Elle's Pov
My morning is already a disaster. My phone won't stop screaming. Vibrations, pings, banners sliding across the screen faster than I can clear them. I don't even have to open anything to know what it is.
Damian's speech from last weekend; clipped, reposted, and stripped of context has gone viral overnight.
Again.
I scroll anyway. That's my first mistake.
Fraud. Liar. Gold-digger.
Pick a name, they say.
Marielle Morgan or Seraphina Carrington, which one are you today?
My chest tightens. Someone's turned my name into a joke. A thread. A debate. Even my foundation is trending now, dragged into the mess like collateral damage.
I blink hard, but it doesn't stop the burn behind my eyes.
I sit at my laptop, hoping work will help me focus, and within five minutes, I delete the wrong file. Not just any file. The one I spent two nights fixing.
I stare at the screen.
Of course I did.
