Chapter 1 - The SlapThe steel door of the Maricopa County holding cell slammed shut behind me.
The sound traveled through the concrete walls and settled somewhere deep inside my chest.
I sat alone on a stainless-steel bench, staring at the gray floor between my shoes. My left cheek still burned from the slap.
Callan Harrington had struck me in front of his entire family.
Fifteen people had watched it happen.
And now I was the one sitting behind bars.
The irony was almost too cruel to comprehend.
My name was Anastasia Harrington. Twenty-nine years old. Married for three years to one of Scottsdale's most powerful construction heirs.
And tonight, according to the police report, I was a violent wife who had attempted to murder her husband with boiling oil.
The story was perfect.
Almost.
A manila folder landed on the table outside the holding room.
David Vance, my court-appointed attorney, removed his glasses and rubbed his exhausted eyes.
"Anastasia," he said quietly, "this is bad."
I looked up.
"What does the report say?"
He hesitated.
"Your mother-in-law claims you suffered an emotional breakdown during lunch. Brooklyn says you deliberately attacked her. Richard confirms her statement. And Callan's medical report says he suffered serious burns."
I almost laughed.
"They're lying."
David studied me.
"Three witnesses are saying the same thing."
"They aren't three witnesses."
I leaned forward.
"They're family."
David sighed.
"That distinction may not matter to a jury."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I smiled.
"David."
"Yes?"
"Ask them where the camera footage is."
His eyebrows tightened.
"What camera footage?"
May you like
I stared directly into his eyes.
"The camera they forgot was recording."
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