After He Betrayed Me, I Disgraced Him

The next day at the office, I reached out to some of my media contacts, including a few who had been involved with the award show. I asked them what they knew about Pamella and Niall, their interactions, anything at all. Most of them admitted they hadn’t really paid attention until the big screen showed Pamella and that guy kissing. But one person mentioned that the two left together in the same car.

My stomach dropped I didn’t want to dig deeper, but I forced myself to stay calm. Then, Margareta called me into her office. I figured she wanted an update.

Sure enough, I was right. I hesitated before mentioning that I had found out they met at a country club.

Margareta looked at me, sensing something was off. “You’re not usually this hesitant, Emilie. You usually go all in on stories, but this one feels different. You’re holding back.”

I tried to brush it off. “I feel like an annoying paparazzi chasing after a celebrity’s love life.”

“It’s no different from other stories and this one’s going to get a lot of attention. By the way, an insider told me Pamella was at the after-party with some guy at a club. Find out if it was the same man.”

I sighed. “Alright, I’ll check it out. Send me the club details.”

“That's more like it,” she said with a smile.

My plan was to meet Isaac first, then head to the club. After work, I met up with Isaac. He got straight to the point and asked, "So, what do you want to talk about? Is this about Niall?"

I was caught off guard by how quickly he guessed. “Let’s grab a drink first,” I suggested, trying to ease into the conversation.

Once we had our drinks, I finally asked, “I was wondering if you knew anything about Pamella and Niall. You were their friend, right?”

Isaac nodded slowly. “I didn’t know Pamella that well, but Niall and Pamella dated during the first semester of college, for about a year, before she left to pursue her singing career. She was his first girlfriend.”

I was shocked. I thought they were just old friends. “Did they stay in touch after breaking up?”

“Not that I know of. Pamella was busy with her new celebrity life and boyfriends.”

I sighed. So, they did have a history and Niall conveniently left that part out. Isaac noticed my troubled expression and asked, “Did you two argue because of that video?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I admitted.

“I don’t know much about the situation, but I hope you guys can work it out. You’re good for him, unlike some women who are just after his money now that DirectDeal is a success,” he said earnestly.

I forced a smile. DirectDeal was Niall’s startup, an e-commerce platform connecting suppliers directly to buyers. It was still in its early stages when we started dating and he faced a lot of setbacks, especially from distributors.

I helped him out by writing some positive articles and using my media connections to get his brand noticed. Now, after five years, it had taken off and even secured big investments this year. The future looked bright.

After some small talk about Isaac’s family and our work, we said goodbye and I headed to the club Margareta mentioned, The Nocturne.

Once there, I asked a waitress about the award after-party. She said she wasn’t on duty that night but suggested I talk to Mary, another waitress who was there. “She’s got red hair and freckles, easy to spot,” the waitress said.

I looked around and saw a red-haired girl in an apron dragging a large trash bag toward the side door.

“Mary?” I called out, startling her.

“Who are you? If you’re here about my brother’s debt, I’ve cut ties with him years ago!” She quickly tried to walk away, still dragging the bag.

“No, no, it’s not that,” I assured her.

“So, what do you want?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m a journalist, Emilie Stohr.”

“A journalist? Oh, God, did he attack someone again? Look, I really can’t talk right now,” she said, trying to hurry off.

“No, it’s not about your brother. I just wanted to ask about a party here a few days ago.”

“A party? There are always parties here.”

“The Stellar Sound Award after-party. You know, the one Pamella Blackwell attended?”

“Oh, that one. Are you a paparazzi?”

“Well, sort of. But did you see her there?”

“Yeah, but I can’t talk about customers. Sorry, no can do,” Mary replied, trying to brush me off.

“One hundred dollars. I’ll pay you for any information.”

She hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice. “We can’t talk here. Let’s meet somewhere else.”

We exchanged numbers and planned to meet the next day.