Chapter 4: Playing with fire

I watched the video seventeen times before I could move.

Seventeen times watching Aiden hand Seraphina that black packet. Seventeen times seeing her smile. Seventeen times watching him walk away like they'd just sealed some invisible pact.

My apartment felt too small. The walls pressed in. Every breath hurts.

Mara sat across from me, silent. What could she say? We'd both seen it. The evidence was right there, glowing on my laptop screen like an accusation.

"I need to show him," I finally said.

"Elara..."

"He needs to see this. He needs to explain."

"What if he can't?" Mara's voice was gentle. "What if there's no explanation that makes this okay?"

I didn't answer. I was already grabbing my keys.

...

Aiden lived in a penthouse in Tribeca. Glass and steel and minimalist furniture that cost more than most people's cars. I'd spent countless nights there, curled up on his obscenely expensive couch, planning our future.

Now I stood in the lobby, shaking, while the doorman called up.

"Ms. Sinclair is here to see you, Mr. Cross."

A pause. Then the doorman nodded and gestured to the elevator. "He says to come up."

The ride to the thirty second floor felt like falling. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls. I looked wild. Hair tangled. Yesterday's makeup smudged. Still wearing the same clothes from the hospital.

I looked like someone whose life was unraveling.

The elevator dinged. Doors opened.

Aiden stood in his doorway, barefoot, shirt untucked, looking like he hadn't slept either. When our eyes met, something flickered across his face. Relief? Fear? Guilt?

"Elara. Thank God. Come in. We need to talk..."

I pushed past him into the apartment. Threw my laptop on the coffee table. Opened it. Hit play.

"Watch."

He moved closer, eyes narrowing at the screen. I watched his face as the video played. Watched him see himself walk into frame. Watched him see the moment he handed Seraphina that packet.

His face went white.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"Elara, this isn't... this isn't what it looks like..."

"Really?" My voice came out cold. Controlled. "Because it looks like you gave Seraphina something right before our engagement party. Right before she collapsed. Right before you carried her out and left me standing there like an idiot."

"It was aspirin." The words tumbled out fast. "She had a headache. She asked me for aspirin. That's all it was."

"Aspirin."

"Yes."

"In a black packet."

"It was... it was one of those single dose packets. From the venue's first aid kit. I grabbed it earlier when I cut my hand on..." He stopped. Realized how weak it sounded.

"Show me your hand."

"What?"

"Show me. If you cut it, show me."

He held out his hands. Palms smooth. No cuts. No bandages. Nothing.

"Aiden..."

"Okay, I didn't cut my hand. But it was still aspirin. I swear to you. She had a migraine. She was stressed about the party..."

"Stressed." I laughed. Sharp. Bitter. "She was stressed so you gave her something and two hours later she's on the floor convulsing and you're carrying her out like some hero in a romance novel."

"I didn't know she was going to collapse."

"Didn't you?"

He stepped back like I'd slapped him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying this looks bad, Aiden. This looks really, really bad."

"You think I drugged her? You think I deliberately..."

"I don't know what to think anymore." My voice cracked. "The man I thought I knew wouldn't have left me at our engagement party. He wouldn't be in secret videos handing things to the woman who's been trying to destroy us for years. He wouldn't..."

"Stop." His voice turned hard. "Just stop. You're spinning conspiracy theories. You're seeing things that aren't there."

"Then explain the video."

"It's probably doctored. AI generated. Deep fake. Whatever. Technology can fake anything now."

"This came from venue security."

"Then someone tampered with it. Someone wants to make me look bad. Make us both look bad." He grabbed his phone, scrolling frantically. "I'll call my tech team. They can analyze it. Prove it's fake."

"What if it's not fake?"

He froze.

"What if this is real, Aiden? What if you did give her something and you're lying to me right now?"

"I would never..."

"You already did." The words came out quiet. Final. "You left me. You chose her. And now there's video evidence that maybe... maybe this whole thing was planned."

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it. His face changed.

"What?"

"Seraphina posted something." He turned the screen toward me.

A photo. Seraphina in her hospital bed, pale and beautiful. Caption underneath.

Thank you for all the love and support during this terrifying time. I'm okay now, thanks to the quick actions of a dear friend. Sometimes panic attacks feel like dying. I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful for people who care enough to save you.

Below it, thousands of comments.

“So brave.”

“Praying for you.”

“Aiden is a hero.”

“That fiancée should be ashamed for making this about her.”

My hands clenched into fists.

"She's playing victim." I looked up at Aiden. "She's making herself the story. Making you the hero. Making me the villain."

"She's not... she's just sharing her experience..."

"Wake up." I grabbed his shoulders. Shook him. "Wake up, Aiden. She's destroying us. Deliberately. And you're letting her."

He pulled away. Ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what you want from me."

"The truth."

"I gave you the truth."

"No. You gave me excuses."

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Text message.

You don't have to be small.

I stared at it. Three simple words that felt like a door opening.

"Who is it?" Aiden asked.

I didn't answer. Another text came through.

Café Noir. Corner booth. One hour. Come alone if you want answers.

"Elara, who's texting you?"

I grabbed my laptop. Headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find the truth. Since you won't give it to me."

"Elara, wait. Please." He followed me to the elevator. "Don't go. Stay. We can figure this out together."

"Like we figured out the engagement party? Like we figured out the hospital?"

The elevator opened. I stepped inside.

"I love you." His voice broke. "I know I messed up but I love you. Doesn't that count for something?"

The doors started closing.

"It used to count for everything," I said. "Now I don't know what it counts for at all."

...

Café Noir was in SoHo. Dark wood. Dim lighting. The kind of place where people went to have conversations they didn't want overheard.

I found the corner booth. A man sat there, perfectly still, watching the door like he'd been expecting me.

Mid forties. Sharp suit. Silver at his temples. Eyes that missed nothing.

"Elara Sinclair." He didn't offer his hand. Just gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. We have a lot to discuss."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who can help you." He slid a folder across the table. "Open it."

I hesitated. Then I opened it.

Papers. Photographs. Bank statements. All marked with Seraphina's name.

"What is this?"

"Proof." He leaned forward. "Proof that Seraphina Vaughn has been planning this for six months. The fake collapse. The hospital drama. The social media campaign. All of it."

I flipped through the pages. Wire transfers. Emails. Text messages between Seraphina and someone named Dr. Chen about pharmaceutical compounds that could simulate medical emergencies.

My hands shook.

"How did you get this?"

"I have resources. Friends in useful places. And I have a vested interest in seeing Seraphina's plans fail."

"Why?"

"That's not important right now." He pulled out another document. "What's important is what we do with this information."

"We?"

"You want revenge. I want justice. Sometimes those are the same thing." His smile was cold. Sharp. "I can give you the platform to expose her. The legal team to protect you. The PR machine to control the narrative. All of it."

"What's the catch?"

"Smart girl." He sat back. "The catch is you do exactly what I say. When I say it. No questions. No hesitation."

"That sounds like selling my soul."

"No. That sounds like taking your power back." He pulled out his phone. Showed me a calendar. "There's a gala. Two weeks from now. Aiden's company is hosting. Seraphina will be there. Every camera in New York will be there."

"So?"

"So that's where we expose her. Publicly. Dramatically. Completely."

My heart hammered. "How?"

"Leave that to me. All you need to do is show up. Look beautiful. And when the moment comes... you speak your truth."

"And if Aiden..."

"Aiden made his choice." The man's eyes went flat. "Now you make yours."

I looked at the folder. At the evidence. At the proof that everything I'd suspected was true.

"What do I call you?"

"Marcus." He extended his hand finally. "Marcus Vale."

I shook it. His grip was firm. Final.

"So we have a deal?"

I thought about Aiden. About his touch. His voice when he said he loved me. About the life we'd planned.

Then I thought about him carrying Seraphina. About the video. About being left standing in front of two hundred people while my world collapsed.

"Yes," I heard myself say. "We have a deal."

Marcus smiled. Reached into his jacket. Pulled out a single black card.

Heavy. Embossed. Expensive.

He slid it across the table.

Aiden Crestfall Inc. Annual Charity Gala. December 27th.

I turned it over.

Three words were written on the back in silver ink.

Bring her down.

The words hit like blades.

And I could feel the heat of the beat of my heart close to my ears.