Rich Heiress Quits Playing Doormat

At midnight, Marvin Cooper throws a confession form at my face. The sharp edge of the paper cuts the corner of my eye, and bright red blood begins to seep out.

He barks, "Alyssa hit someone with her car. You have a similar build to her. Go to the police station and take the blame."

His tone leaves no room for argument, as if he is casually asking me to make him a late-night snack.