Monday Morning – 6:03 A.M.
"SCANDAL: JULIAN VAUGHN'S WIFE IN SEX TAPE WITH TABOO PHOTOGRAPHER""Eira Vaughn Exposed: Sex, Lies, and the Fall of a Corporate Queen""From Boardroom to Bedroom – How One Affair Dismantled a Power Couple"
Her name was everywhere.
In flashing banners.
In whispers.
In comment threads she couldn't stop reading but couldn't bear to finish.
She had been undressed once in a studio.Now, she was being stripped for sport by the world.
Eira sat in her parked car, hands trembling over the steering wheel.
Her office loomed ahead—tall, sterile, glass-fanged.
A text from her firm's senior partner blinked across her screen:
Re: URGENT MEETING – 8:00 A.M."Eira, due to recent publicity and reputational damage, we need to discuss your immediate leave of absence."
Leave of absence?
She had built that firm.
Sacrificed birthdays, sleep, health, herself.
But none of that mattered now.
All it took to erase a woman's worth was one video and the wrong last name.
—
8:06 A.M. – Conference Room, Bishop & Leeds Law
Five men in tailored suits. Two women with eyes full of thinly-veiled pity.
Eira sat across from them.
Not crying.
Not begging.
Just boiling.
"Ms. Vaughn," the managing partner began, "this is an unfortunate moment for all of us. The firm is receiving negative press. Clients are… uncomfortable."
"With my orgasm?" she asked flatly.
Silence.
"Let's not play dumb," she added. "We all know the footage is real."
The HR rep cleared her throat. "We're not judging your personal life, but in this profession—"
"You absolutely are judging it."
Note: This double standard is based on the historical pattern in professional industries where women are disproportionately punished for personal scandals, while men are often unaffected or even sensationalized.
The partner slid a document forward.
"Three-month unpaid leave. No media engagement. Full NDA."
Eira stared at it.
Then slowly slid it back.
"I decline."
"Eira," someone warned. "You're committing career suicide."
She stood.
"Good. Because the woman who built this career is already dead."
She left without looking back.
—
10:24 A.M. – Naomi's Condo
Naomi read the news while painting her toenails.
Each headline was like foreplay.
Each comment thread, a slow stroke of victory.
"She looks like a slut.""Homewrecker.""Can't keep her legs closed, even with billions at home."
Naomi whispered each one aloud like a prayer.
Then she opened the folder on her laptop labeled "Callen Reed – Targets."
Inside: archived footage, controversial photos, anonymous tips, tax evasion claims, NDAs from past models who'd once posed for him and regretted it.
Some true. Some fake. All usable.
She clicked SEND.
A blast email to art magazines, gossip sites, legal blogs.
"Callen Reed – Predator Masquerading as Artist?"
She smirked.
If Eira wanted to fall in love?
She'd fall alone.
Naomi made sure of that.
—
Meanwhile – Callen's Studio
Callen stared at the article on his phone.
Then the second one.
Then the third.
His entire career… unraveling like a thread pulled too hard.
He clicked open his inbox.
Subject: Gallery Pullout Notice"Due to public backlash and ongoing legal threats, we are withdrawing your feature from the upcoming exhibit."
Another.
Subject: Sponsorship Terminated
Another.
Subject: Internal Investigation – Possible Consent Violations
He threw the phone against the wall.
It shattered.
So did his composure.
Callen Reed was used to controversy.
But not like this.
Not when Eira was collateral.
He ran his hands through his hair, breathing hard.
He had to protect her.
Even if she hated him for it.
—
2:08 P.M. – Midtown Café
Eira sat across from Theo Kael—Callen's best friend, flatmate, and the closest thing to a conscience in this city of sin.
He stirred honey into his tea like he was performing surgery.
"You're trending on Reddit, Tumblr, and a few very NSFW forums," he said calmly.
"Wonderful," she muttered. "Am I at least hot?"
"Always."
They both chuckled.
But it was bitter.
Theo leaned forward. "Do you love him?"
Eira blinked. "What?"
"Callen. This isn't just sex anymore, is it?"
She looked down.
"He made me feel… seen."
Theo nodded. "Then don't let this city eat that. Or him."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages.
"This isn't just some scandal. Someone's moving chess pieces. Fast. Strategic. Funded."
"You think it's Julian?"
Theo shook his head.
"Julian's the gun. But someone else is pulling the trigger."
Eira felt it then.
A cold, sinking truth.
Naomi.
—
4:11 P.M. – Back at the Penthouse
Eira stepped into her bedroom, eyes catching something on the vanity.
A small note.
Her lipstick tube—the exact shade Naomi had once borrowed.
Written in red:
"You think this is about Julian?It's always been about you."
She dropped the note.
Shaking.
Breathing hard.
For the first time, Eira Vaughn understood:
This wasn't a love triangle.
It was a circle of fire—and Naomi was at its center.