005- Collision

The chandeliers glimmered like constellations above the glittering crowd gathered inside the Manhattan Grand Ballroom.

Crystal glasses clinked, cameras flashed, and a jazz quartet played in the background as New York’s elite mingled under the golden arches of the city’s most prestigious venue.

At the heart of it all stood Billy Jackson, his dark tux tailored to perfection, his demeanor unreadable as he greeted corporate partners and media moguls.

Jackson Enterprises was hosting the annual New York Design & Development Gala, a night meant to showcase innovation and prestige.

He should have been proud. Yet, he felt oddly unsettled, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Until the crowd at the entrance shifted.

The murmurs began like a wave.

And then she walked in.

Anne Hathaway.

Or at least, the version of her that had risen from ashes.

She wore a crimson velvet gown, the neckline daring, her back bare. Her long black hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders.

Beside her walked Julie, dressed just as stunning. Photographers turned their lenses, flashes igniting as if a star had just landed.

Billy’s heart stopped.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. It was like seeing a ghost in full color.

Anne didn’t look at him.

She walked right past, her heels echoing like war drums on the marble floor. Her eyes briefly caught his, and then dismissed him like he was nothing more than an unremarkable piece of furniture.

Yvette, standing across the hall with a flute of champagne, nearly dropped it.

“Is that…?” she whispered.

Billy said nothing.

But the storm in his eyes said everything.

---

The rooftop was quiet, the city lights below like stars trying to compete with the fire burning in Billy’s chest.

He’s been drawn here like a moth to a flame. He couldn’t resist, from the moment he saw her walking out the door.

He found her standing alone, her red gown rippling in the breeze as she looked out over the skyline. The same skyline they once dreamed of building a life beneath.

“Anne,” he said.

She didn’t flinch. “You found me.”

“I-I had to,” he stuttered.

“Congratulations,” she replied, voice smooth. “At least, you’re consistent at pursuing what you’ve already thrown away.”

Billy took a breath. “I… I didn’t know how to react when I saw you tonight. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. You looked so beautiful.”

She turned, finally facing him. Her eyes were sharper, colder.

“I made mistakes,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I was blind. I let them poison my mind—Luis, Yvette—”

“You didn’t just make mistakes,” she cut in, stepping closer. “You destroyed me.”

He stiffened.

“You chose them,” she said. “You listened to lies. You left me when I needed you most. You let them bury me while you stood on the sidelines watching.”

“I thought you were cheating on me—”

“And did I get a chance to explain?” Her tone was low but deadly. “Or did you already condemn me before hearing the truth?”

Silence.

He looked down.

“I lost everything because of you, Billy,” she whispered. “Everything.”

He reached out, but she stepped back.

“Don’t.”

She walked away, leaving him standing alone on the rooftop, shattered.

---

The sound of the doorbell echoed through Billy’s penthouse.

Still groggy from a sleepless night, he opened the door to find a plain black box on his doorstep.

No return label.

He brought it inside and opened it.

Photographs.

Old ones.

Him and Yvette smiling. Laughing. Close.

He frowned. These weren’t just candid shots—they were clearly taken without his knowledge, from behind windows, at parking lots, in the office.

A strange chill moved through him.

He glanced at the bottom of the box.

A single note.

“Truth is always watching.”

He clenched his jaw and threw the box on the table. He wasn’t sure if this was blackmail or a warning, but something told him this wasn’t the end of it.

Just then, his sister Melanie waltzed into the living room, dressed in a beige pantsuit and radiant with excitement.

“I’ve got some fun news,” she said, flopping onto the couch.

Billy looked at her, distracted. “What?”

“I’ve got a modeling appointment today. Big one. Apparently, a European brand wants me for their New York collection.”

Billy arched a brow. “Really? Which brand?”

Melanie shrugged. “Didn’t catch the name. But their style is stunning. Very high-end.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. Something about it didn’t sit right.

But she was already too giddy to notice.

---

Anne sat behind her glass desk, legs crossed, every inch the empress of the empire she had built.

Her secretary, Clarisse, entered with a list in hand. “The new models have arrived, ma’am. We’ve already vetted their contracts. Everything’s signed and approved. One last girl is waiting outside for the final orientation.”

Anne smiled.

“Call her in last.”

Clarisse paused. “The girl… she’s Melanie Jackson.”

Anne’s smile widened, slow and dangerous. “I know.”

A few minutes later, the door opened.

Melanie entered the room confidently, holding her portfolio.

“Good afternoon. I’m Melanie Jack—”

Her voice cut off as her eyes met Anne’s.

She froze.

Shock hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Anne leaned back in her chair, every movement deliberate, every breath measured.

“Well,” Anne said, voice rich and syrupy. “You must be the last of our models.”

Melanie blinked. “I… I didn’t know—”

“That I was the CEO?” Anne finished for her, rising slowly. “No, you didn’t. That was intentional.”

Melanie cleared her throat, clearly rattled. “You look… different.”

“Time has a way of polishing diamonds,” Anne replied.

There was a long, tense pause.

“I assume you read the contract before signing it?” Anne asked, walking slowly around her desk.

“I… yes. I did.”

“Good. Because it’s legally binding. And there’s a full photoshoot schedule already in place. You’ll be the face of the winter campaign.”

Melanie swallowed. “Why me?”

Anne stopped in front of her.

“Because you begged,” she said sweetly. “And because I believe in giving people opportunities… especially those who helped take them away from others.”

Melanie paled. “I didn’t—”

Anne raised a hand.

“We don’t need to pretend,” she said coldly. “You cheered when your brother cast me out. You called me names. You smiled while your family tore mine apart.”

Melanie's eyes dropped.

“But now… you’ll wear my brand,” Anne whispered, stepping close. “You’ll model my designs. And when the world praises you, remember who’s pulling the strings.”

Melanie stood frozen, unsure whether to walk out or apologize.

Anne turned away and waved a hand.

“Clarisse will handle the next steps. That’ll be all, Melanie.”

The door clicked shut behind her a moment later.

Anne stood in silence for a while, then walked to the tall window, watching the streets below.

The war had begun.

And Anne Hathaway was no longer the girl who begged for love.

She was the woman the world would kneel for.