Two men in ill-fitting black suits, the kind of off-the-rack armor that screams ‘event security,’ began to move towards me. The crowd around us fell into a delicious, predatory silence. This was better than champagne and canapés. This was blood in the water. Chloe’s smile was a predatory s***h of red, the look of a queen who had just ordered a public execution and was eager for the show.
She believed she held all the cards. In her world, the one she had built over the past two months, she was the creator, the visionary, the one with the billion-dollar valuation. I was the discarded, unstable ex-girlfriend. In her small, self-contained universe, calling security was a logical and final exercise of power.
But she didn't understand the scale of the game she was playing. She was a single-cel
