Billionaire's Placeholder: Now Watch Me Shine

The coffee shop was tucked away in the West Village, dark and smelling of roasted beans. Cara sat in a booth with Zack, going over the timeline for the fake romance rollout.

Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled aggressively. Cara looked up. Hali Moody walked in. She wasn't alone. She had two of her minions with her. She scanned the room, locked eyes with Cara, and marched over.

She didn't say hello. She slammed an iPad onto the table. The screen was bright, illuminating the dim corner.

"Thought you should see this," Hali said. "Since you clearly don't check the news."

Cara looked down. It was a photo. High resolution. Paparazzi style.

The location tag said JFK International Airport.

In the center of the frame was Brittain. He was wearing his signature charcoal coat. But he wasn't looking at his phone. He was looking at the woman next to him.

Caryn Newman.

She looked fragile. She was wearing white-she still insisted on that. Brittain's hand was resting on the small of her back. It was a protective gesture. A possessive gesture. It was the way a man touches something precious. He had never touched Cara like that in public. With Cara, he walked a step ahead. With Caryn, he was a shield.

Cara's stomach dropped. It felt like she had swallowed a stone.

"Looks like your contract is expired," Hali sneered. "The placeholder is officially retired."

Zack started to stand up. "Hey, watch it-"

Cara put a hand on Zack's arm to stop him. Her fingers were cold. She kept her face completely blank. She had practiced this face for two years.

"Thanks for the update, Hali," Cara said. Her voice was steady, boring even. "Saves me the trouble of refreshing my feed."

Hali blinked. She wanted tears. She wanted a scene. When she didn't get it, she snatched the iPad back.

"You're pathetic," she spat, and turned on her heel.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Cara crumbled. Her shoulders slumped. She grabbed her water glass, but her hand shook so hard water sloshed over the rim.

She pulled out her phone. She opened her text thread with Brittain. The last message was hers. Safe travels.

Read: Tuesday 9:00 AM.

He hadn't told her. He hadn't warned her. He just let her find out through a gossipmonger in a coffee shop.

It wasn't the breakup that hurt. She knew that was coming. It was the erasure. To him, she wasn't even worth a goodbye text. She was furniture.

She took a sip of water. It tasted like metal.

"Zack," Cara said. Her voice was hard now. "Launch Plan B. I want the rumors about me and Brady everywhere by tonight."

Zack looked nervous. "The contract penalty..."

"I'll handle Brittain," Cara said.

She stood up. She walked out of the coffee shop into the biting wind. She dialed Brittain's private number.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Click.

He sent her to voicemail.

That was it. The final disrespect.

She hailed a taxi. "Austin Media Tower," she told the driver.

She pulled a compact mirror out of her bag. She looked at her pale lips. She took out a tube of lipstick. Not the nude shade Brittain liked. A deep, blood red. She applied it thick. She darkened her eyebrows.

She wasn't going there to beg. She was going there to burn the bridge.

The taxi stopped in front of the glass monolith. She looked up at the top floor.

She stepped out. Her heels clicked against the pavement like gunshots.