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Because I am almost positive that Frankie Miller did kill DeeDee Cisco, aka Danielle Stratton. The sister of Amy Stratton, star gossip reporter for
Buzz Hollywood
.

I know this because I have video that I never turned over to the police.

DeeDee was just a film-school student in one of his classes. I met her on my eighteenth birthday. They set me up. Drugged me. Had me sign a non-disclosure agreement. And then proceeded to film me doing things I never imagined myself doing.

When I woke up in my car on the UCLA campus, there was a note congratulating me on my next blockbuster film. That was before I was a megastar. Before I made that crucial transition from the world of child actors into the world of the professionals.

So I went to my father. The great Adam Asher. And the whole thing disappeared.

Until DeeDee was found dead and I received a package in the mail a few days after her death that had the original footage of the movie they made with me, plus more. Plus
a lot
more. The NDA I signed and dozens of videos of Frankie Miller beating the shit out of her, demanding to know where she was hiding the film they made of me. It felt like a call to action. Like I should avenge DeeDee’s death for her because she held out. She played ball with my father’s offer and refused to give Miller the film.

But I didn’t give her the same respect back. I never showed those films to anyone. I didn’t want to be involved in this tragedy in any way. I was hopeful that the tide was changing with my career. I had been called in to read for three very big films, all of which fell through, but at the time it all seems so promising.

I didn’t want to fuck it up. I didn’t want to care about her. And I certainly didn’t want to
help
her. She got what she deserved. I couldn’t even fathom why she’d sent that package to me, of all people. Why me?

I figured she was setting me up again. I mean, that’s a legitimate reaction. That incident changed my whole outlook on life. And not in a good way. I stopped looking for girlfriends and started looking for sex. I ran with that nondisclosure idea I was introduced to, and made every girl I fucked sign one.

Carey Keefe picked up the story of poor, ousted Frankie Miller and became his champion. After a long wait for trial and with the help of a top-notch legal team, the charges were eventually dropped. Six weeks later, DeeDee’s death was ruled a suicide.

Carey is suddenly right up in my face. “Because why, Vaughn?”

I only have one out at this point. The truth. “You need to believe me, Carey. That I’m not doing this to ruin you. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

She snorts. “How would you have the ability to ruin
me
? I think it’s the other way around.”

I lean down in her ear and whisper, “Because you’re in those films too.”

Her face goes white. “What films?”

“The ones DeeDee sent to me before she died.”

“What’s going on here?” Amy asks a stone-faced Carey.

Carey puts up a hand to silence Amy, and then proceeds. “You ruin lives, Vaughn Asher. You stomp all over women like they are things. Just watch everyone.”

And then she throws her arms out in a flourish and the screen changes. There’s a line of women.

“My name is Jasinda Gonzales and I’m a victim of Vaughn Asher.”

“My name is Sandy Delaney and I’m a victim of Vaughn Asher.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

#AndAPrincessShallLeadThem

T
HEY
go on and on like that. Dozens of them. And as much as I love my husband, this does make me pause. Because this is who he was before we were married. Everything they’re saying about him is true.

I know this because he used the same words on me. He asked me to do the very same things. It was
Yes, Master
. It was sitting at his feet. It was being hand-fed tiny morsels of meat. It was signing a non-disclosure agreement. All of that is true.

Vaughn stands quietly as the film ends and then two more curtains are raised to reveal all the women who just spoke out.

Vaughn walks up to one of the girls and looks her in the eyes. “Did you get anything out of our relationship, Terry?”

She shrugs.

“Money? I recall giving you about seventy-five thousand dollars before we called it quits. You wanted a condo in Miami with a beach view. Done, correct?”

She stands perfectly still.

He moves on to the next girl and repeats his questions. “How about you, Lisa? You wanted your student loans paid off? I did that.” He moves on to the next girl. “And this one, she was a one-night stand. There was no agreement. There was no Master. There was none of this that they are claiming.”

“So I don’t count?” the girl asks him.

“Do you want me to lie?”

She turns and walks away.

“They’re not people to you, Vaughn Asher. They are things to be used and thrown away,” that editor for
Buzz Hollywood
tells my husband.

“You’re wrong,” he says with conviction. “They were possessions, but only in the sense that I felt obligated to care for them while they were in this specific arrangement with me.”

“You make me sick,” the reporter seethes. “You killed my sister. You made her so depressed she took her own life. And then you accused her boyfriend of abuse and murder.”

Vaughn says nothing to that.

“Grace!” the girl calls out. And everyone turns to find the blonde woman Vaughn came in with. “Where did she go?”

I look around along with everyone else, but the girl in the houndstooth suit is nowhere to be found.

“Put her movie back on,” the editor woman shouts.

The film of me was a teenager is back up for all to see. I can’t believe they are showing this. As much as I hate the fact that my husband was that person this woman describes, and as confused as I am about this other stuff with this DeeDee person, there is no good reason to have this disgusting footage of my kidnapping on display.

“Take it down right now, Carey,” Vaughn says calmly.

“Or what?”

“You’ll see.” The ice in his voice is so clear it sends chills up my arms.

“I want everyone to know what your type is, Vaughn. Broken. That’s what you like. You want victims. You want girls who can’t get up off the floor and stand up to you. You want to tie them up and stick them in a closet and—”

I slap her across the face so hard my palm is stinging.

I have no idea how I got so close, but I slap the shit out of that bitch. The whole place gasps as I remove my mask and my wig.

“What the fuck?” the Carey woman says as she palms her red cheek.

“That’s enough.” I say it with confidence, one hundred percent in control.

“Grace,” Vaughn whispers. I smile up at him and he gives me a small one back. And then I step forward until I’m right in front of him, so close that I have to tip my head back to look him in the eye. I nod my head to the line of women. “I’ve seen that man they describe, but that’s not the man I married.”

“Grace,” he says again. But the screams from the movie cut him off. We both look up at the scene to see teenage Daisy get smacked across the face and fall to the floor. “Let’s go.”

He takes my hand and starts to lead me away, but I plan my feet firm and pull him back. “No. I’m not leaving.” I turn to look up at that film and I watch. I make the whole room watch as I am hit and kicked, and they really chose an Oscar-winning segment for this teaser, because just before it ends, I piss myself from fear.

“Please, Grace,” Vaughn pleads. “Let’s go.”

I turn to face the crowd instead. “Did you all enjoy that?” I ask them. “Is that what you came to see? Are you satisfied now?”

Vaughn takes my hand and leads me away. But when I pass the Carey person responsible for this, I stop again. “You got that film from him, didn’t you? My kidnapper contacted you before he took me and offered you that film.”

“I don’t reveal sources,” she says flatly.

“Well,” I say, turning to the crowd, “I’m so glad you were all so entertained by the images of me being abused as a little girl. You must all feel mighty superior right now.”

This time when Vaughn tugs on my hand, I let him lead me away.

We take the elevator to the roof and the blonde girl Vaughn came with, who is no longer wearing the houndstooth suit, but a slinky 40’s looking flapper dress, is waiting by his car.

“Did you get all that?” Vaughn asks her.

She smiles widely. “I got every second.”

“Grace, this is Marjorie. She’s a reporter for
Everyday Celebrity Magazine
.”

“Holy shit. I love
Everyday Celebrity
. When I lived in Denver I had a weekly subscription. I read you guys every week.”

“We like to call ourselves the ‘Real Celebrity Magazine’ because we deal in truth, not rumors,” the pretty blonde reporter says. “People trust that our stories are accurate. And this tonight, what Vaughn did… what you did… well, let’s just say, most of these people won’t have jobs this time next week, let alone be putting on this kind of show next year. Some of them might even go to jail.” She winks at Vaughn. “That’s your good news I promised, Vaughn. I have a detective friend with LAPD who’s been looking into some hacking cases and this footage I got tonight will certainly give him leverage with a judge when he starts asking for warrants.”

“Thank you. You’re a good friend, Marjorie. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re fair with me. And that’s all I can ask for.” She smiles in response but his attention is already back to me. “Where’s your car, Grace?” Vaughn asks. “We need to get out of here.”

“Level three.”

“We’ll leave it here and pick it up tomorrow.”

And then I am ushered into the Porsche and I buckle myself in as Vaughn makes his way around to his side. He gets in and starts the engine as he drags his own belt across his shoulder.

“I just want to say—”

“No.” I stop him with a hand on his leg. “Please, don’t apologize. I love you, and that’s all there is to it. My love is not conditional on how you acted in the past. Just like your love is not conditional on what happened to me in the past. This is us, Vaughn. Like it or not. This is us. I am that little girl who watched her parents murdered in front of her and was brutalized for eight months by a crazy man. And you are that asshole who used women for sex and treated them like possessions. But that’s not who we are right now. People grow and learn. I don’t see you as the controlling asshole I met on the beach. I love you for the man you are today.”

He puts his hand over mine and squeezes, picking it up in the process. He raises it up to his mouth and presses his lips on my palm, ever so softly. “I love all parts of you, Grace. There is nothing about you I’d change. I love all the parts.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

#LifeIsTooShortToBeMiserableLikeYou

THREE WEEKS LATER

O
F
all the words Vaughn Asher has given me over the course of our relationship, it’s the ones back in his Porsche when we were leaving the Black Bash that stick with me. He loves all my parts.