MY MAN

Six

The Friday night air was thick with the kind of humidity that made the city feel like a pressurized chamber. I stood in front of the elevator in Vivian’s new building, adjusting the cuff of a white oversized button-down.

I’d gone for effortless tonight. Minimal makeup, hair pulled back into a loose knot, and vintage denim. It was the kind of "I didn't try" look that took years to master. It was my ultimate power move because it was the one thing a try-hard like Vivian could never quite replicate.

The elevator doors slid open directly into her foyer. I’ll give her this: the girl knew how to spend money she didn't have. The apartment was a glass box overlooking the Hudson, filled with the scent of expensive eucalyptus and the kind of low, ambient house music that made you feel like you were in a high-end spa.

"Selene! You made it!" Vivian floated toward me. There was no other word for it. She was wearing a floor-length silk robe in a deep emerald green, her hair down in soft, beachy waves. She looked ethereal, relaxed, and perfectly at home.

"Lovely place, Vivian," I said, handing her a bottle of vintage champagne. "It’s amazing how quickly you got settled. I remember when I moved into my loft, it took me months just to find the right rugs."

"Oh, I had help," she said, giving me a tiny, secretive smile.

She took the bottle and handed it to a waiter I didn't recognize. She’d hired staff for a 'Girls' Night In.' The audacity was almost impressive. "I just told the designer I wanted 'Modern Selene with a touch of warmth.' He knew exactly what to do."

I felt the familiar prickle of irritation under my skin, but I kept my face neutral. I walked into the living area where Lucy, Sarah, and a few other girls from our circle were already lounging on white boucle sofas.

"Finally!" Lucy cried, holding up a glass. "Selene is here to tell us if we’re allowed to like this wallpaper or if it’s too last season."

"It’s beautiful, Lucy," I said, sitting down and crossing my legs. "Though I’m surprised, Viv. I thought you were more of a minimalist."

"I was," Vivian said, joining us. She tucked her legs under her, looking like a kitten. "But I’ve been learning that sometimes you have to take up space to be seen. Isn't that what you always say, Selene? 'Don't apologize for your footprint'?"

I took a sip of my drink, my eyes meeting hers. She was quoting my keynote from the Women in Media summit three years ago. "I do say that. Usually in the context of salary negotiations, though. Not wallpaper."

The room let out a collective "Ooh," half-joking and half-tense.

"She's just sharp because she's hungry," Sarah laughed, trying to break the ice. "Viv, show her the mood board for the housewarming party. It's insane."

Vivian pulled out a tablet and swiped through a series of images. It was a gala-level production. Theme: The Glass House. "I’m thinking of inviting some of the Sterling people," Vivian said casually, watching my reaction. "And I’ve been talking to a few architects. I want the party to be an architectural statement. I even reached out to Thorne’s firm to see if they’d do a consultation for the lighting."

The room went silent. Even Lucy looked surprised. "Adrian Thorne’s firm? Viv, they don't do residential lighting for apartments. They do skyscrapers and museums."

"You’d be surprised what people will do when you ask nicely," Vivian said, her voice airy. "Besides, I think Adrian and I have a lot in common. We both appreciate... structure."

She looked at me then, a direct challenge in her eyes. She was moving faster than I’d anticipated. She wasn't just planning to meet him; she was trying to lure him into her home.

"Well, if you get Adrian Thorne to show up to a housewarming in a two-bedroom apartment, I’ll give you my Sterling commission," I said, my tone dripping with a sweetness that was pure poison.

"Careful, Selene," Vivian whispered, leaning forward so only the inner circle could hear. "I’m much better at getting what I want than people realize. I’ve had a very good teacher, after all."

For the rest of the night, Vivian was the perfect hostess. She poured the wine, she remembered everyone’s favorite appetizers, and she listened with rapt attention to Sarah’s boring stories about her cat. She was outshining me by being the "better" version of me: the me that wasn't too busy to care, the me that wasn't too successful to be "one of the girls."

When I went to the kitchen to get some water, I found her standing by the window, looking out at the city.

"It’s a long way down," I said, standing a few feet back.

"Not if you know how to fly," she replied without turning around. "You look tired tonight, Selene. Really. Maybe you should take that vacation Maya was talking about. I can handle things here. I can watch over the girls. I can even check in on the Sterling account if you need."

"You stay away from my accounts, Vivian," I said, my voice cold and steady. "And you stay away from my family. If you so much as breathe near Maya again, you’ll find out exactly how I earned that 'footprint' you love to talk about."

Vivian finally turned. She didn't look scared. She looked delighted. "There she is. The real Selene. I was wondering when she’d come out to play."

She stepped closer, the emerald silk of her robe whispering against the floor. "You think you’re so much better than me. But look around. They’re in my house. They’re drinking my wine. They’re laughing at my jokes. By the time I’m done, no one will even remember what the original looked like. You’re just a draft, Selene. I’m the final copy."

I didn't slap her. I didn't scream. I just looked at her and felt a sudden, sharp clarity. She wasn't a friend. she wasn't even a rival. She was a glitch in my life that I needed to delete.

"Drafts are where the soul is, Vivian," I said softly. "Copies always come out a little blurred. Enjoy your party. It’s the last one I’ll be attending."

I walked out without saying goodbye to the others. As the elevator descended, I felt the pressure in the cabin change, my ears popping. I pulled out my phone and checked the message from the private investigator.

Found something, it read.

Vivian Rossi doesn't exist before 2022. But a girl named Vanessa Rooks from Ohio does. And she has a history of 'intensive friendships' that ended in restraining orders.

I leaned my head against the cool metal of the elevator wall and smiled.

The copy had a history.

And I was going to make sure the world saw the unedited version.