Page 83 of Ruthless Chaos

Her lip quivers, and I realize she’s about to cry again. I rush to the side of the bath and grip her face.

“Hey, look at me,” I say. “Don’t think about that now.” I smile as brightly as I can muster. “A wise woman once told me that sulking never made anyone feel better.”

A slight smile appears on her face.

“The best way to handle this is to have some fun,” I say, and I can barely believe what I’m saying. I would’ve never guessed I would take on this role for someone else. “First, we’re going to get some lunch together at The Ivy.” I keep talking, even though I can tell there’s a protest on the tip of her tongue. “There’s a party tonight at Kingmaker House. We’re going.”

Tara’s foul mood isn’t enough to hide her surprise. “Youwant to go to a party?”

I shrug. “Not really, but you need it.”

That makes her laugh.

Without warning, she jerks forward and grabs me in a hug.

She’s wet, and I’m fairly certain she’s soaked the ends of my hair, but I wrap my arms around her slippery shoulders and accept it.

“Thanks, Allie,” she says, squeezing me a little tighter. “You’re a great friend.”

I nod, but don’t reply.

Her words make my stomach loopy.

Tara is one ofthem—the dangerous people at this school.

But in her own way, she’s been nothing but kind to me.

We seem like friends.

Friends are honest with each other, though.

Dating a professor is nothing compared to theenormoussecret I’m hiding—Tara doesn’t even know my real name. Would she still feel this way about me if I told her I’m lying about who I am?

Or would she hand me over to be killed?

Worst yet, would she kill me herself?

TWENTY-TWO

ALLIE

This outfit is uncomfortable—theheels too high, the dress too tight.

But I smile brightly as I guide Tara up the white stonework path that leads to the entrance of Kingmaker House.

The grounds have been transformed.

It feels like a spring soiree, with string lights, flowers, and balloons all over. They have dressed even the topiaries and statutes with silky fabric and glittering lights.

A huge smoke machine pumps scented fog into the air, creating a haze that makes it feel like we’re stepping into a wild daydream.

“What’s the theme of this party?” I ask Tara over my shoulder.

We’ve joined the queue of people waiting to be admitted inside.

Even though we’re a way off, I can feel the music thumping in my chest. Tara shrugs, adjusting the strap of her top—an entirely see-through bustier.

It’s a risqué piece, even for her, but I get it.