“Five minutes,” he said. “Then I have to get back to Khloe.”

I turned and walked toward the backstage corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I reached the heavy wooden door of the private lounge and swiped my old administrative card.

The lock clicked green.

The room was dimly lit, filled with leather chairs and high-end liquor decanters.

I stood by the window, my hands clenched behind my back to hide their shaking.

The door opened, and Tristan stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him.

“Make it quick, Kate,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“I need you to tell me the truth,” I said, turning to face him. “Did you set me up with the feds?”

Tristan laughed, a soft, mocking sound that made my skin crawl.

“You really are naive,” he said, walking over to the bar and pouring himself a drink. “Of course I did. It was the perfect solution.”

“Why?” I asked, taking a step toward him to ensure the brooch picked up every word.