My email hit Chloe's world like a precision depth charge. The luxurious palace she'd built—constructed of lies and hypocrisy—instantly cracked from foundation to roof when confronted with that damning photo.

Panic engulfed her like arctic seawater.


In the presidential suite atop the Atlantis Bahamas Resort, brilliant sunlight flooded through massive windows onto plush carpet, yet couldn't warm the chill in the air. Chloe paced frantically barefoot, nails cutting into her palms, nearly crushing her iPhone in her grip.

"You have to DO something, Liam!" Her voice had lost all its practiced sweetness, now sharp and ragged. "That bitch has photos of us! How the fuck does she have photos?!"

Liam, on the other end, sounded unnervingly calm, even slightly annoyed.


"Calm down, Chloe. It's just a photo—what can it prove? We'll say it's photoshopped or just a friendly goodbye kiss." His voice dripped with arrogant dismissal. "Your hysteria is the real problem here."

"Problem? You call this a PROBLEM?" Chloe nearly screamed. "My social accounts are exploding with hate! Nobody's buying that the $30,000 charge was fraud! With this photo added, my entire career is OVER!"


Liam scoffed. "Public image? Don't be naive. Money is what matters, and we have more than we could spend in ten lifetimes. Those internet trolls will find a new target by next week. Just stay quiet, don't respond, and this will blow over."

"You want me to do NOTHING?" Chloe's voice rose to a shriek. "My entire career is burning to the ground! And all you care about is your money and your comfort!"

"I'm concerned about our SAFETY!" Liam's tone turned icy. "Don't do anything stupid or respond to anything—you'll only expose our location. Ava is clearly smarter than we thought. Don't push her to reveal more."

The line went dead. Liam had hung up.

Chloe stood frozen, phone clutched in her hand. Cold fear and burning betrayal twisted together, making her tremble violently. Only now did she realize the truth: Liam had never seen her as an equal partner—just an amusing diversion during his escape, a pawn to be sacrificed when convenient. Their supposed trust, at the first sign of pressure, had shattered like cheap glass.

Meanwhile, in my New York apartment, I calmly watched the fire I'd ignited spread. I'd anticipated their reactions perfectly—Liam's arrogance and Chloe's panic were key components of my plan. And the kissing photo and credit card statement? Mere appetizers.

My true trump card still waited quietly in my laptop.

I opened an encrypted folder containing dozens of audio files—recordings I'd made of every conversation with Chloe during those darkest days after Liam's "death," when she'd stayed constantly by my side.

I'd told myself I was recording because grief had made me forgetful—that I wanted to preserve her comforting words. But deep inside, a cold voice had warned me to trust no one, especially the friend who smiled brightest while you mourned.

Now those poison-laced words of false comfort would become irrefutable evidence against her.

I spent the entire afternoon like a master editor, meticulously arranging my materials. I selected Chloe's most sickeningly fake moments—when she said in that tearful voice: "Oh, Ava darling, I can't imagine your pain, my heart is breaking"—and juxtaposed them with footage of her commanding boutique staff in the Bahamas to package her Chanel purchases like a queen.

As her gentle voice cooed in the background: "You must be strong for Liam, and I'll always be right here with you," the video showed her on a sunny beach, practically devouring Liam's face, hands wandering shamelessly over his body.

Each juxtaposition was like a surgical knife slicing through her hypocritical mask. I gave the minute-long video the perfect title: "The Two Faces of a Best Friend."

I published it through "The Serpent's Diary" account, then used Ray's connections to push it to every major gossip outlet and social media influencer.

The internet erupted again over Chloe. But this wasn't mere controversy—it was complete, overwhelming disgust and fury.

The video's impact was catastrophic. That gentle, heartbreaking voice created a hellish contrast with images of her luxurious indulgence and complete absence of grief. This wasn't a questionable receipt or a photo that could be dismissed as staged—this was Chloe's own voice condemning her.

"My God… this is VILE. I can't believe I actually defended her!"
"I literally cried reading her post yesterday! And there she is, laughing in her lover's arms!"
"Lying snake! She's spending AVA'S MONEY while fucking AVA'S HUSBAND and pretending to comfort her! This is sociopathic!"
"BOYCOTT CHLOE! @LuxuryBrands this is who you chose to represent you!"

The avalanche of public outrage gathered unstoppable momentum.

Chloe's business empire imploded within hours. Brands that once worshipped her as their muse scrambled to distance themselves, terrified of being dragged down by association. Contract termination notices flooded her inbox, each carrying astronomical penalty clauses.

She completely lost it.

In desperation, Chloe called Liam again. This time, her voice held no trace of its practiced sweetness—only hysterical panic and desperate fury.

"Liam! I'm RUINED! Every brand is terminating me, and the penalties exceed eight figures!" she screamed, voice distorted by panic. "I don't care how you do it—access our emergency fund NOW! Get me the best PR team money can buy to fix this!"

Silence hung on the line before Liam's voice returned, terrifyingly cold: "You're insane! Touch that money? Do you have ANY idea what that means?"

"Of course I know!" Chloe roared like a cornered animal making its final stand. "All I know is if I go down, you're coming with me! If you don't save me, I'll march straight to the police! I'll tell them EVERYTHING—the fake death, the insurance fraud, the asset transfers! And I'll tell them things you don't even know I know! Your choice!"