The night that ruined me

betrayed me personally, every notification a small pinprick. Then my father's name glared on the screen. "You'd better not let me get wherever you are Jane, or else I promise i

that thin pity people offered women who'd been seen at their worst. I kept my voice low. "Hello, I need access to CCTV footage for last night. Room twelve-oh... I was a guest there. I-I there was an incident." He blinked, fingers hovering over the keyboard as if he needed permission to be honest. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Those requests have to go through our security department. Do you have an authorization?" "No." My throat closed. "I'm trying to find out what happened to me. I woke up and - I don't remember, there are gaps. Please. The footage could tell me." He tapped the screen, eyes avoiding mine. "There was a privacy request returned for that footage." He said it like he was giving me the weather. "Returned? By who?" I felt the tiny anger flare, the one that wouldn't let me be small any longer. "We don't have the right to disclose who requested it," he said. Corporate shields. I could taste the false smile like metal. Celine stepped up, stern as an anchor. "Is there a manager? Now." Minutes later a man in a dark suit appeared-too calm, too practiced. He asked a thin list of questions, then said something about protocol. He smelled like expensive soap and excuses. Before I could squeeze another word through my jaw, two men in the hallway moved like shadows and blocked the entrance. One had the kind of posture that made you measure your steps twice. My stomach dropped. "Ma'am, you can't be in the CCTV area," the manager said. "We have to-" "No," Celine snapped. "You will give us the footage. Now." The manager's eyes flickered toward the two men and something tightened behind them, a look I've seen before o