The thing about fire was that it didn't announce itself. It didn't send word ahead. Didn't knock. Didn't give you the courtesy of preparation. It simply appeared in the smallest, most ordinary place, a curtain hem, a forgotten candle, a wire that had been fraying quietly for years and by the time you smelled the smoke, it had already decided how much of your life it intended to take. Esmeralda had always understood this. It was, in fact, the principle she had built her entire strategy upon. --- The story appeared on a Tuesday. Not a major publication she wasn't ready to go that large yet, didn't want the kind of scrutiny that came with size. A mid-tier gossip platform, the sort that dealt in implication rather than fact, in the carefully worded suggestion rather than the outright claim. The kind of place that understood how to say something devastating while technically saying nothing at all. The headline was brief. *Questions Around De Luca Bride's Past: Sources Speak.* Bel
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