Velaris City never slept.
Neon bled into the puddles on the cracked pavements, and sirens wailed somewhere far off, swallowed by the roar of late-night traffic. The skyline glittered with ambition, towers that touched the clouds, each window a flicker of someone's hunger for more. It was a city built for dreamers and destroyers.
And tonight, Lara Stephen was learning which side of that line she stood on.
From the street, her apartment looked like every other window glowing against the midnight sprawl, calm, clean, untouched by the chaos below. Inside, however, the air trembled with heartbreak.
Lara sat on the edge of her couch, her phone still glowing in her hand. Her throat burned. Her fingers shook.
The screen showed a photo, one she could never unsee.
Alex Thorne. Her Alex.
Cozied up with a blonde head.
Smiling into the camera beside another woman whose lipstick had left a dark stain on his collar.
For a few seconds, her brain refused to translate the image into meaning. It was a mockery of reality, a cruel mirage. But the longer she stared, the more the denial dissolved, until the truth hit with the precision of a wrecking ball.
He'd cheated.
Not with a stranger in the shadows, but with her, the PR director from his father's company. The woman Lara had shared lunch with last week, who had smiled and complimented her shoes.
Her breath hitched, sharp as glass.
Her phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
"I should have seen it coming," she said out loud.
The signs were there. The late nights, the vague apologies, the scent that didn't belong to her on his jacket. She told herself he was stressed.
Thorne Global was demanding, his father demanding even more. She believed the lies because she loved him. Because she wanted to.
Now, the truth is all that's left.
She stared at the sketches pinned to her drafting board; outlines of buildings that twist upward like they're reaching for salvation. Her work has always been her refuge. Architecture doesn't lie. Steel bends, glass breaks, but they don't betray.
Alex did.
The sob came before she could stop it. It clawed its way out of her chest, leaving her breathless and trembling. She folded forward, fingers digging into her knees, trying to find something solid to hold onto. Her sanctuary felt like an alien, invaded. Even the gentle hum of the city felt cruel and mocking.
Their love story, to Lara, felt like a perfectly rendered blueprint: solid, beautiful, and built to last. For three years, Alex had been her anchor, her confidante, the man who saw beyond her quiet ambition to the fiery passion within. He'd encouraged her dreams, celebrated her small victories, and promised a future where their two worlds would intertwine seamlessly. She believed him, utterly.
Their evenings were a blend of his world and hers. Sometimes, they'd attend a glittering gala, Lara feeling a touch out of place in her elegant, understated dresses, yet confident on Alex's arm. Other times, they had retreated to her apartment, sharing takeout and discussing her latest architectural concept, or his less-than-thrilling work in his father's sprawling corporate labyrinth. Alex often expressed a vague dissatisfaction with his role, hinting at a desire to carve his own path, a sentiment Lara found endearing. It made him feel more human, less like the privileged heir he was.
Their last shared memory, just a week ago, was a picnic in Central Park, Alex's head in her lap, the afternoon sun dappling through the leaves. He'd talked about their future, about finding a place together, about the kind of life they'd build. His eyes, the color of warm honey, had held a depth she thought was love. She had believed every word, every whispered promise.
The ordinary world shattered not with a bang, but with a series of quiet, devastating clicks. It began innocently enough.
Alex had gone on a business trip to Geneva or so he claimed. He had called, texted, and sent photos of snow-capped mountains.
Lara, missing him acutely, found herself idly scrolling through her social media feed, a rare indulgence. A mutual acquaintance, a minor socialite named Bianca, had posted a seemingly innocuous photo. A group of friends, laughing, clinking champagne glasses. The caption read: "Geneva nights with the best crew!"
And there he was. Alex, in the background, his arm around a woman Lara recognized. Her hair was a cascade of platinum blonde, her smile dazzling, her hand resting intimately on Alex's chest. A cold dread seeped into Lara's bones.
He wasn't supposed to be there. He was supposed to be in a meeting, or exploring alone. But the greater, more horrifying detail: the woman. Her body language, the way Alex was leaning into her, the undeniable sexual chemistry in their casual pose. It wasn't a business or colleague acquaintance. It was intimate. Too intimate.
By the time the tears ran dry, rage began to take their place; slow, smoldering, and hot enough to burn.
A quick search through Sera's social media account revealed a public album on Sera's profile: "Swiss Escapades." Dozens of photos.
Alex and Sera, hiking, dining, laughing, kissing. Not discreetly, not secretly, but openly, playfully, as if they were a couple in love.
The dates matched Alex's "business trip." Every text, every call, every carefully chosen photo he had sent Lara was a lie.
She rose.
The mirror caught her on the way to the kitchen. Her reflection looked nothing like the woman she was this morning; eyes red, hair undone, heart cracked open. She studied her, and for the first time, didn't feel pity.
She felt power.
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THE MORNING AFTER
Velaris wakes differently from how it sleeps. The dawn light cuts through skyscrapers, sharp and cold.
She moved through her apartment like a ghost, her mind running on caffeine and fury.
The phone kept buzzing. Alex's name is lighting up the screen again and again.
Her phone vibrated. A text from Alex: "Morning, beautiful! Just landed. Can't wait to see you tonight. Missed you like crazy."
Elara read it, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Missed you like crazy." The words were a fresh stab. He was already back, ready to pick up where he left off, to continue the charade.
She replied with a picture of him and Sera.
The phone kept buzzing. Alex's name is lighting up the screen again and again.
"Lara, please. Let's talk."
"It's not what you think."
"Answer me."
She ignored all his messages.
Instead, deleted the messages, one by one, until his name disappeared entirely.
Then she blocked him.
When she stepped out of the building, the city's wind hit her face, cleansing and biting. Lara drew in a deep breath and headed toward the train, heels echoing on the concrete. Somewhere between the screech of brakes and the shuffle of commuters, a new thought formed; cold and clear as glass:
"He doesn't get to walk away from this."
"Not him. Not her."
"They took something from me; trust, dignity, peace. They'll pay for every shattered piece."
She decided that the revenge must be done beautifully to break a thorne.
---------------
Tonight will be the first time she meets Alex at the gala for the Velaris Urban Development Initiative after the fiasco.
He's there, of course. Son of the empire, charming every investor in the room.
Lara was there because her firm was shortlisted for a sustainable housing project. I'd planned this moment for days. What I'd wear, what I'd say, how I will act.
She dressed in black silk, minimalist yet commanding, architectural in itself. Her hair is swept up, exposing the strong line of her neck. The kind of look that says, "You lost something valuable".
When Alex spotted her across the ballroom, his smile faltered.
Good.
Let it sting.
She glides through the room, her pulse steady, until she finds him near the champagne bar.
"Lara." His voice is low, pleading, as if we're still lovers. "You didn't return my calls."
She lifted her glass. "No reason to. I got the message."
"Lara, please. I—" He glances around, lowering his tone. "It was a mistake. One night. I was drunk, and she—"
"Don't."
Her voice slices through his excuses. "Don't reduce your choices to a mistake. You made a decision. Now live with it."
For a moment, the mask slips; guilt, maybe shame, but then his father enters the room, and there's the change.
Elias Thorne commands attention effortlessly. Tall, composed, with the kind of quiet authority that fills the air like gravity. He's older, silver at his temples, his suit tailored within an inch of perfection.
Every eye follows him as he greets the mayor, a politician, a senator. Then, briefly, his gaze lands on ex-lovers; on Lara.
And something shifts.
That's when the idea sparked; wild, dangerous, intoxicating.
"If Alex could ruin me so easily, maybe I could destroy him in a way he would never recover from."
By taking something, someone; he'd never imagine losing.
His father.