Deja nearly jumped out of her skin, scrambling backward on the bed. Her guardian angel stood at the foot of the bed, examining its perfectly manicured nails with a look of mild disappointment.
"You're back?" Deja gasped. "It's already been a month?"
"Yes, girl, I'm here to talk about your progress," the angel confirmed, conjuring a glowing tablet from thin air. It scrolled through some celestial spreadsheet with a deepening frown. "And let me guess—you already know you're failing."
Deja groaned, flopping back on the pillows. "That bad, huh?"
"Let's check the receipts, shall we?" The angel tapped the screen, and glowing percentages appeared in the air:
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Deja remembered what the angel had said and brought out her phone: Three missed calls from Ren. Seven text messages.Deja blinked, then whispered to no one: “Oh no. Oh hell no. I do not have the bandwidth to emotionally process this man right now.”Ren: We need to talk about us.Ren: I know you’re avoiding me.Ren: Deja, please. This is important.Ren: I’ve called off the engagement.Deja sat bolt upright, staring at the last message in shock. I know this man did not just cancel our engagement via text message.Ren: Not because I don’t want to marry you.Ren: But because I want you to choose me, not feel forced into this.Deja stared at the phone like it owed her money. “You’re telling me I spent all this time being a chaotic menace, threatening to burn this fake rich lady life to the ground, and now you—you—wanna hit me with emotional growth and healthy relationship dynamics?! The disrespect!”She glanced back at the diary lying open beside her, then at her phone with Ren’s messages
Deja stumbled through the front door of the Moreau mansion, her body running purely on leftover adrenaline from the board meeting showdown. The house was mercifully empty—her family had gone to celebrate their victory with champagne brunch, but Deja had begged off, claiming exhaustion. In reality, her mind was churning with too many thoughts to process, most of them revolving around a certain frustrating fiancé.“I need a nap, a drink, or to be launched into the sun,” she muttered, kicking off her heels with the grace of a hungover velociraptor. One shoe slammed into a wall and the other pinged off a marble column.A tiny, stupidly expensive vase teetered on its pedestal like it was considering ending it all. Deja paused and whispered, “Same, bestie,” as it miraculously settled back in place.Her bedroom—or rather, Original Deja’s bedroom—was a sanctuary of silk and luxury that she had gradually started to think of as her own. Deja face-planted onto the plush comforter, letting out a
They entered to find the room already half-full. Board members murmured among themselves, falling silent as the Moreau family took their designated seats. Dominique was already present, looking smugly triumphant in a pristine white suit that Deja immediately fantasized about spilling coffee on.The Zuo family entered moments later—Mr. and Mrs. Zuo looking grave, Ming professionally neutral, and Lily shooting Deja a subtle thumbs-up. Nai Nai trailed behind, wearing an expression that suggested she was attending an entertaining show rather than a serious business meeting.Ren was the last to arrive, striding in with a stack of folders and his tablet. He nodded politely to everyone but avoided making eye contact with Deja.Stick to the plan, she reminded herself, even as she imagined hurling a chair.The board chairman, Mr. Yao, called the meeting to order. “We are gathered today to address serious concerns regarding the Sandersen project, which has reportedly experienced catastrophic fa
The next morning, the Moreau dining table looked less like a place for breakfast and more like the war room from Scandal. Laptop cords tangled like spaghetti, coffee cups balanced precariously next to evidence piles (a.k.a. pink Post-it notes with “GUILTY AF” scrawled in glitter pen), and Deja—still in her robe and one sock—was vibrating with the kind of manic energy usually reserved for startup founders and people who live in haunted houses.“FOUND SOMETHING!” Nico yelped, nearly knocking over his cold brew. “Damnn, Dominique is either incredibly devious or incredibly stupid.”“Why not both?” Trevor suggested, abandoning his spreadsheets to peer over Nico’s shoulder.“What?” Deja demanded, scrambling off the bed to join them. “What did you find?”Nico turned his laptop screen toward her. “The files on this flash drive? They’re all dated from three days after you supposedly signed off on them. And get this—they were all created on Dominique’s personal laptop. The device identifier is
Back at the Moreau mansion, Deja headed straight to her room, ignoring her parents’ concerned phone calls. She threw herself onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.She should be laughing. Her reputation was finally in ruins, her fake fiancé hadn’t swooped in to play hero, and the crowd had eaten up every ounce of chaos. It was exactly what she wanted.But somehow, it didn’t sit right.Not because she cared what they thought—please. But because Dominique looked good by comparison. That wasn’t the plan.Deja wasn’t devastated. She wasfurious.Not at the failure—at theoptics. If they wanted a villain, she’d give them one. But next time, she’d make sure no one mistook Dominique for the better woman.Not even for a second. All of a sudden, Nico and Trevor burst into her room without knocking, both talking over each other.“That was a setup—”“Dominique must have—”“We’ll clear your name—”“Guys,” Deja interrupted, sitting up. “It’s okay.”They stared at her in confusion.“It’s okay?” Trevor
As Deja arranged her truffles, she spotted Dominique entering the event space, looking impeccable in a white pantsuit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Their eyes met briefly before Dominique’s lips curved into a calculating smile. She made her way toward Deja with determined steps.“Well, well,” Dominique purred, eyeing the truffles. “Playing chef now? How... domestic of you.”“I contain multitudes,” she said sweetly. “Crisis management, sarcasm, felony-level frosting skills—you know, the usual.”“Ren personally invited me after our delightful conversations during the beach weekend.” Dominique said, her smile not reaching her eyes.Before Deja could respond, Dominique leaned in and pretended to straighten Deja’s collar. In the process, she slipped something into the small clutch purse hanging from Deja’s wrist.“For luck,” Dominique whispered with a wink before gliding away to greet other guests.A flash drive.Not a lipstick. Not a Tic Tac. A whole damn USB. W