VIVIAN
The first photo hits Twitter at 6 AM.
Chase Sterling leaving a Manhattan nightclub. Arms around two women. Both blonde. Both model-perfect. Both looking eerily like me.
The caption: "Sterling Moves On: Billionaire's Wild Night Out"
I stare at my phone, coffee going cold in my hand.
The women aren't me. But they could be. Same hair. Same build. Same style.
He hired them. Had to have. This is too calculated. Too perfect.
My phone rings. Marcus.
"Have you seen it?" he asks.
"I'm looking at it now."
"He's playing games. Trying to make you jealous."
"It's working."
"Don't let it. That's what he wants." Marcus's voice is calm. Steady. "He wants you to react. To prove you still care. Don't give him the satisfaction."
"You're right." I set down the coffee. "I won't."
But the photo burns in my mind all morning. Chase with those women. Staged or not. Real or fake. It doesn't matter.
He's sending a message.
