Lemon logo plastered across all of their chests.

Call me a cynic, but I wouldn’t be even a little bit shocked to find out it’s an AI-generated image.

After everything I learned, I’d be a fool to think anything they present is real.

“No matter what that horrible article claims, we know the truth,” Nora says.

“We are sisters in skincare and that will never change. It’s easier for the mainstream media to push lies and discredit us as silly little women than it is for them to admit that we’ve cracked the code.

This is a classic case of the patriarchy trying to put us in our place all because one scorned man couldn’t handle that he was left and his wife is thriving without him. ”

Jacqueline stands up and joins Nora at the front of the room.

Her blonde hair falls in glossy waves down her back and her perfect, full lips turn down at the corner of her mouth.

Her waist looks impossibly small in the skintight turtleneck and jeans she’s wearing, and even though you can tell she’s been crying, her eyes seem even bluer than ever.

Not only is she stunning, she’s the mother of Luke’s child, so I can’t fault people for assuming Luke is doing this as some twisted way to get her back.

If I didn’t know what I know, I’d think the same thing.

But for the first time in my entire life, I’m in a relationship with someone who is so honest and open, that despite listening to people telling me how desperate he is to get back together with his ex, the possibility has never even crossed my mind.

In fact, the nasty insecurities I’ve felt in every relationship I’ve ever been in are nowhere to found.

Because, and not to toot my own horn or anything, that man is completely obsessed with me.

And the feeling is very, very mutual.

“What we really need to focus on is who was giving him this information.” Nora pulls my attention back to the conversation at hand. “Because even though Lucas’s article is full of lies and exaggerations, it’s clear that somebody who’s been claiming to be one of us is really working with the devil.”

Fear spreads through my body as nervous glances shift around the room. This must be what criminals who return to the scene of the crime feel like. Paranoia makes it hard for me to sit still, and my hands shake with the urge to confess.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that the group gathered here is much smaller than normal.

Jacqueline and I spent a lot of time this morning compiling our most trusted circle and we narrowed it down to you all.

” She gestures to the women huddled in her living room.

Guilt and relief battle for dominance as I realize so many of the people I know love this company are missing.

“You’ve dedicated your time, money, and energy to Petunia Lemon, and we know that everyone here tonight are our sisters in and out of skincare.

It’s up to us now to weed out the person or persons spreading these malicious lies about the company that’s given us so much. ”

Nora’s battle cry works as intended, and a scary calm falls over the room.

The fires that were running wild when I walked in have lit the torches of women ready to grab pitchforks.

I look over at Janet and the broken expression she had at the beginning of the night has transformed into a look of determination. She’s not alone either.

It’d be impressive if it weren’t so fucking terrifying.

Nora’s eyes gleam beneath the perfect lighting and her cheeks flush with the excitement of a challenge she’s ready to meet. “Who’s going to help us defend the sisterhood?”

The room bursts into applause, and my false cheers fall flat in the sea of enthusiasm.

If I wasn’t already convinced this was a cult before, I would be now.

These women have been provided with an article full of facts pointing out how problematic and predatory Petunia Lemon is, and all it took was one person calling it fake news for them to jump back in line.

“Now most importantly,” Jacqueline finally jumps in, wiping away a stray tear, “who’s ready for wine?”

Laughter lightens the mood as everyone moves into Nora’s fully renovated kitchen.

After a day like today, a glass of wine feels more necessary than ever before, but I know I can’t stay.

And when my phone vibrates in my purse, and I see Luke’s name flash on the screen, I know exactly where I need to be.