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.

Tristan was silent for several seconds, his gaze steady on her. Emily waved her hand in front of his face. "Don't you have any other questions?"

He finally broke his silence. "Why pretend you were drugged? Is this about Andrew Lane and Isabella Austin?"

Emily pressed her lips together. "It's... a long story. Let's just drop it, okay? The important thing is, I'm fine."

She turned her face to the window, letting her hair fall so Tristan could only see the back of her head.

He was quiet for a long moment, then let out a low, ambiguous sigh. "Emily, you really do keep me guessing. I can't believe how worried I was about you."

He shook his head, his voice tinged with anger. "Fine. I won't ask anymore. But next time you try something like this, you need to tell me first. If you don't, I swear I'll be really mad."

Emily rubbed her nose sheepishly, then flashed a bright smile, eager to change the subject. "Once I finish this IV, I can go home. Let's get out of here soon, okay?"

Tristan pulled out his phone, clearly exasperated. "Hold on, your mom's been worried sick. I haven't even called her back yet. Let me give her an update."

Emily turned around. "Want me to talk to her instead?"

He gave her a look that was half reprimand, half concern, then handed her the phone as it started to ring.

Emily smiled at Tristan, pressed the phone to her ear, and said softly, "Hi, Mom..."

When it was finally time to leave, Tristan told Emily to wait by the hospital entrance while he went to get the car.

As soon as he was out of sight, Emily took out her phone and transferred money to a bank account the account belonging to the man who had "almost assaulted" her at the bar. That, too, had been a ruse; the man was someone she'd hired to play the role. Even so, the police had hauled him in, and he'd probably be held for a few days.

The money was payment for his trouble—a small fortune for him, and perhaps a price worth paying to keep her secrets safe.