Tuesday — 8:45 A.M.
Eira watched the barista pour foam into her cappuccino as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.
She almost laughed.
Delicacy had no place in her life anymore.
She stirred the drink with a slow hand, checking her phone beneath the table.
The burner number lit up.
Anonymous Source Confirmed. Story Going Live at Noon.
She exhaled.
Not relief.
Readiness.
The blog—The Gray Hour—wasn't mainstream. But it was known for exposing what polished networks wouldn't touch.
Today, it would publish a piece detailing:
Naomi Blaire's shell company, Optika.
The PR money trail behind the media smear campaign.
Leaked documents showing a connection to Julian's corporate bank accounts.
She wasn't telling the world her side of the story.She was showing it.
Note (Webnovel-style):Eira's media play is a form of "controlled narrative reversal"—a tactic in scandal management where the target doesn't deny the story but redirects public rage toward a new, more damning villain.
She sipped her coffee, watching rain dot the café windows.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
Not of Julian.
Not of Naomi.
Not even of herself.
—
10:03 A.M. – Naomi's Condo
Naomi's phone buzzed.
She blinked into the sunlight spilling over her silk sheets, annoyed by the intrusion.
Agent Lewis:"Something's coming. A blogger's digging. Check The Gray Hour. Your name's being whispered."
She shot upright.
Typed fast. Opened the site.
Not published yet.
But the post was scheduled.
Title: "The Woman Who Burned the Queen: How Naomi Blaire Set the Fire and Danced in the Smoke."
Her blood went cold.
"No. No, no, no—" she whispered, grabbing her phone.
She dialed.
Julian answered after three rings.
"What?"
"Stop this."
"Stop what?"
"The blog. The leaks. You said you'd protect me."
Julian chuckled.
It was dark. Icy.
"I said I'd handle Eira. I never promised to clean up your mess."
Naomi went still.
"You're throwing me under the bus?"
"I'm repositioning assets."
Naomi's voice cracked. "I am not an asset."
"To me?" Julian said. "You never were."
Click.
Call ended.
Naomi stared at the screen.
Then screamed—a sound primal and guttural.
She launched her wine glass across the room. It exploded like her composure.
Eira had turned the tables.
Now Naomi was the prey.
—
12:00 Noon — The Gray Hour Goes Live
Within minutes, Twitter caught fire.
#NaomiBlaire#PRFraud#TheRealVillain
Screenshots flooded timelines:
A fake PR campaign targeting Callen's past.
Naomi's burner accounts harassing Eira.
Emails from Naomi to a media contact titled: "Time to break her."
Within two hours, Naomi's name was trending not as a socialite, but as a scandal engineer.
She paced her apartment, heart racing.
Her image was collapsing.
Her connections? Silent.
Her agents? "Distancing."
Her empire of whispers?
Burning.
—
Meanwhile — Callen's Studio
Eira knocked once.
Callen opened the door, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights and ruin.
"Did you see it?" she asked.
He stepped aside, nodding.
"They're eating her alive."
"I didn't give them everything," Eira said.
"Why not?"
She paused.
"Because the best way to kill a narcissist… is to let them watch themselves die in slow motion."
He stared at her.
She was different now.
Sharper. Steadier.
Unshakable.
"You're not the same woman who walked in here a few weeks ago," he said.
"No," she replied. "That woman begged for survival."
"And you?"
Eira looked him in the eye.
"I'm demanding war."
—
1:22 P.M. – Julian's Corporate Office
Julian leaned back in his chair, watching the article climb in shares.
His PR team called twice.
His assistant whispered warnings.
His lawyer texted: "Optika is now a legal liability. Advise full disassociation."
Julian smirked.
He'd already moved the funds.Already written Naomi off.Already planned Eira's next humiliation.
Because if there was one thing Julian Vaughn refused to be—
It was outplayed.
He typed a new email.
Subject: RE: Callen Reed / Undone Series Confidential FilesAttachment: Model Release Form – Underage Discrepancy, CR.0017
He smiled.
If Eira wanted to play dirty?He would bring down the man she loved with one technicality.
Even if it was a lie.
—
5:45 P.M. – Theo's Loft
"Julian's building something," Theo warned.
"Let him," Eira said, scrolling her phone.
"I mean it. He just reactivated an old legal team. Litigation specialists."
She looked up. "What's he targeting?"
"Callen. Undone Series. A release form that might have been doctored."
Eira stood up.
"No. That girl was twenty. I remember her. She was in my class."
"Then they'll twist it. Age, dates, memory. Julian doesn't need truth—he just needs doubt."
Eira grabbed her coat.
"I'm going to see her."
Theo blinked. "You still know her?"
"I know everything about the truth Julian wants to bury," she said. "I used to be married to it."
—
6:30 P.M. — Naomi's Apartment
Naomi stood in the shower, fully clothed, hot water running over her like it could wash off the headlines.
It couldn't.
She was soaked in failure.
She looked at the mirror across the bathroom.
Wiped the fog.
Stared.
Her reflection looked back—
Angrier.
Hungrier.
More dangerous.
"She wants a war?" Naomi whispered to herself. "Then let's make this f*cking biblical."