Chapter 19

I rewatched every clip of me and Jacob that night. I even played the one where I kissed him on his birthday—that kiss. The one where he said, “You’re fire, Lav. You burn too bright.” He meant that. I know he did.

She stole my life. I just wanted to be loved like her. I wanted what she had, and I almost had it. So now? I’ll be her.

I went into my closet, pulled out the dress that looked most like that pathetic little white one she always wore to interviews. I sprayed that sweet floral scent she likes—bought it last year to mock her; now I wear it like a second skin. I stood in front of my mirror and practiced her voice.

“Jacob, please—don’t go—”

I sounded just like her. Pretty. Soft. Sweet. That fake-sweet. The kind men fall for.

I pinned photos of her and Sebastian upon my vanity. Red lipstick smeared across his face. Black marker over hers. I wrote “thief” across her teeth. “Fake.” “Liar.” “Homewrecker.” I added a few of Luther, too. And Jacob. Bastards. Both of them.

So I called Jacob. Three rings. Then he picked up.

“Lav,” he sighed. “Not now.”

“You don’t even want to know how I’m feeling?” I said. My voice was shaky—yes, because I was shaking with rage. “Jacob, I’m not okay. I’ve been vomiting. I’ve been dizzy. I might be—”

“I’m not in the mood for your drama tonight.” He said it flat. Cold. Not even a maybe. Not even a what if.

“I could be pregnant, Jacob!”

Silence. Then a click. He hung up. He hung up on me!

I screamed so loud my throat ripped. Tore the phone charger out of the wall and hurled it across the room. It hit my jewelry shelf—smashed that too. My apartment looked like a damn warzone. And I was the war.

So I called Luther. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.

“Answer me!” I screamed into the third voicemail. “You owe me! You wouldn’t even exist in this world if it weren’t for me sucking for your ass, Luther! Answer the—”

Beep. Hung up again.

I fell to the floor. Clawed at the rug. Kicked the table. Crying. Screaming. Swearing she’d pay.

And then came the emails. Influencer brand pullouts. “After much consideration, we are terminating our partnership—” My phone buzzed again. Another deal gone. My brand. Gone. My empire. My image. Gone. No Jacob. No Luther. No spotlight. No safety net. Just me and this cold, ugly rage wrapped around my spine like a corset.

I curled up next to my vanity, surrounded by shattered glass and photos of her smiling. I took a pill. Then another. Just to quiet the noise. Just to make the spinning stop.

I’m not done. She thinks she’s won?

No. If I can’t have Jacob… If I can’t be Pearl… then maybe neither can she.

There was a time, wasn’t that long ago—when Jacob and Luther were one call away. I’d snap my fingers, and Jacob would show up at my place with black coffee and a bruised mouth. I used to love how fast he moved when it was me calling. He once left a damn shareholders’ meeting just to see me cry. Said, “You break too pretty to ignore.”

And Luther? My backup. My fixer. My arrogant pitbull who thought I was God’s gift to their cursed family. He used to say, “You’re the only woman who scares him, Lav. That’s power.” I used to believe it.

I remember… He was lying shirtless on the couch, scrolling through reports when I straddled his lap, wine glass in hand. Jacob smirked. “You’re the only woman who makes million-dollar losses feel worthwhile.”

I giggled. “That’s the sexiest way you’ve ever called me expensive.”

He pulled me close, forehead against mine. “Lavenia, if I had to go broke to keep you—I’d consider it.”

I believed him.

And then, that Night in Monaco… We had just landed for a weekend escape, and I was posing on the balcony in his shirt, wind playing with my hair. He snapped a photo without asking.

“I want this framed,” he said. “So I remember what winning looks like.”

“Jacob,” I teased, “you’re such a damn liar.”

He lit a cigarette, smirking. “Then why does every lie taste like you?”

I smiled bitterly and remember that gala fight… I had an anxiety attack backstage, shaking in the makeup room after tabloids ran the photos of him with Pearl again.

I was sobbing. “You told me she was nothing.”

Jacob knelt in front of me, brushing my tears off with his thumb. “She is. She’s a ghost. You’re flesh, Lav. You’re real. You’re mine.”

And I clung to that lie like it was gospel.

And there’s one more… in my apartment, after a collapse. I fainted from stress. He showed up at 3 AM. Shirt inside-out. Hair wild. Fury in his eyes.

Jacob scooped me up from the floor like I weighed nothing. “Don’t ever do that again. You scared the shit out of me.”

I croaked, “You came.”

His voice broke just a little. “Of course I came. You think I’d let anyone else hold you while you fall apart?”

That’s the thing about memories—they never play fair. They come back prettier, softer. They don’t show how fast he left the second she lifted her finger. They don’t show how love turns to rot when it’s built on fear of someone else’s glow.

I was his fire escape. She was the house he set on fire just to rebuild. And I’m done being a door he walks through when it’s raining.

Fuck them all.

I dialed my contact, “Make sure to add my name on the Ellington Gala.”

2:07 pm

Chapter 20