One of her friends had gone downstairs, and when she came up, she said she’d seen Felicia on the dance floor. She’d even filmed a video.
She showed the clip to Andrea, who immediately borrowed her phone and sent it straight to Max, heart pounding with excitement, sure she’d finally exposed Felicia’s true colors.
Felicia was just a cheap show-off, acting wild for attention. She was just as slutty as Andrea always suspected, probably passed around by countless men already.
But after she sent the video, there was nothing but silence. No reply from Max.
A little flicker of doubt crept in. Still, she wasn’t about to give up. She got someone to follow Felicia and her friends all night, ready to catch her in something even worse.
To her surprise, Felicia had gone to the hospital after leaving the club. But now Andrea knew where she was staying. By total coincidence, it was the same gated community as her own villa.
Andrea arranged to have Felicia watched. This afternoon, she got a message saying Max had arrived. Andrea pulled up the security footage herself and watched as Max interacted with Felicia. Even without sound, it was obvious. The atmosphere was tense. Max looked ice-cold.
He must have seen the video, Andrea thought, and a twisted rush of joy hit her.
How could Max ever fall for Felicia? She used to be plain, and now she was just plastic surgery and makeup.
Max was in Santa Monica—right here. Andrea wasn’t going to let this chance slip by.
She’d lost sight of Max when he walked into the restaurant, but then he reappeared, right in front of her. He didn’t walk away. He actually stopped to talk.
There was hope, bright and desperate, blooming in Andrea’s chest.
Felicia shot her a killing look and lifted her hand, ready to slap Andrea across the face. But suddenly, her wrist was caught mid-air. Andrea wasted no time slipping behind Max, faking a gasp. “Max!”
Felicia turned her head up to meet Max’s eyes, her own filled with bitter cold. She knew exactly what Andrea was doing, trying to rile her up in front of him so he’d swoop in and play hero. As always, Max took the bait.
His voice came out low and sour. “Felicia, haven’t you made enough of a scene?”
Felicia tried to yank her hand away, but his grip stayed iron-tight. He wasn’t letting go. She offered a cold, mocking sneer, her lips curling. “So what’s this, Max? You left Anne for this mess?”
Max’s jaw clenched, his dark eyes fixed on her with a heaviness that made the air feel thick.

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