Carter POV
I woke up with my head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it.
“Shit…” I groaned, rubbing my temples as I sat up.
Where the hell was I?
My eyes darted around the room. It was my room. My bed. My apartment.
But I had no idea how I got here.
The last thing I remembered was dinner… then leaving to check on the shoot at Empire… and then…
Black .
My head spun as I stood up and staggered to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I looked like hell. Bloodshot eyes, messed-up hair, creases from the pillow still on my cheek.
“ What the actual fuck happened last night?”
I grabbed a towel, dried my face, and walked back out.
That’s when I saw it. The closet. The walk-in door was wide open. And empty shelves stared back at me.
I blinked, walked inside, and felt my chest tighten.
Her clothes. Gone.
Her shoes. Gone.
Her suitcase? Gone.
“Jane?” I called, walking through the apartment like she might be hiding behind the damn curtains. “Jane, where the fuck are you?”
Silence. I ran back to the bedroom, grabbed my phone, and called her. No answer. I called again.
Voicemail .
Then I saw the notifications.
And the first one stopped me cold.
“ Carter King spotted with Emma Zidane at Empire — where was his fiancée?”
I opened the article.
Photos. Headlines. Lies—or maybe not. Because there I was. Standing beside Emma. Her hand on my arm. Her mouth near my ear. Me, looking drunk as hell.
“What the fuck…”
I dropped the phone on the bed and sat down, heart racing.
This had to be wrong.
This wasn’t right.
I hadn’t seen Emma in months. We used to hook up. That’s all it ever was. But once Jane came into my life, that was it. I ghosted Emma. I didn’t return a single call. I didn’t need anyone else.
So how the hell did she end up with me last night?
My jaw clenched as I stood back up, grabbed my phone again, and dialed Empire’s security.
“I need footage from last night,” I said through gritted teeth. “Everything from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. — hallway, lounge, VIP room. I want it now.”
Ten minutes later, I was in my office, watching the video on my laptop with the screen shaking in my hands.
There I was.
Stumbling through the hallway like an idiot. Emma beside me. Me not even looking at her. Barely standing.
She was holding me up. Whispering. Pouring something into my drink earlier in the footage.
My heart stopped.
I replayed it again. She poured something into my drink. I stared at the screen like I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hadn’t chosen this.
I hadn’t even known what I was doing.
My phone buzzed. Another message from the internet eating me alive.
“ Guess the King doesn’t want the Ellis girl after all.”
“Fuck this,” I muttered, standing up.
I needed answers. I called Emma.
“Carter,” she answered, all sweet and fake. “I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Come to my office,” I said coldly. “Now.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s not very friendly.”
“I wasn’t trying to be friendly.”
She showed up twenty minutes later, dressed like she was walking a red carpet, fake pout on her lips and sunglasses indoors.
“You’re such a mess without me,” she said, waltzing in.
“Sit,” I ordered.
She blinked at my tone but sat anyway.
I walked over to my desk, pulled open a drawer, and threw down a modeling contract with her name on it. And a stack of cash.
“This is everything you ever wanted,” I said. “So now you’re going to tell me the truth.”
She stared at the money. “That’s insulting.”
“Is it?” I snapped. “Because you’re not here for love. You’re here for gain. So either take the deal—or I go public with the footage of you drugging my drink.”
Her face dropped.
I saw it.
“I didn’t drug you,” she said quickly. “It was… a sleeping pill. A light one.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better,” I said flatly. “Who put you up to it?”
She looked down, twirling her sunglasses in her hands.
I leaned forward. “Emma.”
She stayed silent. So I grabbed the money, and tossed it toward the door.
“No deal, then.”
“Wait!” she blurted, eyes wide.
I stopped. She swallowed hard. “It wasn’t all me,” she said softly. “I… I was told to do it. Offered something I couldn’t refuse.”
“Who?”
Emma hesitated.
My eyes narrowed.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
“It was Rosie,” she whispered.
The room went still. My chest went tight. “What did you say?”
“It was Rosie,” she said louder. “She planned it. She told me where you’d be, told me what to wear, told me you’d had too much already, and the paparazzi would be nearby. She just needed the shot.”
I stared at her, rage flooding every inch of my body.
My own sister.