Chapter2

My phone started buzzing frantically the moment I stepped through my parents' front door.

I glanced down at the screen—seven notifications from three different news apps.

The headlines were all variations on a theme:

"Rising Business Star's Engagement Party Disrupted by Ex-Girlfriend's Public Breakdown"

"Wells Family's Eldest Daughter Allegedly Mentally Unstable, Disrupts Sister's Engagement Ceremony"

The first notification already had over two hundred comments.

"Clingy exes are the worst..."

"Her sister is so pretty, the guy made the right choice."

"I was there, her face looked ghostly, totally creepy."

"Is it hereditary mental illness in the family?"

"Am I the only one who thinks this is a publicity stunt? Trying to get famous?"

My mother sat on the couch, hands clasped tightly together. My father stood by the window, his back to the door.

"Your father has already gotten the PR firm working on it. But the video is spreading too fast... Callum's company's competitors are fanning the flames."

Mother's voice was soft, as if afraid of breaking something. "Your sister called earlier. She said you were devastated, nearly fainted at the party. She said she and Callum are very worried about you."

I stared at her. "And you believe her?"

Mother avoided my eyes. "Evira, the family's reputation matters. Everyone is talking about this now. Your father's friends at the club specifically asked him this afternoon if our daughter has... emotional problems."

Father turned around. His face looked terrible.

He was holding a tablet. He turned the screen toward me. It showed the Twitter trending topics, third place locally: #EviraWells. Followed by a flame emoji.

"Trending," Father's voice was ice-cold. "Our family name is trending because of this scandal. Do you know what that means? Every brand we partner with, every circle your siblings will need to deal with in the future—they're all watching this joke unfold."

"The board secretary called too. Callum's company is in talks with us for a partnership. Now with this scandal, they're hesitant." He walked up to me. "You need to go to a sanatorium for a while. Until this blows over."

"A sanatorium?" I almost laughed. "Because my ex-boyfriend dumped me, I have to be locked up?"

"It's psychological counseling," Mother corrected, but her fingers twisted tighter. "Sophia said she can help you contact the best doctors. She said you haven't been able to move on, and it breaks her heart to see you like this."

I felt blood rush to my head.

Sophia had already written the script—the sister overcome with grief, mentally fragile, needing treatment. And she was the caring sister, even worrying about my "recovery."

"I'm not going," I said.

"She's doing this for you!" Mother raised her voice, then immediately lowered it again. "Evira, you have to go to that mountain sanatorium for a while. Until this heat dies down. The internet has no memory—in a few weeks they'll be chasing new gossip."

"I'm not going," I said.

Father walked around the table to stand in front of me. "This isn't a request. Look at yourself right now."

He pointed at my phone. The screen lit up again with a new notification—a photo of me turning to leave at the party, face pale as a ghost, eyes vacant. Caption: "Heartbroken."

"This photo," Father said, enunciating each word, "is being made into memes. My assistant just sent it to me. The family's face is being mocked across the internet. If you stay here, you'll only make things worse. Tomorrow morning, a car will come for you."

I looked at Mother. She kept her head down, staring at her knees.

In that moment, I understood.

In this house, appearances mattered more than truth. Business mattered more than daughters.

I turned and walked up the stairs without another word.

Behind me, I heard Mother's lowered voice: "Does she need medication? Should we have the doctor prescribe some sedatives..."

My room still looked like it had when I was a girl.

I sat on the edge of the bed and allowed myself to cry for the first time. The sound was muffled in the pillow, suffocating.

After I'd cried myself dry, I stood up, opened my phone, and turned off all social media notifications.

Then I did something stupid—I logged into that nearly forgotten old email account.

The one I'd used in college, with that silly pen name "E.H. Ellis."

I wanted to find something, anything that proved I'd once been someone else, had lived a different life.

The inbox had thousands of unread emails. I scrolled mechanically until I saw an automated reply from five years ago. Subject line: "Patent Application Receipt Notice."

I clicked on it. The attachment was a scanned copy of that patent document I'd long forgotten. Something about a small improvement in data encryption. I'd thought it was elegant at the time, but my professor said it had limited commercial potential. After graduation, I never thought about it again.

On impulse, I copied the patent number and opened a search engine. Typed it in. Hit enter.

The first result made me freeze.

It was Callum's company's official website.

The page title read: "Blake Tech Proudly Introduces New Secure Communication Product."

I clicked through. The page design was flashy, the product description full of hype. But in the technical details section, in small print, it said: "Core technology based on an innovative foundational encryption patent, exclusively licensed to Blake Tech in perpetuity."

That patent number was identical to the one in my email.

Exclusive perpetual license? I'd never licensed it to anyone. I'd even forgotten the thing existed.

I scrolled down the page and saw the product launch date: eight months ago.

Eight months ago. When Callum started appearing everywhere in my life.

He said my insights were unique, that my mind fascinated him. He said he'd never met a woman like me.

I held those papers, my hands starting to shake.

So those chance encounters weren't fate. Those late-night conversations about dreams weren't heart-to-heart connections.

He said he loved my brain, my unique perspective... turned out what he loved was this.

He'd already traced "E.H. Ellis" back to me.

He pursued me, courted me, slept beside me—all for this document.

A new notification came in. The latest push was from a finance news app: "Blake Tech stock rises 5% in early trading due to strong performance in secure communications market. CEO Callum Blake's net worth reaches new high."

The accompanying photo showed him and Sophia clinking glasses at last night's engagement party, both beaming.

Caption: "Love and career, both thriving."

Another notification was Callum's name. I stared at that name. The sadness from moments ago receded like a tide. In its place was something cold and sharp, crawling from my stomach all the way to my throat.

I pressed accept.

"Evira." His voice came through, the background quiet—probably in his study. "I know you're hurting right now. Those things online, don't read them. I'll handle it."

I still didn't speak. I listened to his voice, this voice I'd heard for two years, thought I'd hear for a lifetime. Now it just sounded strange and false.

"Evira? Are you listening?" He paused, his voice softening, taking on that familiar coaxing tone. "I know this isn't fair to you. But you can't force feelings. I love Sophia. I hope you can... understand. You'll find someone better."

Understand.

I closed my eyes, then opened them. My gaze fell on the computer screen, still showing his company, his product, the success and applause he'd bought with what he stole from me.

"Yes, I understand."

My voice was calm, even carrying a hint of a smile.

I heard Callum on the other end of the line fall silent for a long time, as if he hadn't expected this reaction.

"Well... get some rest then. Can we talk again in a couple days?"

He hung up in a panic.

And I'd already figured out my plan.

Just leaving would be too easy on them. I was going to destroy them.