All Chapters of He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

After everything that happened, I knew I had to move quickly. But I also understood that I couldn’t afford chaos. My exit needed to be quiet. I had to let things unfold on their own. This wasn’t about revenge, at least not immediately. This was about clarity, distance, and regaining control. I had nowhere else to go, so I checked into a hotel. It was quiet, mid-range, and entirely unremarkable. That was the point. I didn’t want luxury. I didn’t want anything familiar. I wanted to disappear into stillness, to fade into a room that smelled like someone else’s story. The walls were pale beige. The furniture was stiff and square. The window overlooked a street whose name I didn’t recognize. I sat beside that window, my knees drawn up, my mind unraveling without tears. I hadn’t cried. Not during the drive, not when I closed the door behind me, not even when I sat alone in that room and heard my own breath for the first time in hours. I felt strangely proud of that. I hadn’t let them break

I woke before sunrise, as if my body remembered what it meant to wake with purpose. The city beyond the window remained mostly asleep, but on the horizon, a ribbon of pink began to stretch across the sky. It was subtle, the kind of quiet promise that tomorrow always carried, if you knew how to listen for it. I dressed quickly. Black trousers that moved like intention. A white blouse without logos or distractions. Flats that made no noise against the hardwood floor. The kind of clothing that whispered efficiency rather than screamed for attention. In the kitchen, Julian made breakfast with measured hands. He did not speak unless necessary, and I counted that silence as a form of understanding. Trust had not come easy in my life, but there was something in his stillness that gave the room an edge of safety. While I ate, I opened my laptop. Mara’s updates waited like sentries. She was already managing the early fires. One boutique client had flagged a morning interview where Alessia im

The city felt different in the morning light. I stepped onto the studio rooftop terrace and looked across the skyline, breathing deeply into the calm air. It was quieter than the chaos that had driven me away, and that was exactly how I wanted it. I could feel the contrast settle in my chest. A realization that the world still shattered below, but here, in this hidden corner of San Francisco, I was building something steady. I opened my laptop at the small outdoor workstation I had created earlier in the week. The browser was already logged into my secure dashboard. Notifications had built up a stream of light alerts. The boutique feature had already reached three thousand views, a handful of saves, and one strong comment from a respected magazine editor. They wrote: “Elegant with silent strength. Fresh, refined, worthy of attention.” I closed the laptop and let the moment settle over me. What had started as whispers the night before had rippled into real praise this morning. The de

I awoke before dawn, sunlight yet to touch the studio windows. My eyes opened to the muted glow of early morning, and for a moment I paused, savoring the silence before the world stirred. I rose from the bed, my body moving almost on instinct, guided by months of routine, purpose, and resolve. The city outside remained still and peaceful. It was a world that believed my absence was voluntary, a reprieve, a quiet intermission between seasons. But I knew better. I understood the storm gathering beyond these walls and the way it would break against the structure I had carefully erected from silence and strategy. In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of water, the cool liquid grounding me as I thought about the day ahead. I held the tall mug in my hand for a moment, feeling its weight and the steady pulse of heat against smooth ceramic. In contrast, my mind ran like a well-oiled machine, calibrating each move before the first light of dawn. I considered the leak I had sent the night b

I woke to a soft knock just after dawn. Habit made me move slowly, checking the door in silence. It was Marc, our trusted courier. His early arrival was off-script, and the unease that curled through my chest was instant. My pulse throbbed hard in my throat as I pulled the door open. He held a sealed envelope. No expression. No greeting. I took it with steady hands, though nothing inside felt steady. When I opened the flap, I found only two printed lines: We’ve intercepted your shipments. For a moment, my breath halted. Then it crashed, the weight of those words slamming into me like a wave I hadn’t braced for. Our work—our carefully coordinated capsule launches—had been struck. The boutiques would never receive the pieces. The message was clear. They had shut down our operation before the public even knew it had started. We had prepared for smear tactics and misinformation. We had not prepared for a full-scale logistical assault. Marc remained in the doorway, uncertain. I looke