Chapter 19

Vanessa slammed her phone onto the glass coffee table in her Miami condo, the sharp clack cutting through the silence. The screen buzzed nonstop—X posts, blog links, angry texts piling up. She cursed under her breath and paced the hardwood floor, her silk robe swishing around her legs. Photos of her with old rich men—yachts docked in glitzy harbors, casinos with neon lights, cash stuffed in her hand—were plastered everywhere online. Her own texts, those careless brags about “milking geezers dry” and Derek being “loaded now,” had lit the fuse. She snatched the phone off the table, scrolled X with a scowl, and saw the comments tearing her apart: “Scam artist!” “Trash!” “Gold-digging snake!” She tossed it onto the couch, watching it sink into the cushions. “Damn it,” she muttered, her voice tight. She stormed to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay. The cork popped loud as she poured a glass, her hands shaky enough to splash wine on the marble counter. She didn’t bother wiping it up—just took a long sip, the cold liquid burning her throat. Elena had done this. That quiet, stubborn woman had dug up her past, turned it into a weapon, and fired it straight at her. Vanessa had pegged her as weak, easy to shove aside. Now she was paying for that mistake.