Scarlett hadn't slept. Not really.
She'd closed her eyes and tried to will herself into unconsciousness, but the thoughts wouldn't leave. Not the kiss. Not the flash. Not the moment of softness that had turned into a storm.
When she sat up, the city was still half-dark. Pale light pressed through the window blinds like it didn't want to wake her. Her phone sat untouched on the nightstand, flipped face-down, silent since midnight. She hadn't looked. She didn't want to.
Zenthium's memo was already branded into her brain:
Mr. Wexler remains fully committed to his engagement.
We ask for privacy for the parties involved.
A statement scrubbed clean of guilt. Of faces. Of her.
She pulled on an old sweater and flats, tied her hair into a messy knot, and slipped outside before Sadie could wake. She didn't go far—just out to the stoop, the kind of cold morning air that could quiet a person down. She folded her arms and stared at the empty street, trying to feel small enough to disappear.
"Scarlett?"
Sadie's voice came from behind her. Scarlett didn't turn.
"You didn't leave a note," Sadie said gently, stepping outside in her socks. "You've been quiet since you got back. Like… haunted quiet."
Scarlett gave the faintest shake of her head.
Sadie stepped down beside her. "Come on. Talk to me. I'm not letting you spiral without dragging me in."
Scarlett hesitated.
Then she said, very softly, "It's me."
Sadie looked over. "What?"
"In the picture. With Brian. It's me."
Sadie blinked. Her entire body froze. "You're not serious."
"I am." Scarlett's voice barely wavered. "They blurred my face. But not enough. You can see the ring. The dress. It's me."
Sadie stared at her, mouth slightly open. "He kissed you?"
Scarlett exhaled. "Yes."
Sadie lowered herself onto the steps like her legs stopped working. "Jesus, Scar. I mean—how?"
"I don't know. It just happened. We were talking, and then… he leaned in. I didn't even realize someone had taken a photo until it was too late. Until it was everywhere."
"And Camille…?"
"She doesn't know. I don't think so."
"You don't think so?" Sadie echoed. "Scarlett, you kissed her fiancé in front of cameras."
"I know."
"I mean—do you like him?"
Scarlett didn't answer. Her throat tightened.
The silence between them was heavier than before.
Then Scarlett's phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
It buzzed again.
She opened it.
Hi this is Brian. We need to talk. Please.
Her heart kicked painfully in her chest. She hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen.
She typed:
How did you get my number?
A few seconds passed.
Camille's assistant gave it to me. I said it was for something brand-related.
Another message:
Please. Just meet me. I won't take much of your time.
Sadie peeked at her screen. "Are you going?"
Scarlett stood without a word and went inside.
She didn't owe Sadie an answer. She didn't even know what she was going for.
The café Brian picked was tucked away on a quiet side street lined with bookstores and antique windows. Inside, it was warm, wood-scented, dimly lit. A hiding place.
Brian sat near the back in a hoodie and baseball cap, looking like a man trying to disappear.
Scarlett paused before approaching, then slipped into the seat across from him.
"Thanks for coming," he said.
"You didn't say why."
"I didn't know how."
Scarlett looked at him carefully. "Then start now."
Brian looked tired—like he hadn't slept either. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I know that. I wasn't thinking."
"No," Scarlett said, voice steady. "You were. You just weren't thinking about the consequences."
He flinched. "It wasn't meant to blow up like this."
"But it did."
He nodded slowly.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said. "But I'm not pretending I hated it either."
Scarlett looked away. "You have Camille."
"I know."
Scarlett pressed her lips together, a thousand things unsaid resting behind her teeth. She didn't want to ask if the kiss meant anything. She didn't want to hear him say yes—or no.
Outside, across the street, Maizie Rowe adjusted her camera.
She'd been waiting since Brian arrived, tipped off by someone on Camille's staff who mentioned he was meeting a woman. The moment Scarlett sat down, Maizie raised the lens.
She didn't recognize Scarlett at first. But the bracelet caught the light, and then she did.
Maizie clicked three quick photos as Scarlett looked across the table, a slight smile flickering on her lips.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Brian reached for his coffee, leaned forward just slightly. Enough to close the space between them.
The moment lasted seconds. But the image would last much longer—if she got it out in time.
Scarlett had no idea she'd just been photographed again.
When she got home, she went straight to her room. Sadie didn't ask questions this time. She just watched from the doorway, brows drawn, worry swimming in her silence.
Scarlett lay in bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling again.
Then her phone buzzed.
It's handled.
She blinked at the message. Brian.
Handled?
Someone took photos of us at the café. Maizie Rowe. We stopped them.
Scarlett sat up. What do you mean stopped them?
She was about to sell them. My PA found out early. We bought the photos and got her to sign an NDA. They're gone.
Scarlett's fingers hovered over the screen.
Why are you doing this?
There was a long pause before he responded.
Because I should've protected you the first time.
Because I care.
She didn't reply.
Just stared at the words until they blurred.
An hour later, another message came through.
Camille:
We need to talk. Just us. Parlor on Whitmore. 4:30.
Scarlett stared at the screen, stomach dropping.
Sadie appeared in the doorway again. "Is that her?"
Scarlett nodded.
"You okay?"
Scarlett didn't answer. Just grabbed her coat.
The parlor on Whitmore was dim, dressed in velvet and gold, half-empty but full of judgmental silence. Camille was already there, sitting near the window. She wore dove-gray, her hair pulled back, sunglasses still on indoors.
Scarlett approached slowly. Camille didn't look up.
"Sit."
Scarlett sat.
Camille removed her sunglasses, folded them carefully, then reached into her bag. She pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and slid it across the table.
Scarlett looked down.
It was the photo.
The new one.
Her face. Clear. Not blurred this time. Her expression soft, her body turned slightly toward Brian. He was seated beside her, his head angled close, hand mid-gesture.
Her blood turned to ice.
She looked up.
Camille was staring straight at her.
"You kissed him," she said calmly.
Scarlett didn't speak. Couldn't.
"I had doubts. For a while. I thought maybe I was paranoid. Until this hit my inbox this morning. My assistant didn't recognize you at first, but I did."
Scarlett's throat closed.
"I let you into my world," Camille said. "Into my home. I trusted you."
Scarlett tried to form words, but nothing came out.
Camille stood. Not fast. Not angry. Just… done.
"You sneaky snake."
The slap came without warning. Sharp, stinging, instant.
Scarlett gasped, one hand flying to her cheek.
Camille leaned in.
"You're done. You just don't know it yet."
She picked up her sunglasses, her bag, and walked out of the parlor without looking back.
Scarlett stayed there, frozen in the booth, the heat of the slap still burning across her skin, the weight of Camille's words settling like ash in her lungs.
No blur this time.
Just truth. And the consequences that came with it.