1 My best friend and I were a team of two: the beautiful, wicked women of this city's elite. She was the canary in a gilded cage, kept by Jean Vance, the scion of an old-money dynasty, in his penthouse overlooking the park. I was the trophy girlfriend to Damian Blackwood, a tech mogul with new money and an insatiable need to show it off. We pooled the cash they gave us, a seventy-thirty split in her favor. She said I had terrible taste, that my man wasn't as generous as hers. I said she had rocks for brains, that her man was all empty promises and charm. We bickered and fought, but together, we kept every other wannabe, every starlet and model, firmly in her place. Until the ingenue appeared. For her, Jean hung up on my best friend, Stella, for the first time ever. For her, Damian froze all of my credit cards. Stella and I just looked at each other. We didn't need to say a word. Ah. The main character had arrived. … “I’m sorry, your card has been declined.” The cashier’s voice was quiet, but it echoed through the hushed boutique. Every head turned. Eyes, sharp with judgment and barely veiled contempt, drilled into me. The diamond bracelet, with its six-figure price tag, felt suddenly heavy in my hand. Just minutes ago, the sales associate had been fawning over me, calling me “Miss Zoe.” Now she’d taken a subtle step back, her posture radiating suspicion. I placed the bracelet gently back on its velvet tray. My hands were steady. “My apologies. Let’s try a different one.” I pulled out another card—not one of the endless black cards Damian had given me. This one was mine. The transaction went through instantly. I signed the slip, my movements crisp and deliberate. Stepping out of the mall, the sunlight was blinding. My phone buzzed. It was Stella. “My supplementary card just got canceled.” Her voice was flat, unreadable. “Mine too,” I said. A beat of silence on the other end. “Meet me at the usual place.” A smile crept into Stella’s voice. “Knew you’d be fine. I’ve got your back.” “See you there.” I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the small apartment we’d bought together with our own squirreled-away money. Through the window, the massive, imposing logo of Damian’s corporate headquarters flashed by. I turned my head away, my face a mask of indifference. The game was on. Stella was already there when I arrived. She’d kicked off her four-inch heels and was pacing the hardwood floor barefoot, still dressed in a stunning couture gown from some event. “Jean stood me up for that girl, Jenny Dallas.” She grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and chugged half of it. “He had my seat removed from the head table at the charity gala. Just like that. I was the laughingstock of the entire evening.” I tossed the box with my new bracelet onto the coffee table. The diamonds inside caught the light, scattering cold, hard fire. “Damian was faster. He went straight for the accounts.” Stella stopped pacing and looked at me. Our eyes met. No complaints. No tears. We knew this was coming. In the story we’d been dropped into, this was our fate. The wicked supporting characters were destined to be crushed under the heel of the main couple, to become nothing more than stepping stones for their epic love story. “Hah,” Stella laughed first, a raw, sharp sound. “It’s finally starting.” I flipped open my laptop and pulled up our private joint account. The balance was a long, beautiful string of numbers. “We’ve held up our end of the bargain. We’ve been paid in full,” I said. “Now, it’s time to collect some interest.” Stella leaned over my shoulder, her eyes gleaming as she stared at the screen. “What’s the plan?” “Damian is about to launch a massive luxury development project called ‘Azure Vista.’ It’s his golden ticket, the thing that’s meant to wash away the stench of new money and get him a seat at the table with the old-money establishment.” My fingers flew across the keyboard. “I want to take that golden ticket and shatter it at his feet.” Damian Blackwood’s birthday gala was the event of the season. I showed up in a slinky, black slip dress that clung to every curve. I didn’t have an invitation. A security guard moved to block my path. “Miss Zoe, you can’t go in.” I didn’t even look at him. My gaze swept over the glittering crowd and locked onto Damian. He was holding court with a group of industry titans, laughing and charming them all. And there, tucked beside him, was Jenny Dallas. She was in a white, gossamer dress, looking as pure and fragile as a water lily. She saw me. Her eyes widened, and a hand flew to Damian’s sleeve, clutching it as she shrank behind him. Damian followed her gaze. The moment he saw me, his brow furrowed into a thunderous scowl. He strode towards me, disgust etched plainly on his handsome face. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was ice. “Happy birthday, Damian.” I gave him my most dazzling, meaningless smile. “I forgot to give you your present.” “Get lost.” “Not so fast.” I pulled a tiny USB drive from my clutch, dangling it in front of him. “Think of it as one last gift. For old times’ sake.” Damian’s eyes darkened. 2 He thought it was a sex tape. Or compromising photos. His hand shot out to grab it. I sidestepped him neatly. “Let’s keep this civil, Damian.” Heads were turning now. Whispers were starting to ripple through the crowd. Jenny drifted over, laying a delicate hand on Damian’s arm. “Damian, please don’t. Let’s just talk this out.” She turned to me, her eyes already welling up with tears, her voice trembling just so. “Zoe, darling, is there some kind of misunderstanding? Damian didn’t mean to hurt you, please don’t be angry with him.” What a perfect little actress. I ignored her completely, my eyes fixed on Damian. “Want it?” His face was a mask of fury. He bit out two words through clenched teeth: “Name your price.” “Straight to business. I like that,” I smiled. “I want five percent of the Azure Vista project. Non-dilutable shares.” His pupils constricted. Jenny gasped. “Zoe, you can’t! That’s extortion! You know how much that project means to Damian!” “Shut up,” Damian snarled, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re dreaming.” “Am I?” I casually tossed the USB drive into the champagne tower next to us. Golden liquid splashed as the tiny device sank slowly to the bottom. “It’s a one-time offer, Damian.” I turned and walked away. The sharp click-clack of my heels on the marble floor sounded like a war drum. “Stop!” Damian’s voice roared behind me. I didn’t break my stride. As I stepped out of the hotel’s grand entrance, Stella’s car pulled up to the curb. I slipped into the passenger seat. “Done?” she asked, handing me a bottle of water. “He’ll bite,” I said, twisting the cap. A man like Damian Blackwood prized two things above all else: his reputation and his sense of control. There was nothing on that USB drive. But his paranoia? That was my most powerful weapon. Sure enough, less than thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was Damian’s lawyer. “Miss Zoe, regarding your proposal… Mr. Blackwood has agreed in principle.” The contracts were signed without a hitch. Damian probably thought the 5% stake was just on loan to me. Once he got his hands on the non-existent drive and confirmed there was no threat, he’d find a way to take it back. But now, I had access to all of Azure Vista’s internal documents. Back at our apartment, Stella and I spread the thick binders and blueprints across the floor. “Damian’s ambition is off the charts,” Stella said, tapping the master plan. “He wants to turn this land into an ultra-exclusive private resort. Membership fees starting in the eight figures.” “Which means the entire project hinges on two things: privacy and exclusivity,” I pointed out. “And both of those things depend on one man.” We looked at each other and said the name in unison. “Alistair Finch.” Alistair Finch was the country’s foremost architectural visionary, a master of spatial aesthetics, and a notorious recluse. His designs were masterpieces, and getting him to take on a project was next to impossible. Damian had moved heaven and earth just to get a meeting. And Jenny Dallas, in her new role as a devoted “student” and “admirer,” was spending every single day at Finch’s studio. According to the original script of this story, Jenny was supposed to win Finch over with her “innocence” and “raw talent.” He would then agree to personally design Azure Vista, cementing Damian’s legacy. “Her talent?” Stella scoffed. “You mean her talent for plagiarism?” We both knew. Jenny’s graduating thesis—the award-winning watercolor painting First Light that had made her a star—was a complete and total rip-off of a piece by an obscure foreign artist. The original artist had vanished from the public eye years ago, and the work had never been widely published, giving Jenny the perfect cover. “We can’t just drop the plagiarism bomb on her,” I said. “That would be letting her off too easy,” Stella finished my thought. “She needs to be at the absolute height of her glory when she comes crashing down.” 3 My phone rang. It was Damian’s assistant. “Miss Zoe, Mr. Blackwood requests your presence at the Azure Vista site for a preliminary survey.” I raised an eyebrow. So, he wanted to put me in my place in front of Alistair Finch while propping up his new muse. “Of course,” I said sweetly. After I hung up, Stella asked, “You’re not going alone, are you?” “Of course not.” I grinned at her. “You’re coming with me. We’ve got front-row seats to the show.” The project site was out in the countryside, a stunning expanse of rolling hills and pristine forest. When we arrived, Damian and Jenny were already there, deep in conversation with an imposing, silver-haired man dressed in a minimalist linen suit. That had to be Alistair Finch. The moment Damian saw us, his face darkened. Jenny, on cue, adopted an expression of surprise mixed with gentle distress. “Zoe? Stella? What are you doing here?” “As a shareholder, I thought I should see the investment for myself. Isn’t that right?” I smiled. Damian just grunted and turned his back on me. Alistair Finch’s gaze drifted over us, cool and detached. The survey began. Damian’s project manager led the way, while Jenny stuck close to Finch’s side, whispering her “insights” on the landscape in a voice as soft and sweet as honey. “Mr. Finch, I envision a stream diverted through here, with a winding bridge. We could plant weeping willows along the bank to create a sense of… contemplative discovery.” Finch remained noncommittal. Damian, however, was beaming. “A brilliant idea, Jenny. Truly inspired.” The group made its way to the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a deep, rocky ravine. Jenny’s eyes flickered towards a small, unremarkable wildflower growing near the edge. Then, with a tiny, theatrical gasp, she stumbled, her body pitching directly towards the drop. Damian moved like lightning, catching her and pulling her into a protective embrace. “Careful! Are you alright?” His voice was thick with concern and adoration. Nestled against his chest, Jenny’s face was pale, her voice trembling as if in shock. “I… I saw the most unique flower over there. I just wanted a closer look, I didn’t realize the ground was so slippery…” Right. The classic damsel-in-distress routine from the book. Too bad for you, sweetheart. I’m playing the villain now, and I’m not buying it. Stella whispered in my ear, “The Academy owes her an Oscar.” After soothing Jenny, Damian turned to me, his expression instantly turning venomous. “Did you push her?” The air went still. Every single person turned to stare at me. The project team looked terrified. Even Alistair Finch was frowning, his sharp eyes fixed on me. In Damian’s arms, Jenny trembled, burying her face deeper into his suit. Her muffled voice was a masterpiece of reluctant accusation. “Damian, no, it wasn’t Zoe’s fault, please don’t blame her… I just lost my footing.” Her defense did more to condemn me than any accusation could have. Damian’s rage was palpable. “Zoe. I warned you. Don’t you ever touch her.” I stood my ground, silent and still. Stella stepped in front of me, a protective shield. “Watch what you say, Blackwood. There are a dozen witnesses here. Nobody saw anyone push anybody.” “Besides her,” Damian sneered, “who else here can’t stand the sight of Jenny?” “I can’t stand the sight of you,” Stella shot back without missing a beat. “You—!” “Enough.” It was Alistair Finch. His voice was quiet but carried an undeniable authority. He glanced at the edge of the cliff, then back at the spot where Jenny had pointed. There was no “unique flower.” There was nothing. A flicker of scrutiny crossed his face. “We are professionals,” he said coolly. “Let’s keep our focus on the project, shall we?” The master had spoken. Damian couldn’t press the issue further. He shot me one last poisonous glare before leading the still-trembling Jenny away. The farce was over. For now. 4 Stella was quiet on the drive back, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Is Damian blind? How could he fall for such a pathetic, clumsy act?” “He’s not blind. He just doesn’t want to see,” I said. “It doesn’t matter if Jenny was acting. He needed an excuse to put me down, and she handed him one on a silver platter.” That was the power of being the main character. “So what do we do?” Stella asked. “We can’t let her get away with framing you every time.” “Let her act,” I said, watching the scenery blur past the window. “The more dramatic her performance, the more it’s going to hurt when she finally takes a real fall.” Back at the apartment, I opened my laptop and logged into an international art forum. I typed in the name of the artist Jenny had plagiarized: Anya Sharma. There was painfully little information about her. All I could find was that she was an Indian painter who held a single solo exhibition a decade ago, and then disappeared. I clicked on the exhibition details. A small, black-and-white photo showed Anya Sharma standing in front of one of her paintings. The composition, the atmosphere… it was unmistakably the framework for Jenny’s First Light. At least an eighty percent match. I saved the photo. It wasn’t enough. I needed something more. Something undeniable. Something that would not only expose Jenny but would also ignite the fury of a purist like Alistair Finch. Just as I was plotting, my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. It was the cold, impersonal voice of Damian’s assistant. “Miss Zoe. Congratulations. You are now the guarantor for a new venture.” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. Here it comes. The assistant continued, “A commercial loan in the amount of fifty million dollars. You have been signed on as the sole guarantor under an unlimited liability agreement. Should the project default, you will be responsible for the entire debt.” “When did I ever sign that?” “Mr. Blackwood signed it for you. In your name,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Oh, and I forgot to mention. The project is scheduled to default today.” The line went dead. Stella had heard everything. Her face was pale. “He’s trying to ruin you. Bury you under a debt you can never repay!” The book’s cruelty was more vicious than I’d remembered. My phone rang again. This time, it was Damian. “Zoe. I’m curious to see just how unbreakable you really are.” His voice was laced with sadistic pleasure. “This was you,” I stated, my voice even. “Of course,” he admitted without hesitation. “Now, come to the West Side scrapyard. Get on your knees and beg me. If you’re convincing enough, maybe I’ll be merciful and make this little problem of yours disappear.” The call was on speaker. Stella’s fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. I gazed out the window at the oppressive night sky. “Damian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “you really think you’ve won, don’t you?” He chuckled, a low, arrogant sound full of absolute certainty. “Don’t I?” I smiled. “Fine. I’m on my way.” I hung up and looked at Stella. “Call the police.” 5 She stared at me, horrified. “Are you serious? You’re walking right into his trap!” “He doesn’t want me dead. He wants to see me grovel,” I said, grabbing my purse and checking the tiny recording pen inside. “The more arrogant he is, the more careless he’ll be.” I drove to the scrapyard. Damian was leaning against a black Bentley, flanked by several imposing bodyguards who looked like they were carved from granite. He saw me, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” “How could I refuse an invitation from the man of the hour?” I walked towards him, my steps measured. “So, you’ve come to your senses?” His eyes raked over me, dripping with contempt. “Kneel.” I didn’t move. I just held his gaze. “All of this, just to make me kneel. Forging my signature, setting me up for a fifty-million-dollar debt… it’s quite the production, Damian.” “This is just the beginning,” he said, savoring what he thought was my fear. “That agreement you faked? Once it comes to light, Blackwood Enterprises will be at the center of a massive financial fraud scandal. What do you think your board of directors will have to say about that?” I clicked the stop button on the recorder in my pocket. “Are you insane?” For the first time, his composure cracked. “Takes one to know one.” I took out my phone. Right there, in front of him, I emailed the audio file to his lead counsel, CC’ing the private email address of the chairman of his company’s board. “You’re bluffing,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You forced my hand.” I turned to leave. “Now, I believe you’re the one with the headache.” Checkmate, you arrogant bastard. I was completely drained when I got back to the apartment, collapsing onto the sofa. Stella handed me a glass of water. “We won this round.” “It’s only temporary,” I said, taking a sip. “Damian’s retaliation will be swift.” The next day, the entire city was buzzing with the story. They said I was a desperate ex, so obsessed with getting Damian back that I’d staged my own fake kidnapping to frame him, even getting the police involved. The smear campaign was swift and brutal. Overnight, I became the psycho ex-girlfriend, the manipulative villain in everyone’s story. Stella didn’t fare much better. Jean Vance sent his butler to her apartment to reclaim every piece of jewelry he’d ever given her. Like an auditor taking inventory, the man checked each item off a list. “Mr. Vance asked me to inform you,” the butler said, his voice cold, “that you are no longer worthy of owning these items.” Stella dropped the last earring into the velvet-lined box. “Tell Jean,” she said, looking the butler dead in the eye, “that his taste, it seems, is only fit for trash like Jenny.” We were completely ostracized. The people who used to flock around us now avoided us like the plague. Damian and Jean wanted to make one thing clear: without them, we were nothing. Stella and I were holed up in our little apartment, eating instant noodles. The financial news was on TV. A triumphant Damian Blackwood was officially announcing the launch of the Azure Vista project. He proudly introduced the soul of the project: special guest designer, Jenny Dallas. On screen, Jenny was the picture of grace in a simple, elegant silk dress. She stood by Damian’s side, speaking eloquently about her vision for the project, her voice full of artistic passion. “She’s such a fraud,” Stella muttered, slamming her noodle cup down. I pushed some of my noodles into her cup. "Eat. Don't waste your anger on people like her." She snorted, slurping up a mouthful of noodles, and nudged my leg with her foot. We met each other's gaze, and in her eyes, I saw the same stubborn fire that was in mine. My eyes were glued to the TV, specifically to the painting hanging behind Jenny—her masterpiece, First Light. An idea began to form. “Stella. I need to get to Kyoto.” “Kyoto?” she asked, confused. “I’m going to find Anya Sharma,” I said. “I need to get my hands on the original painting. Or, even better, I need to get Anya Sharma herself to stand right in front of Alistair Finch.”
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