But he wouldn't look at me. His face twisted with a mixture of rage and revulsion as he turned away, jaw tight.
DNA doesn't lie. Even if the video was faked, no one could forge that. And I knew I hadn't been there. There was no way anything of mine could be in that hotel room.
Then came the final blow.
"Mrs. Johnson," one of the officers said, his tone neutral, unfeeling. "Our lab just tested the biological evidence found in the hotel room. We identified your DNA, along with samples from multiple male individuals."
I couldn't breathe.
"And," he added, "we've traced the source of the original video upload. It came from your phone."
A sharp, broken laugh tore from Sean's throat. His shoulders heaved with fury.
All around me, eyes locked on—wide and glinting. Shock. Disgust. Cruel satisfaction. Like vultures circling the carcass of a truth they already believed.
And just like that, I was back there again. Right in the center of the same nightmare. Same humiliation. Same hopelessness.
Before I could react, a palm whipped across my cheek with brutal force.
The impact knocked me to the ground.