Chapter 3

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I'd started recording the moment I walked into Monica's room, and now every sound, every word, was captured perfectly.

The next morning, Monica woke me up.

"Chrissie, I drank way too much last night. My head's killing me," she lied.

How disgusting.

I fought back the nausea. Last night replayed in my mind—every sound, every image.

I rushed to the bathroom, retching into the sink. As my stomach was empty, all I could do was dry heave.

The door to Monica's room was open, and Darren strolled right in just then.

Monica moved…