Camille Bennett thrived under flashbulbs and filters.
Every carefully chosen outfit, every choreographed laugh at fundraisers, every Instagram caption about "empowerment" it all built her image.
Heiress. Philanthropist. Woman of grace.
It was a lie she wore like couture.
A lie sewn from Serena Vaughn's ashes.
She hadn't just stolen Serena's clothes, or her contacts, or her father's grief. She'd stolen her spotlight. Her legacy.
And now, Alessia Grey was ready to take it back one scandal at a time.
11:59 PM
The first article hit the internet.
"CamilleBenneth'sCharity Under Scrutiny: Leaked Emails Suggest Financial misconduct "
"Hope For Her Foundation Funds Missing Authorities Quiet, Sources Loud"
"Fraud in High Heels? Anonymous Tip Raises Questions about Manhattan Socialite"
By morning, the headlines were everywhere.
Hashtags bloomed like weeds:
#CancelCamille
#HopeforHerScam
#CharityorCheat
Influencers quietly unfollowed her. Sponsors went silent. Blog sleuths unearthed suspicious transactions $150,000 rerouted to a Cayman Islands account under a shell company Camille didn't even remember creating.
Because she hadn't.
But Alessia had.
She'd slipped into Camille's world months ago old passwords, old patterns, old sins.
Camille had buried Serena.
Now Alessia was unburying the truth.
In her luxury penthouse, Camille screamed.
She hurled her phone at the wall, watching it explode into plastic shards. Her assistant cowered nearby, visibly shaking.
"This is a lie!" she shrieked, hair wild, eyeliner smudged. "I never moved that money I didn't even know those accounts existed!"
She called Ethan on speaker, pacing barefoot across the marble floor.
"You have to fix this. I'm being framed Ethan, this is a setup!"
He sounded tired. Cold. "You think someone forged six-figure transfers with your name, your login, and your device?"
Her voice cracked. "You know I didn't do this."
"I know it doesn't matter," he snapped. "Clean it up. Quietly. Before this blows any bigger."
But it was already a wildfire.
And fire, once lit, doesn't care who started it.
Elsewhere:
Alessia lounged on a velvet sofa in a shadowed lounge, wine glass in hand, the screen glowing in front of her. Camille's face flushed and frantic filled the livestream of a gossip channel already dissecting the scandal.
"Three nonprofits have already severed ties," the reporter said gleefully. "And anonymous insiders say Camille has no clue how deep the fraud goes."
"Predictable," Alessia murmured, sipping her wine.
Across from her, Lucian Drake leaned back in his chair, watching her with unreadable interest.
"You executed this like a military operation," he said. "Not a single trace."
Alessia didn't glance at him. "That's the point."
"You had help?"
She smiled faintly. "Just old memories. And her favorite password: serena4ever."
Lucian chuckled darkly. "Irony's cruel."
Alessia's voice turned ice. "So was she."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You hate her that much?"
"No," she whispered. "I remember her that well."
Meanwhile, in Ethan's car, silence reigned.
He sat parked in a shadowed corner of the city, watching Camille's name trend in real time.
His mind raced.
This wasn't just coincidence. It was a pattern. Too fast. Too specific.
First the Bluewave deal vanished.
Now Camille's reputation was collapsing.
Next? Him?
His hand trembled slightly as he pulled up Alessia Grey's digital profile again.
Still pristine. Still untouchable. Still a stranger.
But something inside him screamed.
She knew.
She was pulling threads ; threads no one should've known even existed.
And for the first time in a long time…
Ethan Hart felt hunted.
🔥 End Line:
The thing about fire is once it spreads, you never know what it will burn next… or who lit the match.