Chapter 3
1100words
When I burst into Elisa's office the next morning, the place was already in chaos. The PR department phones rang non-stop, assistants scrambled between desks, and the air crackled with panic and caffeine.
Elisa stood alone at the floor-to-ceiling window, her back to the mayhem, her silhouette a stark line against the morning light. On her phone screen, breaking news alerts from multiple outlets flashed with sensational headlines telling the same twisted story.
*High Society Drama: Scorned Executive Stages Public Revenge at Film Festival*
*Toxic Leadership Exposed: Insiders Reveal Dark Side of AL Group's Top Female Executive*
The articles were masterpieces of character assassination, painting Elisa as an unstable, jealous woman driven to madness by rejection. They implied that her "emotional instability" extended to her management style, with anonymous "industry insiders" claiming she bullied subordinates and crushed dissent. The narrative was clear: she was the "psycho ex" and "toxic boss" rolled into one.
"These bought-off vultures!" I hissed through clenched teeth, shaking with rage. "Damian's trying to burn your whole life down!"
Elisa didn't turn around. "He's not trying to destroy me," she said, her voice cold as steel. "He's getting ahead of the story—making me the villain while painting himself and Kate as innocent victims."
Before she could finish, her assistant burst in, knocking frantically, voice quavering: "Ms. Elisa... it's Kate... she's posted something online."
I snatched the tablet. On Kate's profile was a tearful selfie—red-rimmed eyes and perfectly smudged mascara—with a lengthy caption.
"I thought I'd found love, never realizing I was just a pawn in someone else's game. For loving the wrong person, I've been publicly humiliated and painted as the villain. I won't try to defend myself. Maybe I was a mistake from the start. Please, don't attack the person I once admired because of me..."
She never named names, but every word painted Elisa as a vindictive woman who'd used her to punish an ex. The comments section exploded with sympathy. Self-proclaimed "experts" even started claiming the festival video must have been doctored, and that poor Kate was the real victim here.
"That manipulative bitch!" I nearly cracked the tablet in half. "The nerve of her!"
Elisa finally turned around. Her face was pale, but her eyes held an unnerving calm that made my heart race. Ignoring Kate's post, she picked up the constantly ringing desk phone.
On the line was one of her key European partners—a man who'd once sung her praises. Now his tone was distant and formal: "Elisa, about our next quarter plans... I believe we need to reassess our risk exposure."
One call, then another, then a third... For the next hour, the pattern repeated itself. All those partners who had once courted her favor now delivered the same message in polite corporate-speak: you're toxic, and we're backing away.
Elisa sat statue-still in her chair, listening to one hollow excuse after another. She didn't argue or show anger—just responded with an emotionless "I understand" at the end of each call.
When the final call ended, the office fell deathly quiet. Damian's carefully orchestrated character assassination was working perfectly. He hadn't attacked her company directly—he'd undermined her personally, isolating her, making her radioactive to anyone who mattered.
Looking at her pale profile, my heart ached. But the worst blow was yet to come.
Elisa's personal phone rang—"Mom" flashing on the screen.
She stared at the name, hesitated, then took a deep breath and answered. Her mother's tearful, accusatory voice immediately cut through: "Elisa, is it true what they're saying? Did you really show that... that kind of video in public? How could you? Do you have any idea what people are saying about our family?"
"Mom, it's not what you think. Damian was—"
"Not another word!" Her father's voice cut in, harsh and furious. "Whatever happened, decent people don't air their dirty laundry like this! How are we supposed to show our faces? You've destroyed my reputation!"
Elisa tried explaining about the betrayal and blackmail, but they wouldn't hear it. They weren't concerned with their daughter's pain—only with how the scandal reflected on them.
"You will apologize to the media immediately, and to Damian and that girl! Fix this mess! Otherwise, don't call yourself my daughter!"
Her father's words fell like a sledgehammer on Elisa's already crumbling defenses.
The line went dead.
Elisa sat frozen, still holding the phone to her ear.
In the next moment, she swept her crystal paperweight off the desk with sudden violence.
It shattered against the marble floor with a sharp crack—just like her heart.
"WHY?" she finally screamed, tears bursting forth like a broken dam. "THEY were the ones who betrayed ME... so why does everyone—even my own family—think I'm the one who's wrong?"
It was the first time I'd seen her break down completely—like a child abandoned by the entire world. All her strength and composure crumbled under her family's cruel rejection.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I rushed to her, wrapping my arms tightly around her shaking shoulders.
Her body felt cold and rigid against mine. She buried her face in her arms, her sobs gut-wrenching. "April... maybe they're right... maybe I shouldn't have done it... Did I mess up? Am I the one who's wrong?"
I held her tight, my own heart breaking. I wiped her tears away and cupped her face, forcing her to meet my eyes.
"You did NOTHING wrong!" I said fiercely, emphasizing each word. "Those cheating bastards are wrong. The media taking their bribes is wrong. Your so-called family who only care about appearances is wrong! Elisa, look at me—you weren't getting revenge, you were fighting back! You were protecting yourself! If you give in now, if you apologize, then they've won!"
My words echoed through the office, hammering at her despair.
Slowly, her sobs quieted. Focus returned to her eyes as she met my determined gaze, her breathing gradually steadying. In my embrace and words, she seemed to find an anchor in her storm of grief and despair.
She took a deep breath and roughly wiped the tears from her face.
"You're right," she said, voice still thick with tears but stripped of vulnerability. "I can't let them win."
She straightened and returned to her chair—her throne. Opening her laptop, the screen's glow illuminated her tear-swollen eyes, now burning with newfound determination.
"If they want to play dirty," she said, each word a solemn vow as she stared at the screen, "I'll show them what real evidence looks like."
