Wednesday – 8:42 A.M.Taguig City, Unit 4B — Julienne Marquez
The last time Eira saw Julienne Marquez, she was a shy nineteen-year-old with neon green hair, a stutter, and eyes that flinched when you looked too closely.
Now?
Julienne opened the door in an oversized hoodie, black lipstick, and eyes that had learned how to bite back.
"Eira Vaughn," she said. "Wow. Didn't think you remembered nobodies."
"I don't forget survivors," Eira replied.
Julienne leaned on the doorframe. "You're here about the photo."
CR.0017.
The image Julian was threatening to weaponize. The one showing Julienne, half-naked, eyes hollow, bleeding red lipstick like it had something to confess.
"I need you to confirm your age when the photo was taken," Eira said. "To protect Callen. Julian's building a case against him."
Julienne snorted. "Julian Vaughn builds cases the way demons build hell. Efficiently."
She opened the door wider.
"Come in. I kept the emails."
—
Inside, the apartment smelled like incense and anger. Crystals lined the windowsill. A bat tattoo curled along Julienne's collarbone.
She pulled out a folder. "Here."
Eira scanned the document.
Birthdate: August 19, 2000
Session Date: October 11, 2020
Signed waiver: VALID.
"He didn't coerce you?" Eira asked.
Julienne raised an eyebrow. "He asked permission before every goddamn camera click."
Eira exhaled. Relief threading through her chest.
Then Julienne added something strange.
"But that's not the one they're after."
Eira blinked. "What?"
Julienne pulled out a flash drive.
"There's a second photo. One I begged him not to release. He didn't. But I think someone else might have gotten hold of it."
Eira's stomach dropped.
"You think… Naomi?"
Julienne nodded. "Or Julian. They're both poison in perfume bottles."
Eira took the drive.
"What's on it?"
Julienne didn't answer at first.
Then whispered: "Me. Post-miscarriage. I was dating a rich asshole. He made me terminate. Then dumped me."
She looked away.
"Callen let me cry on his floor. Took that photo with my permission. It wasn't sexual. It was survival. But out of context… it'll look like he exploited me."
Note (Webnovel-style):The second photo is a powerful image of grief—intimate, raw, and vulnerable. In the wrong hands, it could be twisted into a narrative of abuse or predation, especially by enemies like Julian or Naomi.
Eira stood.
"Thank you. I won't let them destroy him."
Julienne nodded. "Don't let them destroy you, either. You were always their real target."
—
11:22 A.M. – Callen's Studio
Eira handed him the flash drive.
"She's twenty. Everything's legal. But Julian doesn't care about the law—he cares about control."
Callen plugged in the drive.
His hands trembled as the image loaded.
Julienne. Curled on the floor. A single tear running down her cheek. A hospital bracelet still on her wrist.
He looked away.
"She trusted me," he whispered.
"She still does," Eira said. "But we need to be ahead of this."
He nodded. "I'll release the proof. Get ahead of the lie."
She hesitated.
"There's more."
He looked up.
"She thinks someone stole the image. From your hard drive. Before it was locked down."
Callen's face paled.
"That means…"
"Someone has access to your backup system."
He ran a hand over his face.
"I changed all the passwords after you came into my life."
Eira blinked.
"What?"
Callen looked at her, voice low.
"I knew being with you would make me a target. So I tried to protect what I could. I just didn't know it would never be enough."
Eira took his hand.
"Then let's protect each other now."
—
2:03 P.M. – Naomi's Condo
She clicked the file on her screen.
Julienne.
Collapsed. Bleeding lipstick. Despair framed in shadow.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
Not because of the pain.
But because of the weapon it could become.
She saved it under a new title.
"The Predator's Muse.jpg"
Then wrote a message.
Anonymous: "This was buried. Maybe because the girl didn't survive him?"
She didn't send it.
Yet.
She'd wait.
Let Callen sweat.
Let Eira dance.
Let the truth slice through them both when it would hurt most.
Because revenge was best served viral.
—
6:45 P.M. — Theo's Loft
Theo lit a cigarette. "We're missing something."
Eira frowned. "What?"
"Why Naomi's going this far. It's not just about you. Or Julian. She wants something buried."
Eira sat back. "What could she possibly—"
Then it hit her.
A memory.
A hotel.
Julian. Naomi. And an envelope marked 'OPTIKA – Confidential.'
"I think she embezzled from Julian," Eira said slowly. "Or worse… she set him up to take the fall."
Theo's eyes widened.
"And now that Julian's dropping her…"
"She's panicking," Eira finished. "And when dangerous women panic, they try to take the world with them."
—
Meanwhile — Julian's Office
He stared at the leaked Gray Hour story. Then at Naomi's file.
She was becoming a liability.
Fast.
He typed a message to his security head.
"Full digital trace. Surveillance. And freeze all joint accounts. Naomi Blaire is now hostile."
He sat back.
Pulled out a folder titled "REED V. VAUGHN – STRATEGIC RUIN."
This wasn't just business.It was blood.
—
11:11 P.M. – Eira's Penthouse
She stared at her reflection.
Not a victim.
Not yet a victor.
Something in between.
She typed a message to Naomi.
Eira: "You picked the wrong woman to bury. I dig up corpses for a living."
Delivered.
Read.
No reply.
Good.
Let her sweat.
Because tomorrow?
Eira was going public.And she'd drag Naomi into the daylight—clawing, bleeding, exposed.