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    Rose point of view


    I stared at my phone screen until the words blurred, reading the same headline for the twentieth time. "ROSE LEWIS: THE PRIVATE LIFE SHE DIDN''T WANT YOU TO SEE” Beneath it, that grainy photo of me How? How had anyone found this? I''d been so careful.


    My boutique office, normally my sanctuary, felt suffocating now. Outside, I could hear my staff whispering, their usual respectful silence reced by urgent murmurs. They''d seen the stories. Everyone had.


    Three major fashion sites had dropped my spring collection Five influencers had canceled promotional contracts. Two department stores had "postponed" their orders. All within twenty- four hours.


    My empire, built so carefully brick by brick, was crumbling beneath my feet.


    The phone on my desk rang again. My publicity team, no doubt, with another useless strategy. I''d already released three statements, first denying everything, then suggesting the photos were manipted, final I ignored the call, returning to my social media feeds. Thements cut like knives.


    "Always knew she was fake."


    "Poor Camille, no wonder she drove into that river."


    "#RoseThoms is right beautiful but toxic!"


    Tears stung my eyes. Not from shame, I''d never felt shame for taking what I wanted, but from rage. I''d spent years crafting the perfect image. The talented designer. The grieving sister. The devoted fiancée. All stolen moment captured on film.


    The office door banged open. Stefan stood there, still wearing his work suit, face thunderous. He held his phone in a white-


    knuckled grip.


    "When were you going to tell me?" His voice was dangerously quiet.


    I stood, smoothing my skirt, forcing my face into concerned lines. "Stefan, darling. I''ve been


    trying to reach you all day. These rumors are....”


    "Not rumors." He stepped inside, mming the door behind him. "Facts. With photographic evidence."


    "It was years ago. Before us. Before..."


    “Before us?” Heughed, a harsh sound I''d never heard from him. "ording to the date on this photo, you were sleeping with your mentor''s husband three weeks after I married your sister."


    Ice slid down my spine. I hadn''t noticed the timestamp. Hadn''t thought anyone would look that closely.


    "It wasn''t serious," I tried, moving toward him. "A mistake One night that meant nothing."


    He stepped back, avoiding my touch. "And the others? Lord Hartley? Anton Bessonov?"


    My stomach dropped. They knew about Anton too? How much had they uncovered? Chapter 46


    "Who''s feeding you these lies?" I demanded, offense as defense. "Who''s trying to


    destroy what we have?"


    "What we have.” Stefan ran a hand through his hair, disheveled in a way that would normally make me want to fix it. "What exactly do we have, Rose? A rtionship built on our maniption of Camille? A future "I never lied to you," I insisted. "I just didn''t share every detail of my past. Everyone has secrets."


    "Secrets." He stared at me like he''d never seen


    me before. "Like where you really were during your ''year in Paris''? Because ording to these new photos, you spent six months on a Russian oligarch''s yacht."


    More photos. More evidence. My mind raced, calcting damage, nning counterattacks. Who was doing this? Who had the resources and motivation to dig so deeply into my past?


    "It''s not what it looks like," I said, falling back on the most basic denial.


    "It never is with you, is it?" Stefan''s voice had gone t. "Nothing''s ever what it looks like. Not your rtionship with me while I was married to Camille. Not your convenient


    return from London just when our marriage was struggling. Not your sudden devotion after her ident."


    "How dare you," I hissed, genuine anger ring. "I loved Camille. Her death destroyed me!"


    "Did it?" He moved closer, eyes searching mine. "Because keep remembering your face that night. When they told us her car went off that bridge. You didn''t look surprised, Rose. You looked... relieved." My heart stuttered. Had he noticed? Had he seen through my performance even then?


    "That''s absurd. Grief affects people differently. You know that."


    "What I know," Stefan said slowly, "is that I''m beginning to wonder if I ever knew you at all."


    The door opened again before I could respond. This time my parents


    stood in the threshold, my mother''s eyes red- rimmed, my father''s face grim.


    "Rose." My father''s voice, usually so warm when addressing


    me, had gone cold. "We need to talk."


    Four people in my small office now, the walls closing in. I''d faced criticism before, weathered minor scandals, but never this coordinated attack from all sides,


    you can see.


    "Not now," I said, desperation leaking into my voice. "I''m dealing with a PR crisis, as you


    "A PR crisis?" My mother stepped forward, brandishing her phone. "Is that what you call sleeping with a married man while you were studying? Is that what you call lying about where you were during your ''fashiugh was sharp, almost cruel. “That''s not even the worst part. The worst part is that while I was being cold to Camille, having love for you and waiting for


    you toe back, you were busy messing around with these men."


    The raw pain in his voice shocked me. The betrayal in his eyes cut deeper than my parents'' disappointment. He truly had been waiting for me, just as I''d nned. But now be knew I hadn''t been doing the same "Stefan, please..."


    "All those times I was distant with Camille, all those nights you... and you were on some Russian''s yacht? In some lord worst husband imaginable to your sister while you were just


    stayedte at the office thinking about you, missing bed?" His voice broke slightly. "You made me the


    having fun?"


    The betrayal cut deep from all sides. My mother had always been my strongest advocate, always taken my side against Camille, against anyone who challenged me. And Stefan had been my sure thing, my fall Chapter 46


    man who would always want me.


    "Mom, please. These photos are being taken out of context,


    "Context?" She scrolled through her phone, cach swipe revealing another damning image. Me with Jonathan at a private dinner. Me with Lord Hartley at his country estate. Me boarding Anton''s yacht in Monaco


    "I made choices to advance my career," I said, drawing myself up. "Cholces men make every day without judgment."


    "Men don''t pretend to be working in Paris while lounging on criminal yachts," my father snapped. "Men don''t sleep with


    their mentors'' husbands while iming to be learning design skills."


    The united front stunned me. My parents had never confronted me this way, had always epted my exnations, my tears, my carefully crafted stories.


    "Who exactly are you?" My mother''s question sliced through my shock. "Because the daughter we thought we knew wouldn''t behave this way."


    "The daughter you thought you knew?" Iughed, bitterness finally boiling over. "The daughter you chose over your own blood! The daughter you let get away with everything because she was so special, so tal My voice had risen to a shout, years of resentment fueling my words. Yes, they''d chosen me, favored me, but always with conditions. Always expecting performance. Perfection. Sess.


    "We gave you everything," my father said, voice shaking. "Opportunities Camille never had. Support she never received. And this is how you honor that? By destroying your own reputation? By embarrassing thi "My reputation?" I grabbed a vase from my desk, hurling it against the wall. Water and flowers sprayed across my design sketches, ruining weeks of work. "My entire career is being dismantled by these stories, Stefan moved between me and my parents, hands raised as if calming a wild animal. "Rose, you need to pull yourself together. This isn''t helping"


    "Helping?" I seized a design award from my shelf, feeling its weight in my hand. "Nothing is helping! My business partners are abandoning me. My wedding ns are shelved. My own fiancé is questioning my c The award smashed against myputer screen, cracks spiderwebbing across the disy. The release felt so good I grabbed another object, a


    framed photo of me and Stefan, and sent it flying.


    "Stop it!" My mother tried to restrain me, but I pushed her away, sending her stumbling into my father.


    "Don''t touch me! None of you understand what I''ve built, what I''ve sacrificed, what I''ve done to get here!"


    "What exactly have you done, Rose?" Stefan''s quiet question froze me mid-


    destruction. "What sacrifices are you talking about?"


    His eyes held something new, not just anger or betrayal, but suspicion. Sharp and focused. As if pieces were finally clicking into ce.


    “Nothing,” I backtracked quickly. "Business sacrifices. Career choices."


    "No." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "I think there''s more. Something about Camille. Something you''re still hiding"


    For a terrifying moment, I thought he knew. About the men''d hired to frighten Camille that night. About how


    things


    had gone wrong. About the car plunging into the river instead of just delivering a warning. "You''re being paranoid," I whispered, suddenly aware I''d said too much.


    "Am I?" He held my gaze, searching "First these photos prove you were seeing me behind her back while we were married. Now your extreme reaction to simple questions. What exactly happened the night of h


    My father stepped forward, "What do you mean, you were there? You told us you were having dinner with her that night. That she canceled at thest minute."


    More mistakes. More cracks in my story. I needed control, needed to regain my footing in this rapidly deteriorating situation.


    "I misspoke." I said, forcing calm 1 didn''t feel. "This stress is making me confused. Of course I was supposed to meet her. She canceled. You know this." But Stefan was watching me with that same


    evaluating look, that same growing suspicion. "Your stories never quite added up about that night. And now all these other liesing to light..."


    "Get out." The words tore from my throat. "All of you, get out of my office."


    "Rose..." my mother began.


    "OUT!" I screamed, grabbing another object, a ss paperweight and hurling it at the wall above their heads.


    They retreated, Stefan shepherding my parents through the door, his final nce at me filled with something that looked like pity mixed with growing certainty.


    When they were gone, I copsed into my chair, surrounded by the destruction I''d caused. ss and water and flowers littered the floor. Myputer screen flickered with spiderweb cracks. Design sketches pristine desk.


    My phone buzzed with another notification. Another story breaking. Another piece of my past exposed for public consumption.


    Who was doing this? Who had both the resources to uncover my secrets and the motivation to destroy me so methodically?