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56. Someone Has To Die
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2026-01-18 19:08:17
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Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 56. Someone Has To Die
MARISSAThe morning sun glinted off the glass facade of Vance Fashion House, a building that had once been my sanctuary and was now a monument to a collapsing dynasty. I stepped through the revolving doors, my heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic tempo against the polished marble floor.The lobby, usually a hive of hurried assistants and arrogant executives, went deathly still. Sunglasses on, my expression unreadable, I walked through the center of the hall. The whispers followed me like a wake—shocks of "Is that her?" and "How does she have the nerve?"—but I ignored them. I wasn't here to play the villain or the victim. I was here to offer a ceasefire for the sake of the boy drawing blue castles at home.I was halfway to the elevators when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the hum."You have a lot of nerve showing your face here."I stopped and turned slowly. Tina was standing by the reception desk, her face a mask of pale fury. She looked frayed, her expensive silk dress slightly wrin
Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 55. Time To End This
MARISSAThe living room of the estate was bathed in a soft, buttery afternoon light, the kind of stillness that felt almost sacred. Sebastian was splayed out on the plush rug, his tongue poking out in concentration as he dragged a bright blue crayon across a sheet of paper. The only sound was the rhythmic scratching of the wax and the occasional hum of a melody he’d picked up from Sister Serafina."Look, Mommy! It's the big house," he chirped, lifting a drawing that was more blue than anything else."It’s beautiful, Sebastian," I said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.I looked back down at the tablet in my lap, and the warmth vanished. The digital world was screaming.VANCE FASHION HOUSE IN FREEFALL: STOCKS HIT RECORD LOW.SILVER SILK CANCELLED? RETAILERS WITHDRAW PARTNERSHIPS.TRISTAN VANCE: FROM HEIR TO OUTCAST.The headlines were a relentless barrage. The public, fueled by my confession at the press conference, had turned into a mob. Tristan had fired the first shot
Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 54. To Hell With Tristan Forever
MARISSAThe Mother Superior’s voice seemed to echo from miles away, though she was only inches from me. I felt the walls of the small office closing in, the air thick with the ghosts of ten years of stolen time."I need to breathe," I whispered, my hand gripping the edge of the mahogany desk so hard the wood bit into my palm. "Please... Mother, I need a moment outside."She nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with a soft, knowing pity. "Of course, Marissa. Is it okay if I call you that? The courtyard is open. Take all the time you need. The truth is a heavy burden to carry all at once."I didn't wait for another word. I turned and stumbled out of the room, my heels clicking hollowly against the stone floor until I reached the heavy oak doors leading to the courtyard. Dante followed me, his presence a silent, tethering weight.The night air was cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of the office. The courtyard was a square of relative peace, overgrown with ivy and cen
Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 53. A Dirty Truth
MARISSAThe Mother Superior leaned forward, the shadows of the office deepening in the creases of her face. "The woman who brought him here... she wasn't just a nurse. She was the daughter of a family with enough money to buy silence, but not enough to buy peace."She took a slow breath, her gaze heavy on mine. "She confessed the truth years later, on her deathbed. She had been desperate for a child. She went to the same high-end fertility clinic you used—the one owned by her family. When she finally became pregnant, she was overjoyed. But then, she miscarried. Then an emergency protocol was initiated to rectify that.” “What protocol is that?," I whispered, the word feeling like a jagged stone in my throat, even though I already seemed to have an idea of what it was. "It wasn’t just random activity, Miss Walters. They separated two souls from each other" the Mother Superior corrected.“ The clinic plotted to implant an embryo from another woman’s cycle into her. They told you the IV
Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 52. Meet Your Son, Marissa
MARISSA“No, Dante,” I whispered, my voice thick with the weight of a decade’s worth of secrets. “There was never another man. Tristan was the only one. He was the only man I ever loved, and the only one I ever let touch me.”The car swerved slightly as Dante’s grip tightened on the wheel, but he didn't look away from the road. The silence between us was heavy, a suffocating blanket of “what ifs.”“Then explain it to me,” he said, his voice a low, focused hum. “Because the math doesn't add up.”I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the blur of the city. “Before my miscarriage everyone knows about—we tried IVF. It was a desperate, ugly time. It wasn’t about love or building a family. It was leverage.”I closed my eyes, the memory of the sterile clinics and the hormone shots making my skin crawl. “I realized that I could never have Tristan’s love. I knew he only valued me for the sketches I produced and the millions they brought in. But then, I needed to cling
Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon 51. I Missed Something
MARISSAThe silence in the elevator was sudden and suffocating, the only sound being the distant, muffled roar of the press core I had just set on fire. My phone lay on the floor, the screen still glowing with the face of a boy who shouldn't exist."Marissa?" Dante’s hand was on my arm, his grip grounding but urgent. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What was on that phone?"I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt like they had been filled with lead. I didn't answer him; I simply pointed at the device.Dante reached down, his movements fluid and cautious. He picked up the phone, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the image and the haunting question beneath it. He looked from the screen to me, then back to the screen."This is impossible," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, analytical tone. “Is this some kind of prank?”"I don’t know, Dante," I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. "Then who is this?" Dante demanded, his thumb hovering over the image. "And wh
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