Three years of quiet recuperation in Europe were shattered by a single, explosive livestream. The title was pure clickbait, designed to snag eyeballs: [A-LIST STAR DESTROYS B-MOVIE ACTRESS—SCENES YOU WON'T BELIEVE!] I was about to scoff at the tabloid trash when the face on the screen resolved into focus. The so-called B-movie actress, the woman they were tearing apart, was none other than Anya—my best friend, the one I’d left behind to chase her dreams in the glittering, venomous world of Hollywood. And she was on her knees, trembling, her clothes nearly ripped from her body. The backdrop was horrifyingly familiar. It was the sprawling Hamptons estate I’d lent her, a ten-million-dollar sanctuary now turned into a public pillory. A circle of viciously beautiful starlets, dressed in garish designer clothes, swarmed her. “What do you mean, your ‘best friend’s’ mansion?” one of them sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. “Everyone knows Lila’s new boyfriend, Mr. Vance, gave her this estate for the shoot!” A woman in a pristine white dress, clearly the queen bee, stepped forward. Lila. She played the part of the gracious host, her expression a mask of feigned sympathy. “This beautiful home was a gift from Julian,” she purred, her eyes glittering with malice. “But if you’re desperate to come inside, I suppose there’s a way. You could always… crawl. After all,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’re used to baring it all for an audience, aren’t you? An actress of your… caliber… should be comfortable with that.” The comments section scrolled by in a blur of cruelty. [LILA IS A QUEEN! YES! Put that trash in her place!] [Her 'best friend' is probably some sugar daddy's mistress too!] Mr. Vance? Julian Vance? My fiancé? A cold fury, sharp and sudden, pierced through my shock. What stray cat had dragged herself onto my doorstep, claiming my home and tormenting my friend in my name? I was seeing red. Without a second thought, I booked the first flight back to New York. Then, I dialed my fiancé’s number. “You have ten minutes,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Get to the Havenmoor Estate. And you’re going to tell every single person there who this house really belongs to.” Chapter 1 By the time I clicked into the livestream, hoping to shower Anya with enough digital gifts to crash the server, the nightmare was already in full swing. There she was, holding the keys I’d given her, barred from entering the main gate. No matter how many times she pleaded, her voice cracking, “This is my best friend’s house, she told me I could use it!” the security guards remained impassive statues. “Mr. Vance’s orders are clear,” one of them stated, his voice flat. “Miss Lila is the host for today’s event.” I felt a dizzying wave of confusion. This was supposed to be Anya’s big break—her debut on a hit reality show where the cast lives together in a location provided by one of the guests. I couldn’t be there to support her, but I’d made damn sure she’d have a backdrop that would make her shine. Havenmoor was worth more than the entire production budget. So what the hell was happening? The other starlets closed in on Anya like sharks sensing blood. “An actress with your reputation, from your kind of films? What powerful friend could you possibly have?” one of them mocked. “Don’t tell me she’s another bottom-feeder who slept her way to a bit part! She could afford this place? Don’t make me laugh! Julian gave this to Lila!” “Your ‘best friend’ probably knows some producer who knows Julian, and you twisted that into this pathetic lie. It’s hilarious!” Lila, in her angelic white dress, positioned herself as the mansion’s rightful mistress. She looked down at Anya, her face a perfect portrait of pity, but her eyes were dancing with triumph. “Anya, darling, if you couldn’t secure a location, you should have just said so. We would have understood. There was no need to make up such a… desperate story. Claiming Julian’s gift to me belongs to your friend? It’s just embarrassing.” Seeing Lila, Anya flinched, a conditioned reflex of fear. But then, a flicker of courage, likely fueled by thoughts of me, returned to her eyes. “This estate really is my friend’s,” she insisted, her voice trembling but firm. “I have proof…” She never got to finish. A glass of ice water flew through the air, soaking the front of her thin blouse. The fabric turned translucent, clinging to her skin and revealing the delicate lace of her bra. The director and crew, instead of intervening, zoomed in. The camera lens became a predator, leering at Anya’s exposed and humiliated form. Lila’s mask of innocence slipped, revealing a flash of pure contempt. She was the one who’d “accidentally” spilled the drink. “Oh, clumsy me,” she said, her tone devoid of any real apology. “My hand slipped. But we can’t delay the shoot. Why don’t you just take that wet thing off before you come inside? Julian gave me this home, and I must take care of it. If you were to drip on the antiques… well, I doubt even selling yourself would cover the damages.” She raked her eyes over Anya’s body and let out a small, cruel laugh. “Besides, you’re an actress who got her start in skin flicks. You must be used to using your body to get attention, right?” All the color drained from Anya’s face. She mumbled a protest, but Lila’s posse was already on her, their manicured fingers clawing at her clothes. The livestream chat erupted in a frenzy. [DRAG HER! I’ve hated this slut forever!!] [She’s such a cheap whore, always flaunting her body then pretending to be a victim. It’s disgusting!] [Lila is the ultimate BS detector in this industry! Rip that fake innocent act right off her!] I blinked, scrubbing at my eyes, convinced I was hallucinating. But no. The woman being savaged on screen was Anya. My Anya. And the stage for her torment was my home, Havenmoor Estate. The house my grandfather had gifted me after Julian Vance and I were engaged, the place I had bought and intended to be our marital home. My name was on the deed. The purchase agreement was in my safe. I’d followed my parents abroad after the engagement, wanting to spend more time with them as they settled into retirement. The house had sat empty, waiting for my return. But even if I wasn’t living in it, what did that have to do with Lila and this "Mr. Vance" she was clinging to? On the screen, Anya was losing the fight. The buttons on her soaked shirt gave way. She crossed her arms over her chest, a desperate, futile attempt to preserve the last shred of her dignity. Tears streamed down her face. “Please,” she sobbed, “I’m done! I’ll quit the show! Just let me go, please!” Lila’s laugh was a cold, sharp blade. “You signed a contract. You don’t just get to quit. As the host of this party, I’m in charge now. You have two options: strip naked and crawl inside, or pay the three-million-dollar breach of contract fee. Your choice.” Seeing the absolute despair shatter Anya’s face, my vision went white with rage. What vulture had dared to squat in my nest, to break my friend in my own home? The flight couldn’t be fast enough. I was coming home. And I was going to personally show them who the mistress of Havenmoor really was. Chapter 2 When my flight touched down at JFK, the show was already filming its second day. I drove straight to the Hamptons, a team of my family’s security following close behind. Ignoring the frantic shouts of the production’s guards, I stormed into the mansion. The scene that greeted me stopped my heart. Anya was on her knees, dressed in a ridiculously short, demeaning maid’s outfit. In front of her was a puddle of half-chewed food, a vomit-like concoction someone had clearly spat on the marble floor. Lila stood over her, tapping her foot, her brow furrowed in mock disappointment. “Anya, your punishment for yesterday was to serve the other guests today. But you can’t even keep the floor clean? This simply won’t do. Here, let me help you.” With a sickening grace, she lifted her foot and pressed her designer heel onto the back of Anya’s head, grinding it down, trying to force her face into the filth. My blood ran cold. I moved without thinking, crossing the room in three strides and swinging my hand with all my might. The crack of my palm against Lila’s cheek echoed in the cavernous hall. Lila staggered back with a cry of pain. I seized the moment, pulling Anya up from the floor and into my arms. Seeing her like this—broken, bruised, trembling—felt like a physical blow to my own heart. My eyes burned with tears. I held her tight. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m late. I’m so sorry I let them do this to you.” It took a moment for her to realize it was me. The trembling slowly subsided, but then, to my horror, she wrenched herself out of my embrace. She pushed me away, her eyes wide with terror, and turned to grovel before Lila again. “Miss Lila, it’s all my fault! Please, it was all me!” she cried, scrambling to clean the mess. “Blame me! I’ll clean it right now!” The shock of being slapped finally registered on Lila’s face. She clutched her swelling cheek, her gentle facade crumbling into a screeching rage. “How dare you hit me! Are you insane? Do you have any idea who I am?!” My heart ached as I looked at Anya. Before I left, she had been so full of life, so vibrant, promising me she would take Hollywood by storm. Three years. How had they beaten her down into this terrified, submissive shell? Rage, pure and undiluted, surged through me. I grabbed Anya’s arm, refusing to let her kneel. “You will not kneel,” I commanded, my voice like steel. “I’m here now. I’ve got your back.” Then I turned and drove my foot squarely into Lila’s stomach. “What if I hit you? Even if God himself came down from heaven, I’d still hit you today,” I spat. “And let’s see who dares to stop me.” Lila shrieked and fell backward, landing right in the pile of regurgitated food. The other starlets, finally snapping out of their stupor, rushed to help her, only to recoil in disgust at the mess staining her white dress. “You lunatic! Where did you come from?” one of them shrieked. “Don’t you know Lila is the apple of Mr. Vance’s eye?” “You touch her, and Julian will have you both buried in unmarked graves!” Lila’s fans in the livestream chat exploded. [Is that Anya’s ‘best friend’? She looks like a slut from the same B-movies!] [Probably got off her knees in some coal baron's office just long enough to come here and act tough!] [Our Lila is backed by Julian Vance, a titan of New York! He buys her multi-million dollar diamond necklaces like they’re candy!] [Look at her, renting a few bodyguards to act tough. How pathetic.] Hearing them chant Julian’s name over and over, a disturbing thought began to crystallize. “Mr. Vance? Julian Vance?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. Lila, surrounded by her fawning court, heard me mention his name and seemed to think I was finally scared. She lifted her chin, her face a mask of arrogant disdain. “You’re not worthy of speaking his name. Even gutter trash like you knows the power of the Vance family in this city. It’s too late for regrets now.” I almost laughed out loud. This was the same Julian Vance who had been leaving me pleading voicemails just last night, begging to know when I was coming home so we could finally set a wedding date. And now, he was supposedly some romantic hero, ready to burn the world down for this woman? Chapter 3 I pulled out my phone and dialed Julian’s number. He answered on the second ring, his voice giddy with surprise. “Clara? You’re calling me? Did you miss me? Just hold on, once I close this deal, I’ll fly out to see you.” I cut him off, my voice like ice. “Don’t bother. You can see me right now at Havenmoor. You have ten minutes to get your ass over here and tell everyone in this house who its owner really is.” The room erupted in laughter. Lila and her entourage were practically bent over, clutching their stomachs. “Are you trying to tell us you just called the Julian Vance? You’re really committing to the role, aren’t you?” “Your best friend is a B-movie starlet who sells her body for parts. Do you really think you’re any better?” “God, I hate posers. Can you just stop?” “If Mr. Vance isn’t here in ten minutes, you can get on your knees and service us right next to Anya.” Anya was shaking, her hand clutching my sleeve. “Clara, let’s just go,” she begged. “We can’t win against them.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “There’s no one in this entire city I can’t afford to piss off.” Ten minutes later, the aggressive roar of a supercar engine announced an arrival. Julian Vance, dressed in an impeccable black suit, strode into the villa. He saw me, and a smile started to form on his lips, but then his eyes landed on Lila, standing behind me with a look of pure victimhood. His expression soured instantly. He frowned at me. “Clara? What’s going on? Did you hit Lila?” I had been waiting for an explanation, for him to clear this whole mess up. Instead, he questioned me. My hand moved on its own. I slapped him, hard. “I didn’t just hit her. I hit you, too,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Is that how you speak to me? I suggest you think very carefully before you open your mouth again.” Lila shrieked and threw herself at Julian, clutching him protectively, tears streaming down her face. “Miss, even if you’re jealous that Julian gave this mansion to me, you can’t resort to violence!” I crossed my arms, my gaze fixed on Julian. My expression was thunderous. “The deed is in my name. The purchase contract is in my safe. Since when did you have the authority to give my property away to someone else?” Lila’s head snapped toward Julian. “Julian, is what she’s saying true?” The anger on Julian’s face froze, replaced by a flash of panicked embarrassment. He lowered his voice, hissing at me, “Clara, can you stop being so unreasonable? I’ve made a decision. You’ll bring the deed over later and sign it over to Lila. This was supposed to be our marital home anyway, which makes me half an owner!” His words were so absurd, so utterly delusional, that I actually did laugh. Then I slapped him again. “You’re a glorified gigolo who begged my family for this engagement, and you have the audacity to act powerful in front of me?” Julian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Clara, you—!” But I wasn’t done. For Anya, I grabbed her hand and, with her beside me, I began to slap Lila, one strike after another. “This one,” I said as my palm met her cheek, “is for slandering her career.” “This one is for squatting in the home I lent her.” “And this one is for every tear you made her cry, for every ounce of dignity you stole from her, for turning her into this.” Anyone who tried to intervene was instantly restrained by my security team. A moment ago, when Lila was leading the charge against Anya, the livestream comments were silent. Now, they were a torrent of outrage—all directed at me. [What kind of security is this? Letting some psycho barge in and assault people!] [This is live! She’s committing a crime in front of thousands of people!] [I’m calling the cops! If the show won’t do anything, the police will!] The once-pristine goddess and her powerful CEO protector now stood with faces swollen and red, utterly speechless. I stopped, rubbing my wrist, and turned my cold gaze back to Julian. “It seems you’ve had it too easy for too long,” I said. “You’ve forgotten whose money your family was built on. I’m giving you one last chance. Get these people, and yourself, out of my house. And tell them who is the master of this estate.” Before Julian could answer, a furious voice boomed from the doorway. “Who else could it be? It’s Lila, of course!”
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