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Power Games

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2018
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Evil.

And so she should be. She didn’t deserve to be happy, to have those accolades. Not after what she had done. Why should God look out for a thief and a killer?

Outside, street shouts drifted up to her window. Celeste glimpsed the moon through the panes, huge and bright.

16 (#ulink_c29b2baa-3404-5b4f-a7f5-0c0891fd67a2)

Broadway’s Gold Court Theatre was buzzing. Noah Lawson’s star billing had attracted fans in their thousands, the production selling out within hours of tickets hitting the stands. On opening night, the atmosphere backstage was electric.

Angela dressed in jeans and a sweater, sneakers and no make-up. Managing to slip behind the elaborate fan tails of a bunch of chorus girls, she located Noah’s dressing room and knocked. The seconds before he answered were endless.

She knew she shouldn’t have come. Not tonight. It wasn’t fair to drop this bomb when he was minutes from a performance. Are you crazy? Maybe she was. Maybe she had actually lost her mind. Maybe, despite her justifications, she was embarking on a foolish and terrible thing from whose consequences she would never recover. Since Vegas she had been running on empty. She was stupid and mad and selfish—and desperate beyond her wildest dreams. Turning up like this wasn’t fair.

Neither was it fair to let him read about it in the morning papers.


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