Chapter 2: The Collapse

( Jane’s POV)

Morning came too quickly.

I hadn’t slept at all and couldn't even close my eyes for a moment. How could I, when my phone buzzed incessantly, vibrating as if desperate to leap off the nightstand and escape the chaos surrounding me?

By 7 a.m., the photo had gone viral.

My name was plastered everywhere.

Jane Mark.

Mistress.

Gold digger.

Homewrecker.

I wasn’t any of those things.

But that didn’t matter to the internet.

I threw on the first clothes I could find wrinkled jeans and a loose shirt and rushed to work. My hands shook uncontrollably, my stomach knotted with anxiety. I repeated to myself:

It’ll be okay. This will blow over. It wasn’t real. You only delivered a package. People will understand.

But they didn’t understand.

As soon as I stepped through the office door, a heavy silence enveloped the room.

Everyone was staring.

Not discreet glances.

Not casual looks.

FULL ON STARES.

Phones dropped to laps quickly,but not quickly enough.

Whispers filled the air.

Someone giggled.

Another voice murmured, “That’s her.”

My heart lodged in my throat.

“Jane,” my supervisor Clara called from her desk.

Her tone was unnervingly calm.

Too controlled.

Not good.

She escorted me to a small meeting room.

Shut the door.

Didn’t take a seat.

Didn’t blink.

“Jane… we have to let you go.”

“What?” My voice trembled. “Because of a lie? A photo that isn’t even….”

“We can’t jeopardize the company’s reputation,” she interrupted softly. “Clients are calling. Reporters were outside earlier. It’s… too much.”

“But Clara, I didn’t….”

“I know you didn’t. But that doesn’t change anything.”

It didn’t change anything.

Just like that, my life, the fragile pieces I was barely managing to hold together slipped away.

I exited the office clutching a cardboard box and a feeling of emptiness in my chest.

And walked straight into hell.

Paparazzi.

At least seven of them.

Flashing cameras.

Shouting my name.

Thrusting microphones at me.

“Are you dating William Martins?”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Did you know he has a girlfriend?”

“Jane, look here! Look up! Smile!”

Smile?

I pushed my way through the throng, nearly stumbling. My hands shook so badly, I almost dropped my box. Someone stepped on my heel; someone else grabbed my arm.

I wrenched free and ran.

I literally ran.

No dignity left.

Only panic.

When I reached my apartment building, a flicker of relief washed over me.

Safe.

Or so I thought.

My landlord stood at the entrance, arms crossed, with a disapproving expression.

“Oh god,” I muttered to myself.

“Miss Jane,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “You need to leave.”

“What? Leave? Why?!”

“Reporters are gathering outside. Neighbors have complained. This is a quiet building, and your situation is bringing… unwanted attention.”

“I didn’t choose this!” I snapped, my voice cracking. “Please, just…please, I need time.”

He exhaled sharply. “You have two hours to pack your things.”

Two hours.

I stared at him as my world shattered for the third time that morning.

“No job. No home. No privacy,” I whispered. “All because of a stupid photo with a man I barely even know.”

Barely even know.

But he knew.

Oh, he understood perfectly what that image could do to someone like me.

William Martins.

Billionaire.

Untouchable.

As cold as those infuriating blue eyes of his.

He was the cause of this.

He passed me in that lobby as if I were invisible.

He let the photo circulate.

He didn’t utter a word.

Didn’t defend me.

Didn’t correct a thing.

He let me suffer alone.

Fine. 

If he wouldn’t fix it…

…I would make him.

I stormed out of the building, my belongings crammed into two bags that I tossed over my shoulder. As soon as I spotted a taxi, I flagged it down and directed the driver to my destination.

Martins Corporation Headquarters.

My anger simmered throughout the entire ride.

When the cab finally pulled up to the sleek glass tower, fear was no longer a factor.

I was seething.

In less than a day, he had shattered my world.

And I was determined to make him feel every ounce of my wrath.

Whether it meant charging into his office, defying security protocols, or creating a scene.

Even if it involved yelling.

I pushed through the front doors with a fierce resolve fueling my steps:

He started this.

Now he’s going to face the consequences.