~CASSANDRA~
Jealousy burned through like acid as I scrolled through yet another article praising Layla’s business savvy. She was everywhere now, strutting around with that cold fish Axel, acting like she was untouchable.
The headlines made sick: "O’Brien Empire: Layla and Axel’s Love Story Has the Industry Talking!" and "Couple Goals 101: Layla Joins Axel O’Brien as He Plans Expansion."
I slamd my phone down on the kitchen counter, feeling a sharp pain in my belly. I groaned as I stared down at my bump—at the baby that was supposed to secure my future but felt more like a chain.
This pregnancy was ant to be my triumph, my guarantee that Daniel would dump her and she would wallow in betrayal and heartbreak.
Instead, all I felt was trapped while she soared higher and higher.
Daniel lounged on the couch, oblivious, flipping channels like he didn’t have a care in the world. The sight of him irritated further.
I had been watching him lately, checking his phone when he was in the shower, noting how his face changed whenever Layla’s na ca up in conversation. The way he had run after her at my mother’s funeral that day was just so desperate and pathetic.
I marched over, grabbed the remote, and tossed it aside. "We need to talk."
He sat up, looking wary. "What now, Cass?"
"You owe , Daniel." I leaned against the coffee table, crossing my arms over my swollen belly. "After everything... stealing you from her, carrying your child, dealing with all the ss you’ve created... you’re going to help bring her down."
"What are you talking about? Have I not been supporting you all this ti?"
"Don’t play dumb with . I know you still think about her, talk to her. I saw how you looked when her na ca up, how you practically chased her down at the cetery." I stepped closer, watching his face pale. "You feel guilty for dumping her at the altar, don’t you?"
"Cassandra, that’s not..."
"It is exactly what it is. And now you’re going to use that guilt to help ." I leaned in, tracing a finger along his jaw, watching him swallow hard. "Spy on her. Follow her, report her moves to . Use that remorse you still carry. Pretend you want her back if you have to."
His face went white. "You want to lie to her? To manipulate her feelings?"
"I want you to be useful for once." My voice turned cold. "Unless you’d prefer I tell my father about all those little favours you’ve been asking for. The money you borrowed from , the business contacts I’ve shared, the strings I’ve pulled to keep your pathetic company afloat."
"You wouldn’t."
"Try . You know how Charles Watson deals with people who cross his family." I smiled sweetly, but my eyes were steel. "Help get information from Layla, or find out what happens when I stop protecting you from him."
His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine."
"Good boy." I kissed him lightly, though it tasted like nothing. Like everything between us tasted like nothing.
—
Later that afternoon, I drove to my dad’s company. I felt a familiar sense of power as the gates opened for ... they always did for .
The security guards nodded respectfully, the receptionist smiled with genuine warmth, and the elevator carried straight to the top floor without question.
Dad was in his office, puffing on a cigar behind his massive mahogany desk, looking older than I rembered but still sharp. The afternoon sun stread through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room.
"Cassandra," he greeted without rising. "What brings you here?"
I sank into the chair opposite him, deliberately rubbing my belly for effect. "It’s Layla. She’s getting too big, too fast. We need to clip her wings before she becos completely untouchable."
He exhaled smoke slowly, his eyes narrowing as they focused on . "And what do you think I’ve been doing?"
"I don’t know... I don’t see you doing anything at the mont."
His expression darkened instantly. "You don’t see doing anything? What about when I got you out of that police cell after you forgot to clear your tracks with that little stunt you pulled? Don’t think I’m still not angry about that ss."
I pouted, suddenly feeling like a scolded child. "I already told you I was sorry for that. It won’t happen again. Please, just hear out."
He set down his cigar, leaning back in his chair. "What do you have to say?"
"Gossip," I said, straightening up with renewed confidence. "Spread rumours through those celebrity magazines you have connections with. I have intel from a reliable source that Layla and her so-called husband aren’t exactly on the best of terms."
"Point out how recently, they haven’t been seen together publicly, not even going to the office together. Whisper that their marriage is a sham, a facade for business convenience."
Dad’s eyebrows raised slightly, interested now. "Go on."
"Think about it." I leaned forward, feeling the excitent build up. "It’ll plant doubts, make investors nervous about their partnership. Force them into the spotlight where they’ll have to perform or risk exposure."
Dad chuckled, nodding slowly in approval. "Clever girl. Public perception is everything in business. If people start questioning their public image..."
"Exactly. They would seem unstable and distracted as they try to rebuild the perfect facade while we make other moves. And if their public image crumbles, everything else follows."
"I’ll make so calls," he said, reaching for his phone. "Get the press sniffing around; plant so seeds of doubt. If they’re faking it, the cracks will show under pressure."
We spent the next hour hashing out details—which journalists to tip off, what angles to push, and how to make the rumours seem organic rather than orchestrated.
I even had to make a call to obtain more information about the details.
Dad knew all the right people, the gossip columnists who owed him favours and the photographers who would capture the "right" monts.
"Start with the society pages," he suggested. "Those vultures love a good marriage scandal. Then we escalate to the business press."
"What about their body language? The way they interact in public?"
"Leave that to the experts. I know soone who can find so old photos and highlight overlooked details of them looking distant or tense..."
By the ti I left his office, the plan felt solid.
But as I drove ho through the city streets, a nagging doubt crept in. What if their marriage wasn’t fake? What if she was actually happy with Axel, and I’m the one left miserable?
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, pushing the thought away.
It didn’t matter.
Real or fake, I would shatter it all. Layla had taken everything from once... my first love, my sense of security, my father’s attention. Now it was my turn to take sothing from her.
—
The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text. "Hey, have you seen the news this morning?"
I unlocked my phone with shaking fingers, navigating to the celebrity gossip sites. There it was: the first rumour hitting social dia, a sly post questioning the O’Briens’ "perfect" union.
"TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Sources close to the power couple suggest all may not be well in the O’Brien household. When was the last ti you saw these two looking actually happy together?
#CelebrityGossip #PowerCouple #FakeItTillYouMakeIt #AxelO’Brien
The post already had dozens of comnts, people speculating and sharing their own observations. Soone pointed out that they are only seen together in business or professional gatherings, nothing more. Another ntioned how "stiff" they looked in photos.
I couldn’t help but smirk at my phone. "Perfect."
This was just the beginning.
Reviews
All reviews (0)