My cousin, Blair Thorne, loved to test my boyfriends.

No matter how many times I refused, she would insist.

Once she successfully seduced one, she’d dump him immediately.

Then, she would post on Instagram, implying that the man wasn't good enough for a Thorne.

When Blair tried her old tricks again, she didn't realize she was walking straight into a trap I had meticulously set.

It was a trap she couldn't escape, one sealed by her own greed and jealousy.

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1

My cousin, Blair Thorne, had been divorced for three years.

However, thanks to a joint investment fund from her ex-husband, Marcus Sterling, she still funded her lavish lifestyle as an Upper East Side socialite.

I heard she spent nights with cover models in the Hamptons and used her no-limit black card to bankroll any pretty boy she fancied.

To the outside world, she was living the perfect, enviable life.

Recently, she found her next prey—my boyfriend of six months, Preston Vaughn.

I wasn't surprised Blair caught wind of him so quickly.

After all, my social-climbing mother, Judith Hayes, had happened to run into him at a charity luncheon at the Long Island country club and couldn't wait to parade him around.

If my mom had a fatal flaw, it was her obsessive envy and constant need for one-upmanship.

Blair had married well—so well that even after her divorce, she had more money than she could ever spend.

My aunt, Meredith Thorne, loved to flaunt Blair's success and her collection of Hermès Birkin bags in front of my mother.

So, my mom made it her mission to find me a husband who would outshine Marcus in every way.

Consequently, my romantic life—or lack thereof—became one of her greatest anxieties.

I first met Preston at an industry cocktail party in Manhattan.

He exuded the quiet confidence of old money. It took me over half a year, wading through a sea of debutantes, just to catch his eye.

He was younger and far more handsome than Marcus.

And if that wasn't enough, Preston was also richer.

As a potential son-in-law, he checked all of my mother's materialistic boxes.

She couldn't wait to show him off in the family group chat.

In fact, she even declared that I would be getting engaged soon.

When I saw the compliments flooding my screen, I rubbed my temples in exasperation.

I immediately sent a smiling emoji to the group, then typed, "It's not that serious yet. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

My mom instantly replied with a candid photo she'd taken of Preston dropping me home in his Lamborghini, retorting, "Not serious? A man this handsome and rich, and you're telling me it's not serious? Camila, are you out of your mind?"

Blair immediately chimed in, "Wow, Camila. Where did you find such a handsome guy? Want me to… test him out for you?"

I didn't bother replying. I knew she would do whatever she wanted, whether I agreed or not.

Little did she know, this time, I had something special in store for her.

On the very first day we started dating, I pretended to casually warn Preston about Blair.

I told him she was beautiful, cunning, and the undisputed queen of the New York social scene—a dangerous woman who lived for the thrill of the chase.

I also told him she had a habit of contacting my boyfriends behind my back.

Preston teased me, "Are you afraid I'll fall for her?"

I just smiled faintly, leaned my head obediently on his shoulder, and replied, "No, I'm just worried she'll eat you alive. After all, she’s left a trail of my heartbroken exes in her wake."

He pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head as he comforted me. "I promise you, that won't happen this time. I only want you, Camila."

He seemed to take my warning to heart.

When Blair first sent him a direct message on Instagram, he ignored her.

He even complained to me about her repeatedly. "Your cousin Blair is like gum on my shoe. She won't stop hitting me up from burner accounts, sending invites to all these random parties."

I kissed his cheek and praised him in an adoring tone, "Well, you'd better stay strong. Don't you dare reply to her. She's a master at this game."

Without a second thought, he ignored another one of Blair's DMs, then looked into my eyes and said, "My parents want to meet you at Thanksgiving next month. I've been singing your praises to them, so they're really eager to finally meet you."

"They keep saying we've been dating for six months, and they don't even know what you look like."

My body tensed slightly. I ruffled his hair. "Just give me a little more time, okay? I'm swamped with a project. I promise I’ll meet your parents properly as soon as it’s done."

"You don't have to be nervous. Believe me, my parents will be thrilled just to have you show up. We can just have a meal at one of my family's new hotels."

Perhaps seeing that Preston was consistently ignoring her, Blair grew impatient. She suddenly announced she was coming to New York for a fashion show and wanted to stay with me for a few days.

I flatly refused.

Unfortunately, my mother was desperate to show off the new apartment Preston had rented for me in Tribeca.

She eagerly gave Blair my spare key.

As a result, when I dragged myself home after working overtime, I was greeted by the sight of Blair and Preston sitting side-by-side on the custom sofa in my living room.

They were both quietly scrolling on their phones.

The moment Preston saw me, he shot up from the sofa and pulled me into the bedroom.

"I swear I didn't even look at her," he complained, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "How the hell did she get a key? I thought the security here was airtight! This is unbelievable."

"My mom probably gave it to her," I said casually, feigning a look of helplessness. "Blair's just like that, spoiled since childhood. You can just ignore her."

Though Preston swore he hadn't paid Blair any mind, I still let a flicker of unease show on my face.

The image of them on the sofa together kept replaying in my mind, stoking a carefully crafted anxiety.

I had worked so hard to win his heart, spending six months catering to his every whim—playing the part of the meek, gentle, and vaguely intellectual girlfriend he seemed to want—before he finally asked me out.

It was partly the insecurity Blair always managed to stir up in me, and partly the uncertainty of how long Preston could really hold her at bay.

Preston didn't stay the night.

He had another luxury apartment in Midtown Manhattan, so he went there.

However, he still came over the next morning to bring me breakfast.

He brought Blue Bottle coffee and croissants from the most popular bakery in town, laying them out on the dining table.

When Blair walked out of the guest room in a sexy silk slip dress and saw the spread, a smug smile touched her lips.

"Did you bring all this because you knew I was here, Preston?" she purred. "Oh, and you even got me an almond croissant from that little shop I love. Too bad they don't deliver. You must have gotten up at the crack of dawn, didn't you?"

Preston glanced at her. "No, I actually forgot you were here, so now we're short one coffee. Camila doesn't have much of an appetite in the morning, so I got her a few options to choose from."

Blair hummed in understanding, but her hand restlessly fiddled with the Cartier bracelet on her wrist.

It was a nervous tic that always appeared when she was plotting.

I knew instantly that her mild interest in Preston had sharpened into a resolute desire to conquer him.

I couldn't help but squeeze Preston's hand, my grip so tight that he shot me a confused look.

I quickly apologized and excused myself from the table, saying I needed to get changed.

That evening, when I came home from work, I found them sitting on the sofa together again, even closer than the day before.

Preston saw me and stood up to greet me.

Then, he lowered his voice and barraged me with questions. "Does Blair even have a job? Why is she always here? Didn't her ex leave her a place to live? What is she even doing?"

I looked up at him and said plaintively, "She'll probably stop once you stop ignoring her. That's just her personality. The more she can't have something, the more she has to have it."

My words gave him pause.

After a moment, he sighed. "Fine, I caved. She said if I added her on WhatsApp and chatted a little, she'd leave tomorrow."

I just hummed in response and walked into the bedroom.

Preston followed me in, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and asked if I was angry.

"I just don't want to see her here all the time. Besides, I can just mute her notifications," he said, showing me his screen to prove his point. "See? Already muted."

I didn't say anything, letting my palpable disappointment hang in the air. He spent the next hour trying to coax me out of it.

He doted on me throughout dinner, keeping my wine glass full and trying to make me laugh.

Across the table, Blair just smiled. "You're so thoughtful, Preston. It's rare to find a man with your patience these days."

Preston ignored her.

Instead, he focused all his attention on me, telling me about the investment and approval issues he was facing with a boutique hotel project in Miami.

Annoyed at being ignored, Blair made a show of clattering her fork and knife against her plate.

When we looked at her, she smiled. "My apologies. I got a little excited when you mentioned that topic. After all, that's my area of expertise."

When she saw the confused look on Preston's face, she flicked her wavy hair back and said confidently, "My ex-husband, Marcus, runs a rather successful real estate company. He's always been very generous with his connections and capital. For Camila's sake, I can introduce you to a few key players."

She even went into detail, naming several conglomerates that held sway in Miami's political and business circles.

I could see the temptation in Preston's eyes. For a second-generation heir so eager to prove himself, a shortcut like this was dangerously alluring.

He gave me an awkward glance, then turned to Blair.

"Wouldn't that be an inconvenience? After all, those connections are tied to your ex-husband."

"Oh, please," she replied nonchalantly. "It's just a phone call. Consider it done."

This time, Preston didn't refuse her.

I knew he would be un-muting her messages any second now.

Sure enough, when he followed me into the bedroom later, he tried to justify himself. "Blair's just warm-hearted. She's a little eccentric, but her business connections are the real deal. She seems sincere."

I just glanced at him, my eyes already red.

He immediately started coaxing me, saying gently, "Baby, it's nothing. This is purely business. Besides, do you really think I'm interested in a woman who lives off her ex?"

The next day, Blair left my apartment.

It was no coincidence that Preston didn't come over for the next several days, claiming he was swamped with work.

Preston claimed he was on a business trip in Aspen, overseeing the renovation of several high-end resort hotels.

Despite this, during one of our video calls, I caught Blair's reflection, clad in full ski gear, in his sunglasses.

When I called him on it, he scrambled to explain. "Blair just called to check in. When she heard I was in Aspen, she flew out to introduce me to some investors."

"I'm so grateful to her, really. She saved me months of trouble. My dad was even praising me on the phone for how well this round of financing went."

Heirs like him—born with silver spoons—are always ambitious, desperate to step out of their fathers' shadows.

Preston was no exception.

His father was an entrepreneur who controlled immense wealth. Preston, too, had a keen business sense.

But he was constantly overshadowed by his father's success, often dismissed by the board as just another playboy.

Therefore, he was desperate to prove himself.

He had opened several boutique hotels in multiple cities.

He moved fast and aggressively, sparing no expense to secure the best locations.

This time, thanks to the capital injection from Blair's connections, his father had been praising him at board meetings, saying he'd done a good job.

Shortly after, Preston transferred 50,000 dollars to me, asking me to buy a watch for Blair in my name as a thank-you gift.

"I know she helped me for your sake, so it's only right for you to give it to her. I know my boundaries."

After a pause, he added, "Pick something she'll like. If you need more, just let me know."

So, I drafted a very sincere thank-you email.

After sending it, I "accidentally" forwarded it to Blair's ex-husband, Marcus.

The email read: "Thank you for helping my boyfriend. He wants to buy you a watch to show his gratitude, with a budget of around 50,000 dollars. Do you have a preferred brand? Or should I just transfer the money to you directly?"

Marcus replied quickly.

I could feel the sharp edge of his displeasure in his terse reply: "Camila? Why is your boyfriend buying Blair a gift?"

My heart sank.

Marcus, Blair, and I, while not exactly in the same social stratum, had grown up in the same New York circles.

He was a few years older than us, with a brooding and distant personality. We would occasionally run into each other at various charity galas and polo matches.

During my freshman year of college, I had once complimented his keen eye for selecting horses, and the very next day, Blair began pursuing him relentlessly.

He was an easy conquest for her.

They started dating two weeks later.

Although their relationship was rocky, they got married after Blair graduated.

Unfortunately, Marcus couldn't tolerate Blair's vanity and foolishness, and they divorced after three years.

Still, I didn't want Blair's primary source of income to get the wrong idea.

After all, that joint fund from Marcus was the only thing bankrolling her lavish lifestyle.

I quickly replied to explain, "No, it's not like that. She did my boyfriend a huge favor. And I should be thanking you too, Marcus. My boyfriend's hotel project succeeded thanks to you letting her use those connections."

Marcus immediately shot back, "And here I thought she'd finally grown a brain and done something productive. Turns out she did all this just to throw herself at your boyfriend? She's far more generous with him than she ever was with me."

Before I could say anything to salvage the situation, he sent another message: "Alright, I get it. I'll thank her properly myself. You keep the money."

I returned the money to Preston, telling him Marcus said it wasn't necessary.

Preston sounded confused on the other end of the line.

"Isn't he her ex-husband? What right does he have to meddle in her affairs?"

"He's basically her ATM," I replied. "How else do you think Blair affords her lifestyle and all those Hermès bags?"

Preston fell silent, and the atmosphere grew awkward.

After a long while, he said, "You have a point. It seems I don't know her as well as I thought."

That night, Blair stormed into my apartment in a rage.

She had been drinking, her cheeks were flushed, and she started yelling at me the moment she walked in.

She may have looked drunk, but her insults were lucid and sharp.

Finally, she pointed a finger at my nose and spat, "Do you really think you can be like me, marrying some rich guy to climb the social ladder? Dream on, Camila! You'll never live a life like mine. You ran to Marcus, didn't you? Complained that I stole your boyfriend, hoping he'd cut me off?"

Then, she lifted her chin defiantly and added, "Well, you just watch. Tomorrow, I'll have Preston begging to give me his no-limit black card. A cold fish like you wouldn't know the first thing about seducing a man!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, my bedroom door opened. Preston walked out in a bathrobe, a look of dawning realization on his face. Turns out he had come home early.

God, this drama was getting so tedious.

So, looking as if I'd been deeply wronged, I ran back into my bedroom, leaving them alone in the living room.

From that day on, Preston started working late and traveling more frequently.

When I told him I was available for his family's Thanksgiving dinner, he gently turned me down.

He claimed his parents were vacationing in Europe and that it wasn't a good time.

I knew then what had happened.

Blair had used her well-practiced techniques to get her hooks into him.

She had won. Again.