Emily Blair gripped her water glass and sat up straight, her back rigid against the pillows.
For a second, she was completely stunned, watching as Tristan Davis actually pulled out his phone and started to dial. She shot forward in panic, nearly pulling the IV stand over as she scrambled to stop him. "Wait! Don’t call! There’s no need to call the police!"
Tristan immediately tucked his phone away and came over to steady her, his hand warm on her arm. "Easy," he said quietly. "Slow down. What’s the rush?"
Emily’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You didn’t call yet, did you?"
He adjusted the IV stand, making sure it was securely in place. "I didn’t."
Once he was sure everything was steady, Tristan looked her in the eye. "Emily, you need to give me one good reason not to call the police."
Her mind spun furiously, weighing whether or not she should tell him the truth. When she felt like her head might split in two, she finally bit the bullet. "Honestly, I wasn’t drugged at all."
Tristan stared at her. "What?"
She repeated softly, "No one drugged me. I was pretending at the bar—just putting on a show to fool them."
His perfectly shaped brows knit together. "Then what’s with the IV?"
"When the doctor saw me earlier, I told him it was low blood sugar. The fluids are just to help with that. I’m fine, really."
Isabella Austin had been right. If Emily had really drugged herself just to get back at Isabella, it would have been a totally pointless, self-destructive move. She’d never do something that foolish—never risk her own health like that. Besides, this whole mess hadn’t really shaken Isabella’s position at all. Even though Andrew Lane suspected her, he was still firmly on Isabella’s side.
So from the very beginning—her getting drunk, her being drugged—it had all been an act. Even the flush on her cheeks had been makeup, carefully blended on. Now her face was a little pale, but that was just because she truly did have low blood sugar.


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