My phone buzzed on the glass desk.

One new message from Chloe. Just a URL. No text.

"Hey, did you send this on purpose?" I texted back.

No reply.

I tapped the screen. A video player loaded, buffering for a split second before the image sharpened.

"Turn the ring light toward the bed." Chloe's voice echoed through my phone speaker.

My stomach dropped. The camera wobbled, then settled on a crumpled hotel duvet.

"Is it live?" A deep, familiar voice asked.

Ryan. My boyfriend. My star client.

"Yeah, baby. We're on." Chloe giggled.

She leaned into the frame. She wore one of Ryan’s oversized batting practice shirts. It barely covered her thighs. The hotel room behind them was a mess of discarded clothes and empty champagne bottles.

"Look at the viewer count," Ryan said.

He wrapped an arm around her waist.

I stared at the screen. My hands turned to ice.

Comments scrolled up the side of my screen in a furious blur.

*Wait, is that Ryan Cooper?*

*The rookie? The guy who just hit three homers against the Mets?*

*Who is the girl? Oh damn, it's the model from his energy drink ad.*

"They recognize you," Chloe teased. She tapped his nose.

"Of course they do." Ryan flashed his signature camera-ready smile. "I'm the best thing to happen to the league in ten years."

I couldn't look away. I watched my best friend press her lips against my boyfriend's jaw.

Just last month, I had negotiated the very ad campaign that introduced them. Chloe had begged me for the exposure. She wanted to break out of catalog modeling. She wanted a real platform.

"Don't do the cheap sexy angle, Chloe," I had told her last week over coffee.

"I'm tired of waiting, Scarlett," she had snapped back.

"Just trust me. We can build your brand the right way. You don't need a scandal."

She had stirred her latte. A sly smile crept onto her face. "I have a better plan, Scar. A much bigger splash."

"Like what?" I asked.

"You'll see. Will you support me? No matter what?"

"Whatever you want to do, I'll always support you," I had promised.

I gripped the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white. This was her plan. She wasn't just using Ryan for clout. She was using my entire life.

"Are you going to get in trouble for this?" Chloe asked on the stream.

Ryan pulled her onto his lap. The camera angle was slightly off-center, but their faces were unmistakable. The neon sign from the street below cast a red glow over his sharp cheekbones.

"Trouble with who?" Ryan asked.

"With the team. With the press." Chloe traced the line of his collarbone. She looked directly at the camera lens. "What if Scarlett sees this?"

My pulse pounded in my ears. A sickening wave of heat rushed up my neck.

Ryan scoffed. He didn't even look at the lens. "What could she do?"

"She's your manager, Ryan. And your girlfriend."

"She's a glorified babysitter." His tone dripped with absolute arrogance. "And I'm her most important commodity."

"That's mean," Chloe pouted. Her eyes danced with triumph.

"It's the truth." He leaned in and kissed her neck. "Without me, she's nothing. She needs my paycheck way more than I need her."

"So you don't care if she watches?"

"Let her watch. She won't say a word. She likes her percentage too much."

I closed the app.

The screen went black. The silence in my office was deafening.

A single tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand. My skin felt burning hot, then freezing cold.

*Without me, she's nothing.*

I stood up. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. Ryan Cooper was a rookie sensation because I built him. I hid his temper tantrums. I smoothed over his missed curfews. I secured the endorsements that made him a household name before he even swung a bat in the majors.

And Chloe. I had paid her rent for six months when she first moved to the city. I had fed her. I had given her the very connections she was currently using to destroy me.

I turned back to my desk. I picked up the phone again.

I opened my contacts and scrolled past the agents, the PR reps, the brand managers. I stopped at a name I hadn't called in three years.

Damon Thorne.

I hit dial.

The line rang once. Twice.

"Scarlett."

A low voice answered. No surprise. No greeting. Just my name, spoken like a threat and a promise all at once.

"Damon." My voice didn't shake. "I need a favor."

"You haven't called in three years, Scarlett. A favor is a small word for a long silence."

"Are you going to hang up?"

"I'm listening."

I pressed the phone harder against my ear. "I want to make someone wish they were dead."

Silence stretched over the line. It wasn't an empty silence. It was heavy. Calculating.

"Someone?" Damon asked.

"Two people, actually."

"Give me names."

"Ryan Cooper. And Chloe Jenkins."

"The baseball player and the model." I heard the faint clink of ice against glass on his end. "I saw the news alerts. They're currently trending."

"You saw the stream."

"I see everything, Scarlett. You know that."

"Can you help me?" I asked.

"Destroying a rising star is complicated."

"I don't care how complicated it is." I paced the length of my office. "I want him ruined. I want her erased. I want them to lose everything they think they just won."

A soft, dark chuckle vibrated through the speaker.

"I built him, Damon," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I hid his messes. I got him the endorsements. He thinks I'm nothing without him."

"And now you want to tear him down."

"Piece by piece."

"I can do that," Damon said. "But my help comes with a price. You remember my terms."

"I remember."

"Are you willing to pay it?"

I looked down at the black screen of my phone. I pictured Ryan's arrogant smirk. I pictured Chloe's fake innocent pout.

"Name your time and place, Damon."

"My penthouse. Tonight at nine. Don't be late."

The line clicked dead.

I tossed the phone onto the desk. The tears were gone. The shock had evaporated, leaving only a cold, hard resolve in its wake.

Ryan thought I was nothing without him. He was about to find out exactly who I was when I stopped protecting him.

Silence stretched across the line. Three seconds. Four. The static hummed against my ear, thick and heavy.

"Aren't you Ryan Cooper's exclusive agent?" Damon Blackwell's voice finally cut through the quiet. Ice coated every syllable.

I didn't answer immediately. I kept the phone pressed hard against my cheek.

"Since you know him so well," Damon continued, the pitch of his voice dropping, "you should remember exactly how you set up my player to get your golden boy into the league."

My stomach tightened. Three years ago, I had leaked a sealed medical report. I fed it to the press and watched Damon's first-round draft pick get torn apart on national television. It disqualified his top prospect and cleared the path for Ryan to take the spot. I had played dirty. I had ruined a rookie's career to protect my investment.

Instead of denying it, a harsh, hollow laugh escaped my throat. I hadn't expected to find this funny, but the absolute irony burned.

"I was blind," I said. "I thought I was securing a legacy."

"You destroyed a kid's life. You cost my club a championship."

"I did my job." I gripped the edge of my glass desk. "And now I'm offering to do a new job. For you."

"I don't hire snakes, Scarlett."

"Fifty million dollars."

He paused. The faint sound of a lighter flicking echoed through the speaker. "That's not enough."

"It's a starting bid."

"It's an insult." Damon's tone flattened, stripping away any pretense of politeness. "You think you can buy forgiveness for what you did to my organization?"

"I think I can buy a partnership."

"You're out of your league."

I leaned forward, bracing my weight on my free hand. "You might not know who my father is."

"Enlighten me."

"Monroe Media." I let the name hang in the air. "The largest sports entertainment media group in the country. Heard of it?"

A low hum vibrated through the speaker. "Of course."

"Then you should know my last name."

"Scarlett Monroe." He tested the syllables, drawing them out. "The prodigal daughter."

"I walked away from the family business for him." My voice hardened into a sharp blade. "I broke ties with my father. I gave up my inheritance to build Ryan's career from the ground up."

"A tragic romance."

"A business error." I swallowed the bitter taste pooling in my mouth. "Ryan just made me the biggest joke in the sports world. He broadcast his betrayal to half a million viewers."

"I saw the numbers."

"If I go crawling back to my father now, I have to admit I threw away the Monroe legacy for a loser."

"And your pride won't allow that."

"It's unacceptable." I slammed my palm flat against the desktop. The sudden sting grounded me. "I won't be the punchline."

"Are you crying, Scarlett?" Damon asked softly. The question felt like a trap.

"I don't cry over bad investments."

"Good. Because tears won't fix a PR disaster of this magnitude."

"Your father cut you off," Damon challenged, shifting the subject back to my leverage. "I heard the shouting from three blocks away when he threw you out of his office. Why would he back you now?"

"Because Arthur Monroe respects one thing. Power." I pushed away from the desk, my shoes sinking silently into the plush carpet. "If I come back defeated, he'll lock me out forever. But if I come back after orchestrating the downfall of the league's brightest star, and present him with a controlling stake in the Blackwell Baseball Club? He'll hand me the keys to the empire."

"You're arrogant."

"I'm accurate."

"You want my team."

"I want a platform to crush Ryan. You want capital." I rattled off the facts I had memorized over the past hour. "Your club is bleeding money. The stadium needs renovations. You have three veteran players eating up your payroll, and your sponsors are pulling out. The league is threatening to force a sale. Fifty million cash solves your immediate problems."

"And in return?"

"I buy into the club. Equal partnership."

"Keep dreaming."

"Plus my entire roster of players," I countered, raising the stakes. "Every advertising contact I possess. And the future investment channels of the Monroe family. I will flood your organization with money and talent."

"You're handing over everything," Damon murmured.

"I'm weaponizing it."

"Ryan is your star client. Destroying him tanks your own agency's value."

"I don't care about the agency anymore. I care about revenge."

"How do I know you won't take him back?" Damon asked, his voice suddenly sharp. "He shows up at your door, flashes that million-dollar smile, apologizes, and suddenly I'm the one holding the bag."

"He humiliated me in front of the world."

"People forgive worse."

"I don't."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Give me something right now. Something that hurts him."

I didn't hesitate. I walked over to my laptop and woke the screen. "His contract with Apex Energy. There's a morality clause. If he's caught in a public scandal, they can void the deal. But it's tighter than that. The CEO of Apex is deeply religious. If he finds out Ryan was sleeping with the brand's lead model in a hotel room paid for by the company..."

"You want me to leak the hotel receipts to the CEO."

"I'm already emailing them to you." I tapped my keyboard. The confirmation chime echoed in my quiet office. "Check your inbox."

"You're burning your own commission."

"I told you. I want him ruined."

Another heavy silence fell between us. I tracked the seconds on the digital clock on my wall. The red numbers glared back at me. I needed this alliance. Without Damon's infrastructure, I was just an angry ex-girlfriend screaming into the void. With him, I was a threat.

Then, a low sound rumbled through the phone. He was laughing. Not a mocking sneer, but genuine amusement.

"You've finally learned how to be a real businessman," Damon said.

The tension in my shoulders unspooled a fraction. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation."

"So, are you helping me or not?" I asked. I stopped pacing and stood perfectly still.

"Of course." The amusement vanished from his voice, replaced by a ruthless edge. "I always enjoy making my enemies miserable."

"Good. We have a deal."

"Not yet." Damon's tone shifted, turning darker, heavier. "You offered fifty million and your family's resources. But I don't sign blind contracts. I want to see the woman who just sold her soul to destroy her lover."

"I'm not hiding."

"Then come to my office. Right now."

"It's past midnight, Damon."

"Deals with the devil are rarely struck in the daylight, Scarlett. My penthouse. Thirty minutes. Or I delete the email and let Ryan Cooper keep his throne."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen of my phone. My reflection stared back, pale and exhausted, but my eyes burned with a strange, fierce heat.

I grabbed my coat. Damon Blackwell wanted to see exactly who he was getting into bed with. I was going to show him.

My phone vibrated violently against my palm, buzzing three times in rapid succession. The screen lit up the dim interior of my car.

*Where are you?*

*If you don't show up right now, I won't love you anymore.*

*Stop being unreasonable, Scarlett.*

I stared at the brightly lit screen. A dry, hollow sound escaped my throat. He actually thought threatening to withhold his affection was a weapon. Yesterday, that second text would have sent me into a blind panic. I would have dropped everything, apologized for a mistake I didn't make, and rushed to his side.

Today, it just made my stomach turn.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping out a response with sharp, forceful jabs.

*Go to the stadium first. I have an important matter. I'll be there before the game ends.*

I hit send. I didn't wait for his reply. I shoved the phone into my jacket pocket and pushed open my car door.

The smell of fresh paint and athletic tape hit me the second I pushed open the door to the VIP locker room.

Chloe sat perched on the center leather sofa. She had her legs crossed, wearing Ryan’s away jersey. It swallowed her small frame, dipping low over her shoulder.

"You really are a clingy tail," Chloe said.

A sharp smirk stretched across her glossy lips.

I shut the heavy door behind me. The metal latch clicked shut, sealing us in.

"Saw the stream and still won't let go?" she asked.

"Was our friendship fake?" I stepped further into the room, keeping my distance.

Chloe threw her head back and laughed. The sound grated against the quiet room, loud and entirely unapologetic.

"I only approached you for Ryan," she said. She held up her hand, examining her freshly painted manicured nails. "I didn't expect you to be so stupid."

My jaw tightened. "I gave you everything. I paid your rent."

"You gave me access." She dropped her hand and met my gaze, her eyes cold and calculating. "You told me all his habits. His favorite foods. His schedule. You brought me to his private parties. You practically handed him to me wrapped in a bow."

"I trusted you," I shot back. "I thought you were my sister."

"Sister?" Chloe scoffed. "We're in the real world, Scarlett. Sisters don't pay each other's rent out of pity. You just wanted a pet project. Someone to look down on."

"That's a lie."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Chloe stood up. She smoothed the jersey over her hips, making sure I saw exactly whose name was printed on the back. "With his talent, I'll soon be the wife of the world's brightest baseball star."

"And what does that make me?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"A failed agent." She tilted her head, feigning pity. "A stepping stone. You should be thanking me for taking him off your hands before he realized how boring you are."

The bathroom door swung open before I could reply.

Steam billowed out into the locker room, followed by Ryan. He had a white towel slung over his shoulder, his baseball pants already on.

He didn't flinch when he saw me. He didn't look guilty. He walked straight to Chloe and wrapped a heavy arm around her waist.

"Why are you harassing her?" Ryan asked. His dark gaze pinned me to the spot.

"I'm harassing her?" My voice pitched up, sharp and jagged.

"Apologize to Chloe."

I blinked. The sheer audacity of the demand paralyzed me for a second. "Excuse me?"

"You're stressing her out before my game." Ryan tightened his grip on Chloe, pulling her flush against his side. "Say you're sorry, Scarlett."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My hands shook, but I forced them steady. I pulled up the screen recording of the live stream and shoved the device toward his face.

"Is this also a PR stunt?" I demanded. "Is this how you build your brand?"

Ryan barely glanced at the glowing screen. He swatted my hand away, knocking the phone to the carpeted floor.

"Just marketing, Scarlett." His tone was flat, completely devoid of remorse.

"Marketing?" I echoed.

"For the fans. For my career." He rolled his eyes, sighing like I was a child throwing a tantrum. "What's the big deal?"

"You slept with my best friend on camera! You humiliated me in front of half a million people!"

"I gave them a show." Ryan stepped closer, towering over me. His shadow fell across my face, blocking out the overhead lights. "I'm the face of this franchise. I can do whatever I want. The more I earn, the more you get paid. Isn't that what you want to see? Your percentage just went up because of that stream."

"You think this is about money?" My voice shook with pure rage.

"It's always about money with you," he sneered.

The dam inside me broke. A ragged, furious scream tore from my throat.

"You arrogant, selfish bastard!" I shoved his chest hard with both hands. "I made you! You were a minor league nobody before I fixed your messes! I hid your scandals! I bought your fame!"

He stumbled back half a step, shocked by the physical contact. Then, his eyes flared with sudden, violent anger.

"Shut up!" Ryan roared.

His hand swung out.

The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed like a gunshot in the confined room.

My head snapped to the side. A blinding sting radiated across my skin. The force of the blow rattled my teeth, followed immediately by the warm, metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth.

I stumbled, my shoulder catching the edge of the metal lockers to keep from falling.

Chloe gasped, taking a quick step backward, her hands flying to her mouth.

Silence crashed down on the room. The only sound was the harsh rasp of Ryan's breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

I slowly turned my head back to face him. My cheek burned like fire. I didn't reach up to touch it. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower. I just stared at him, letting him see the exact moment whatever love I had left for him turned to ash.

Ryan flexed his fingers. He stared at his own hand for a split second before dropping it to his side. He didn't look sorry. He looked annoyed, adjusting his grip on the towel draped over his shoulder.

"Arrange the post-game interview," he ordered. His voice was cold, commanding, stripped of any affection. "Make sure the press only asks about my stats. No personal questions. Fix your face before you come out."

I didn't say a word. I didn't nod. I just kept staring.

"Let's go, baby," Ryan said, turning his back on me.

He grabbed his equipment bag from the bench and walked out the door. Chloe hurried after him. She cast one last triumphant glance over her shoulder before the heavy door slammed shut, leaving me completely alone.

I stood perfectly still in the empty locker room.

The hum of the stadium lights buzzed above me, a low, constant vibration. My cheek throbbed with every beat of my heart. I finally raised a trembling hand and wiped a drop of blood from the corner of my lip.

My phone, still lying on the floor, began to ring.

I knelt down and picked it up. The screen was cracked down the middle, but the caller ID flashed clearly.

Damon Blackwell.

I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello," I whispered. My voice sounded entirely foreign, hollowed out and sharp.

"Everything is ready," Damon's low, smooth voice rumbled through the speaker, cutting through the ringing in my ears.

I closed my eyes. The metallic taste in my mouth grounded me.

"Are they in place?" I asked.

"I believe the media is very eager to know the details of that live stream," Damon replied. "And the financial records you provided. The reporters are swarming the dugout as we speak."

"Good."

"Did he hurt you, Scarlett?"

The question caught me off guard. Damon's voice wasn't gentle, but it held a dangerous edge that hadn't been there before. It wasn't a question of pity. It was a question of assessment.

I opened my eyes, staring at the empty space where Ryan had just struck me. I pressed my tongue against the cut inside my lip.

"He made a mistake," I said softly.

"A fatal one," Damon agreed, the dark amusement returning to his tone. "Let's make him pay for it. Turn on the stadium television in exactly five minutes. You won't want to miss the pre-game show. His nightmare is about to begin."