Alyson Noel - Infamous - the page-turning thriller from New York Times bestselling author Alyson Noël

It was the only explanation for why she’d put her own life at risk in order to help a girl who’d gone out of her way to act like a total bitch the first time they’d met. And yet, so much had happened since then, and Layla was done holding grudges. Aster had been set up. She was innocent of every crime leveled against her. And because of it, Layla felt compelled to help prove her innocence. Even if she’d been given a peek into the future that warned how she’d only end up implicated alongside Aster, Layla wouldn’t have chosen any differently.

“Here, I almost forgot.” Her dad pulled a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses from the pocket of his hoodie and thrust them into her palm.

Layla gratefully slid them onto her face, then tucked her chin to her chest and continued trudging alongside him.

She was exhausted. Hadn’t slept for days. And her mind was in torment, refusing to allow even a moment’s rest. Every time she closed her eyes, a reel of horrifying scenarios unspooled in her head.

Aside from her father and a handful of friends, no one seemed willing to give her a chance. And as someone who’d dreamed of being a serious journalist for most of her life, she was horrified to find herself the subject of countless sordid headlines. The media had portrayed her as a hateful person bent on revenge, and soon her fate would rest in the hands of twelve jurors who’d probably already made up their minds well before opening arguments were over.

If the verdict was guilty, she’d spend the bulk (if not all) of her life trapped behind bars. Her dreams would never be fulfilled, and the close relationship she’d once shared with her father would be reduced to awkward, guilt-laden visits, where Layla would watch helplessly from behind a smudged Plexiglas window as her father aged and withered before her.

It was the worst outcome imaginable, and the scary thing was, it was entirely possible.

“Layla! Hey, Layla—over here! Where’s Madison? Tell us what you did to her?”

Great. Just what I need. Paparazzi .

Layla hiked the plastic bag high to cover her face as her father slung a protective arm around her and pulled her in close.

“Don’t look. Ignore them.” He pressed the words into her hair and rushed her toward his waiting car.

Layla leaned into him, allowing his momentum to carry her along, all the while fighting the impulse to cry at the sheer frustration of it all. With so many cameras centered on her, she couldn’t afford to give in to tears. The press thrived on capturing vulnerable moments. They were all in pursuit of the same thing—the rare instant when the mask dropped and the celeb inadvertently revealed an alarming humanity. Beyoncé had a pimple once, and the internet nearly exploded.

While Layla’s popular celebrity-bashing blog, Beautiful Idols, had fueled her financial independence and helped lessen the burden from her struggling artist father, she had no doubt that what was happening to her now was karmic payback for once being a player in the very industry that now stalked her.

She swallowed hard and burrowed deeper into her father’s side. She felt shaky, oversensitive, but she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. The breakdown would have to wait until later.

“Hey, H.D.! Over here! Are you standing by your daughter even though she’s a murderer?”

Layla’s father grew tense—a sure sign that the primal fight instinct had kicked in. Layla would prefer he chose flight.

Dad, she started to say, don’t, it’s not worth it .

But before she could get to the words, he was already turning away and securing her inside the car.

“Tell us whose body it is!” another pap screamed, his voice muted when her dad shut the door, shielding her from the onslaught.

“What’s he talking about?” Layla watched her dad settle in.

“It wasn’t Madison.”

It took a moment to process the words. She repeated them back to him just to make sure.

“Wasn’t her.” He shook his head and slowly maneuvered through the retreating throng. “That’s why they released you. I’m sorry, I assumed they would’ve told you.” He turned his focus back to the road.

Layla gnawed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide what the news meant. “I figured you’d posted bail.”

Her dad pressed his lips together and gripped the wheel hard. “No bail. They refused it.”

Layla screwed her eyes shut and allowed the good news to sink in. Her chest loosened, her breath flowed with less restriction, as the eternal flame of optimism began to burn through what had come to seem like an impenetrable fog of despair.

If the body wasn’t Madison’s, then the LAPD could no longer charge her with murder.

The fact that they’d let her go probably meant they’d deemed her entirely innocent.

She rolled the thoughts around in her head until they gathered enough strength to edge the darker ones out.

“Did they ID the body?” She studied her dad, realizing that while it might not be Madison, there was still a dead body. “Was it Paul Banks?” The body had been found on his property, so it was entirely possible. Maybe she wasn’t in the clear, after all.

“It’s an adult male. That’s all so far.”

“And the others—Aster, Ryan, and Tommy—are they out too?”

Her dad shrugged. “I got the call to come get you, that’s all.”

Layla slid her fingers beneath her sunglasses and rubbed the delicate skin around her eyes. The good news—it wasn’t Madison—was delivered in potentially bad news—it could still be Paul, who was connected to Madison—and Layla had no idea how to read it. All she knew for sure was that for the moment she was free. She just hoped it would last.

The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. H.D. had never been one to dodge the important conversations, but for now, Layla figured he was giving her space. The talk would come later.

Her dad pulled into the driveway and waited for the garage door to roll open as Layla nervously scanned the street, searching for signs of paparazzi. Deeming it clear, she seized the moment to slip free of the car and tilt her face directly into the sunlight.

“What’re you doing?” Her dad’s worried tone prompted her to laugh.

“Making good on my promise,” she said. “I’ll never take my freedom for granted again.”

She lowered her gaze to meet his. The beginnings of a smile were lifting her lips when her phone chimed from inside the plastic bag she carried, and the latest text, in a long stream of them, popped onto her screen.

There was an image of a cartoon cat, this one with a deep, jagged gash that stretched across his throat. Just below were the words:

You’re more stubborn than most

And though I don’t like to boast

I meant what I said

And now, because of you, someone is dead

While you were away

I took the liberty of having my say

M’s diary is now live on your site

Just a matter of time before the world sees it and bites

Will they bite you?

I haven’t a clue

Though I can’t take all the glory

Seeing as how I used your own story

But before you feel bad

Or even start to get mad

Don’t forget it’s your refusal to play

That brought you to this day

If you want this to end

Then consider me your best friend

Only I hold the key

So whatever you do, do not disappoint me

Further instructions will come

And I’m warning you to keep mum

If you share any of this with your gang

I promise, someone will hang.

Her heart pounding, Layla scrolled to her blog. An unvoiced cry died in her throat as she skimmed the post she’d written and had been dumb enough to leave in the draft folder instead of deleting.