The massive screen behind Chloe played, warehouse audio flooding the stunned ballroom.

“I killed Isabella Harrington. She thought she was better than me—prettier than me.”

Onscreen, Chloe crouched over a bound woman kneeling, bruised but defiant. A young girl lay slumped nearby.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, swelling into shouts and frantic questions.

“What’s happening?”

“Is that really her on the screen?”

“Is this part of the show?”

Phones rose instantly, capturing every second as the room fell deadly silent for a heartbeat then erupted into chaos.

“Chloe spun, face pale. ‘No, no, that’s not real! Someone’s hacking, turn it off!’”

But the recording continued.

“I’m a monster. Soon, I’ll...