My phone vibrated so hard it rattled against the glass coffee table.

I ignored it, pouring my morning coffee.

It buzzed again. Then again. A continuous, angry mechanical hum.

I picked up the device. Fifty missed calls. Two hundred text messages.

The screen lit up with an incoming call from my assistant, Sarah.

"Do not open Twitter," Sarah blurted out before I even said hello.

"Good morning to you too," I muttered, taking a sip from my mug.

"I am serious, Lynn. Shut down your accounts right now. Lock everything."

"Why? Did Ethan say something stupid to the press again?"

"It is not Ethan. It is you."

My hand stopped mid-air. "Me?"

"They leaked everything. Your private photos. The screenshots of your emails with the team management. Even those beach trip photos from six years ago."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and tapped into the social media app.

The screen flooded with notifications, scrolling so fast the text blurred into a solid white block.

I clicked the trending tab.

#LynnMooreMistress.

#LynnMooreGetOut.

#EvilAgentHarassingHockeyGod.

"What is this?" my voice cracked.

"Ethan's fan club," Sarah replied, her tone frantic. "They think you forced him to sign that agency contract. They are saying you seduced him to keep your job."

"That is disgusting. I am his agent!"

"They do not care. The comments are brutal, Lynn. They are tearing you apart."

I scrolled down the feed.

*Ugly old hag trying to ruin our boy.*

*She looks like trash. Fire her immediately!*

*Someone find out where this bitch lives.*

"Look at your direct messages," Sarah urged.

I switched tabs. Thousands of unread messages filled the inbox.

*Die.*

*Drink bleach.*

*You ruined his season.*

"They are photoshopping my face onto corpses," I said, my throat suddenly dry.

"It gets worse. They found your sister's profile. They are swarming her comments too."

"Leave Maya out of this!"

"I told her to go private, but the damage is done. And Lynn..." Sarah paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Someone posted your current building address ten minutes ago. The doxxing is completely out of control."

A loud thud echoed from the front of my apartment.

I flinched, dropping my coffee mug.

It shattered against the kitchen tiles, dark liquid splashing across my bare ankles.

"Lynn? What was that?" Sarah yelled through the speaker.

"Someone is outside," I whispered.

"Call the police! Now!"

I ended the call and crept toward the hallway.

*BANG. BANG. BANG.*

Fists hammered against my heavy oak door.

"We know you are in there, you parasite!" a woman screamed from the corridor.

"Leave Ethan alone!" a male voice joined in.

I pressed my back against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Open up! Come face us!"

Something wet and heavy smacked against my living room window.

I crawled into the living room and peeked over the windowsill.

A dozen people stood on the sidewalk below. They held handmade signs. They pointed their phones at my balcony, camera flashes strobing in the early morning gloom.

A half-eaten burger splattered against the glass right in front of my face.

"Get out of the entertainment industry!" someone roared from the street.

I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers and dialed the one person who could stop this.

Ethan Carter. The hockey god himself.

He answered on the fourth ring. "Lynn, this is a bad time."

"You need to post a statement right now," I demanded, keeping my voice low.

"My PR guys are handling it."

"Handling it? Ethan, your fans are outside my house. They are throwing garbage at my windows."

"Just ignore them. They will get bored and leave."

"They are calling me your mistress! Tell them the truth. Tell them we have a strictly professional relationship."

"I won't do that, Lynn."

My jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"If I defend you, they will turn on me. The playoffs start Monday. I need the fans on my side."

"I built your career! I got you that multi-million dollar extension!"

"And you got paid a massive commission for it," he shot back. "We are even."

"They are threatening my life, Ethan."

"Stop being dramatic. Put your phone on silent and take a nap."

"You coward."

"Watch your mouth," his tone turned hostile. "You work for me. Or at least, you did."

He terminated the connection.

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen. Five years of loyalty. Five years of cleaning up his messes, hiding his late-night bar fights, protecting his image.

All wiped out because he wanted to keep his fanbase happy.

*CRASH.*

A rock flew through the top pane of my window.

Shards of glass rained down on the carpet.

I scrambled backward, covering my head. The cold morning wind blew into the living room, carrying the sound of cheers from the mob outside.

"Got her!" a guy yelled triumphantly.

I scrolled through my contacts and called Marcus, the head of the agency.

"Marcus, send the security team to my place. Now."

"Lynn," Marcus sighed. It was the heavy, exhausted sigh he used before firing an intern.

"My window is broken. They are trying to break down my door."

"I saw the trending topics."

"Then you know it is all lies. Send the guards."

"I am not sending anyone. You are on your own."

I froze. "What?"

"The agency is drafting a termination letter as we speak. You are officially suspended, pending a full dismissal."

"You are throwing me to the wolves over a internet rumor?"

"It is not a rumor anymore. It is a PR nightmare. The sponsors are threatening to pull Ethan's endorsements."

"Because of his crazy fans! Not because of me!"

"Perception is reality in this business, Lynn. You became the story. Agents do not become the story."

"Marcus, please. I have nowhere to go."

"Pack your desk tomorrow. Do not contact the other clients."

The call ended.

I sat alone in the center of the dark room.

The wind howled through the broken window.

Trash littered my balcony. Rotten fruit, crumpled cups, wet newspapers.

More fists pounded on the front door. The wood groaned under the pressure.

"Whore! Come out!"

I pulled my knees to my chest.

Every hour of overtime. Every missed holiday. Every sacrifice I made to build my reputation in this industry.

Gone.

They did not need proof. They did not need a single shred of evidence. The mob had spoken, and the sentence was executed overnight.

I was nailed to the pillar of shame, and the people I trusted handed them the hammer.

My phone screen lit up on the floor.

A text from an unknown number.

*We know the passcode to your building's back entrance.*

A second text arrived immediately after.

*We are in the elevator.*

The heavy brass handle on my front door clicked downward.

The heavy brass handle on my front door snapped downward.

I did not wait. I lunged for the balcony, ignoring the shards of broken glass slicing into my palms. The rusted metal of the fire escape groaned under my weight as I scrambled down into the damp alley. Above me, the sickening crash of my front door giving way echoed into the morning air.

They were inside. My home was gone.

I ran until my lungs burned. I had only one destination.

The Apex Club.

Ethan always spent his pre-game off-days hiding in the VIP lounge. I knew the service entrance code. I knew the bouncers' shift changes. I knew every detail of his life because I had managed it for five years.

I pushed through the heavy velvet curtains of Booth Four.

"Ethan."

He did not flinch. He did not look surprised. He sat sunken into the plush leather sofa, a glass of expensive bourbon resting in his hand.

His other hand gripped the bare thigh of a blonde woman sitting across his lap.

Olivia Montgomery.

Her father owned the largest sports broadcasting network on the East Coast. She was sports royalty, a billionaire heiress wrapped in designer silk.

"You look like a stray dog, Lynn," Ethan sneered, taking a sip of his drink.

"They breached my apartment," I said, my voice trembling with raw fury. "A mob chased me out of my own home."

"Security is slacking today," Olivia murmured. She traced a manicured fingernail down Ethan's chest, not bothering to look at me. "Who let the help in?"

"I need you to call off your fans," I demanded, stepping closer to the table. "Tell them the truth. Now."

Ethan laughed. A harsh, grating sound that bounced off the soundproof walls. "The truth? The truth is you are a liability."

"I spent five years building you!" I shouted. "I covered up your DUIs. I negotiated your contracts. I paid your rent during your rookie season when everyone else gave up on you!"

"You did your job," he shot back, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "And I outgrew you."

"By feeding me to a mob?"

"By upgrading." He gestured lazily toward Olivia. "Do you know what her father handed me this morning? A prime-time documentary spot. A shoe deal with a global brand. You could never secure that."

My stomach violently twisted. The realization hit me like a physical blow. "So you threw me under the bus."

"You were in the way. Olivia did not like the rumors about us."

"There were no rumors until your PR team planted them!"

Olivia smiled, a thin, cruel curve of her lips. "I told him to clean house. A rising star cannot have a nagging, desperate agent dragging him down. The obsessed stalker angle worked perfectly."

"You planned this," I whispered, staring at the man I thought I knew. "Both of you."

"It is just business," Ethan stated flatly.

"They are threatening to kill me, Ethan!"

"Change your number. Move to another city. Stop being my problem." He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. "In fact, I am making sure of it right now."

"What are you doing?"

"Releasing my personal statement." He turned the screen toward me.

I read the bold text plastered across his official social media page.

*I am deeply disturbed by the obsessive behavior of my former agent, Lynn Moore. I have filed a restraining order to protect myself and my loved ones from her relentless harassment.*

"You filed a restraining order?" My voice cracked.

"It makes the stalker narrative official," he replied, pocketing the device. "My fans will love it. The sponsors will pity me. And you will disappear."

"You absolute monster."

He stood up, towering over me. The easygoing charm he sold to the cameras vanished, replaced by a calculating, ruthless glare.

"I am a brand, Lynn. A multi-million dollar asset. You are a disposable employee who forgot her place."

"I made you."

"I made myself. You just held my coat." He snapped his fingers toward the shadows near the entrance.

Two massive security guards stepped out from the hallway.

"Get this woman out of my sight," Ethan ordered, turning his back to me. "If she comes within fifty feet of me again, call the police."

"Let go of me!" I yelled as heavy hands clamped onto my shoulders.

"Goodbye, Lynn," Olivia chimed in, resting her head against Ethan’s shoulder. "Good luck finding a job in this industry."

The guards dragged me backward. I thrashed against their grip, kicking at their shins, but they were too strong. They shoved me through the back exit, tossing me out into the cold morning air.

I hit the concrete hard, scraping my knees against the rough pavement of the parking garage.

The heavy steel door slammed shut. The lock clicked, sealing me out.

I sat on the freezing ground, staring at the blank metal.

My career. My reputation. My safety.

All destroyed in a single morning by a man I had protected with my life. He did not feel an ounce of guilt. He looked at my ruined life and saw nothing but a stepping stone for his ambition.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out with shaking fingers. A new email notification flashed on the cracked screen.

*Sender: Legal Department, Montgomery Broadcasting Network.*

*Subject: Notice of Defamation Lawsuit.*

They were not just ruining my reputation. They were coming after everything I owned.

Before I could even open the message, tires screeched against the concrete.

A sleek black town car rolled to a stop mere inches from my feet.

The tinted back window glided down silently.

A man in a sharp charcoal suit stared at me from the shadows of the backseat. His eyes were ice-cold, assessing my battered state with zero pity.

"Get in, Ms. Moore," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Unless you want to go to jail tonight."

"Get in, Ms. Moore."

"Stay away from me!" I yelled, stumbling backward away from the black town car.

I spun around and sprinted down the alley. I ran until my legs gave out, collapsing onto a freezing metal bench at a deserted bus stop.

My cracked phone vibrated instantly. A news alert flashed across the screen.

"Ethan is a true gentleman," Olivia Montgomery’s voice echoed from the device the second I tapped the link.

She sat on a pristine white studio couch, dabbing the corners of her dry eyes with a tissue. Ethan sat close beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

"We are just close friends," Olivia told the morning show host, her voice trembling with practiced perfection. "It absolutely terrifies me to see him targeted by such an unstable stalker."

"You never had a romantic relationship with your former agent, Ms. Moore?" the host asked, leaning forward.

"Never," Ethan replied into his microphone. "I am completely single. My only focus is bringing a championship to this city. Lynn fabricated a fantasy in her own mind."

"She claims she built your career," the host pressed.

"She was an employee," Ethan stated flatly. "She booked my flights. I played the games. When I rejected her inappropriate advances, she turned hostile. Her delusions became dangerous."

"Olivia, how are you handling this?" the host asked.

"I just want Ethan to be safe," Olivia sniffled, resting her head against his chest. "No one deserves to be harassed for simply doing their job and being a good person."

I threw the phone onto the bench.

He played the innocent, pure national boyfriend. She played the terrified, supportive confidante.

Olivia manipulated the narrative flawlessly, erasing her role as the other woman and crowning herself the ultimate victim.

I grabbed the phone again. The live comment section moved at lightning speed.

*Protect Ethan at all costs!*

*Throw that crazy bitch in an asylum.*

*Olivia is so brave for standing by him.*

*I heard Lynn tried to poison his food when he rejected her.*

They swallowed every lie. The entire internet turned into a weapon, and Olivia held the trigger.

I opened my contacts and dialed David Dawson. We started in the mailroom together five years ago. He owed me his career.

"Do not call this number," David answered on the first ring.

"David, I need a favor. Put me in touch with the crisis management team at your firm."

"My firm just issued a company-wide memo," David whispered harshly. "Your name is on a permanent blacklist. No one is allowed to speak to you."

"You know Ethan is lying! You were there when I bailed him out of jail!"

"It does not matter!" David snapped. "Olivia's father threatened to pull broadcasting rights from any agency that associates with you. You are dead in this industry, Lynn."

"I have rent to pay. I have legal bills coming."

"Go work at a grocery store. Actually, don't. A fan will probably recognize you and burn it down."

"David, please."

"Lose my number."

The line clicked dead.

I called my former mentor, Greg.

*Voicemail.*

I called three different rival agents I used to drink with.

*Blocked.*

*Blocked.*

*Number disconnected.*

I was entirely alone. Exiled. Five years of blood, sweat, and favors, erased by a billionaire heiress and a lying athlete.

I stood up from the bench and walked blindly down the sidewalk.

"Hey! You!"

I stopped. A young girl in a blue Ethan Carter jersey marched toward me from the crosswalk.

"You're that stalker," the girl spat, her face twisting with disgust.

"Back off," I warned, stepping to the side.

"You make me sick!" She hurled her iced coffee directly at my chest.

The plastic cup bounced off my collarbone. Freezing liquid soaked into my shirt, dripping down my stomach.

"Leave our captain alone!" the girl screamed. "Homewrecker!"

I wiped the ice from my chin. "He is lying to you."

"Shut up! Olivia is a saint! You're just jealous garbage!"

Several pedestrians stopped, pulling out their phones to record.

I turned and ran. Arguing was useless. The truth did not matter anymore. The world had already decided my sentence.

I didn't know where my feet were taking me until the smell of stagnant water hit my nose.

The city riverbank.

The wind whipped my wet hair across my face as I approached the concrete ledge. Gray clouds mirrored the dead weight in my chest.

I walked past the yellow warning signs.

Dark, freezing water rushed aggressively below the barrier.

My phone vibrated one last time. I looked at the cracked screen.

A text from an unknown number.

*Go jump off a bridge, you ugly parasite.*

"You won, Ethan," I whispered to the empty air. "You both won."

I let the phone slip from my fingers. It hit the water with a soft splash, sinking instantly into the murky depths.

No home. No career. No friends. A looming defamation lawsuit that would put me in debt for the rest of my life.

I stared down at the swirling current. It looked peaceful. It looked like an immediate end to the suffocating humiliation.

I stepped up onto the metal railing.

The freezing wind pushed against my back, urging me forward.

I closed my eyes, leaning my weight over the edge.

"Take one more step, and I will make sure Ethan Carter attends your funeral with a smile."

A voice cut through the wind. Deep, cold, and right behind me.