MY MAN

Five

The city at night usually felt like a lullaby of sirens and distant hums, but lately, the silence of my own apartment was starting to feel loud. I sat on my velvet sofa with a glass of red wine that I hadn't touched, staring at a framed photo on the mantel. It was from two years ago—me, Lucy, and Sarah at the opening of my first major campaign. My hair was shorter then, my smile broader. I looked like a woman who owned every inch of the floor she stood on.

Now, I felt like I was standing on a trapdoor.

I started thinking about how I’d let this happen. I was the one who prided myself on seeing through people’s masks. I was the one who vetted clients like I was joining the CIA. Yet, Vivian had walked right through the front door because she came wrapped in the one thing I couldn't resist: a version of myself that needed help.

I’d always been the "strong one." The one who fixed the broken hearts and the broken careers of everyone in our circle. Vivian had simply presented a mirror of my own ego back to me. She’d made herself a project, and I had been too arrogant to realize she was actually a parasite.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a text from Marcus.

"Hey Selene, sorry about earlier. I’m going to take a few days of remote work. Just feeling a bit burned out. Viv said you’d understand since you’re under so much pressure with Sterling."

I set the wine glass down with a hand that trembled slightly. She was already speaking for me. She was translating my silence as "pressure" and my standards as "aggression." I didn't reply to Marcus. Anything I said would just be forwarded to her, dissected, and used to further the narrative that I was losing my grip.

I walked over to my laptop and pulled up the "Aura Strategy" shared drive. I wanted to see what else Vivian might have touched. My eyes scanned the logs. She didn't have access to the server, but Sarah did. And Sarah had been logged in late every night this week.

I scrolled through the project folders. Nothing seemed missing, but then I saw it. A new folder buried in the "Inspiration" archive.

It was titled The Thorne Project.

My heart skipped. There was no Thorne Project. We didn't have a contract with Adrian. I clicked it open. Inside were hundreds of photos of Adrian Thorne. Candid shots from galas, paparazzi photos of him leaving his firm, and even architectural sketches of his famous glass-house project in the Hamptons.

But it wasn't just him.

Mixed in with the photos of Adrian were photos of me. Specifically, photos of me at work. Me at the podium. Me in the boardroom.

Vivian hadn't just been studying me to be like me. She was building a portfolio. She was mapping out a version of "Selene" that would perfectly appeal to a man like Adrian Thorne. She was using my professional reputation as a skin to wear so she could walk into his world and look like she belonged there.

It was a cold, clinical obsession. It wasn't about a haircut or a dress. It was about a takeover.

I closed the laptop, the blue light stinging my eyes. I needed to see someone who wasn't part of this curated mess. I needed a reality check. I called my sister, Maya. She was the only person who didn't care about "The Look" or the status of the Sterling pitch.

"Hey, Soph," she answered, using my childhood nickname. "You sound like you’re calling from a basement. Everything okay?"

"I’m fine," I said, though the word felt like a lie. "I just... do I seem different lately, Maya? Am I being difficult?"

"You've always been difficult," Maya laughed, but her tone turned soft. "You're intense, Selene. You're a high-performer. But you're fair. Why? Is someone giving you a hard time?"

"There's this girl," I started, but I stopped myself. How could I explain that I was being haunted by a living person? "Never mind. I'm just tired. I've got a lot on my plate."

"Don't let the job eat you alive," Maya warned. "You used to have fun, remember? Come down to the shore this weekend. No designers, no pitches, just us."

"I wish I could," I said. "But I have a dinner on Friday. A 'Girls' Night In' at a friend’s new place."

"Since when do you do 'Girls' Nights In' on a Friday? You're usually at a launch."

"I'm trying to be a better friend," I whispered.

"Or you're trying to keep an eye on something," Maya countered. She always was the perceptive one. "Just be careful, Selene. If you stare into the sun too long, you’ll go blind. Same goes for whatever drama you’re cooking up."

We hung up, and I stood on my balcony looking out at the skyline. I could see the lights of the building Vivian had moved into. It was glowing, a bright, modern tower that felt like a challenge.

I realized then that Vivian wasn't just mimicking my past. She was competing for my future. She had identified the one thing I wanted but hadn't reached for—Adrian Thorne—and she was using my own blueprints to build a bridge to him.

I wasn't going to the shore this weekend. I was going to that dinner. And I was going to bring the one thing Vivian couldn't copy: the truth.

I looked at the "Thorne Project" folder one last time before deleting it from the server. As the files vanished into the trash, I felt a surge of adrenaline.

The reflection in the glass door showed a woman who was tired, yes. But she was also dangerous.

If Vivian wanted the "Selene" experience, I was going to give her the full version. Including the part where I destroy anyone who tries to take what I’ve built.