Too Late For Regret: Watch Me Shine

Fiona picked up the signed termination document from the desk. She didn't look at Kevon, who was still sitting in stunned silence, or at Kayla, who was hovering uselessly by the window.

She turned on her heel and walked out of the office, the manila folder tucked securely under her arm.

She pushed through the revolving glass doors of the Baxter Group tower and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses, hiding the cold satisfaction in her eyes.

She unlocked her sports car and tossed the folder onto the passenger seat. She turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic.

She was stopped at a red light near Times Square, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, when a massive digital billboard caught her eye.

The screen was dominated by a massive, breaking news graphic from a Manhattan gossip channel. The footage showed Kevon and Kayla exiting a Michelin-starred restaurant the night before-the night he was supposed to be "working." Kevon was leaning over, fastening a diamond necklace around Kayla's throat, before kissing her right in front of the flashing paparazzi cameras. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen read: Baxter Heir Returns to First Love, Arrogant Fiancée Ousted?

Fiona slammed her foot on the brake, the tires screeching against the asphalt. A chorus of car horns erupted behind her, but she didn't hear them. She stared at the screen, her blood turning to ice in her veins.

That public display of affection had been staged just hours after their breakup, weaponizing his new romance to paint her as the villain. He had stolen the narrative and given it to his mistress.

She took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to scream. She stepped on the gas, pulling over to the curb in front of a trendy coffee shop. She needed to think.

She walked inside, ordered a black iced coffee, and slid into a booth in the back corner. She pulled out her phone, which was vibrating incessantly.

It was Maeve, a socialite who had her finger on the pulse of Manhattan's gossip scene. There were five voice notes and a video file.

Fiona tapped the video. It was shaky footage, clearly taken on a phone from a distance. It showed Kevon and Kayla at the same restaurant, confirming the billboard's story. The paparazzi were practically eating out of his hand.

Maeve's voice note was frantic. "Fiona, you need to see this. Page Six is running it. They're spinning it like Kevon is the hero who went back to his true love. They're calling you the arrogant, controlling fiancée who drove him away. His PR team is working overtime to trash you."

Fiona opened a news app. The headline glared back at her: Baxter Heir's New Romance: A Match Made in Heaven?

She took a long gulp of the iced coffee. The cold liquid hit her stomach, sharpening her focus. It wasn't enough to just leave. They were trying to bury her on the way out. They wanted to steal her work and her reputation. They were trying to steal her reputation, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they tried to steal her designs, too.

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't going to let them get away with it.

She opened her laptop and connected to the cafe's Wi-Fi. She navigated to a secure, encrypted cloud drive she hadn't accessed in months.

Inside were folders containing years of correspondence. There were emails from Kevon, begging her to doctor financial reports to cover up his losses. There were screenshots of text messages, explicit photos from other women he had entertained, and, most importantly, the security footage of him and Kayla in compromising positions in Baxter-owned properties.

She had kept them as insurance, hoping she would never need to use them. Now, she was glad she was paranoid.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She compressed the files into a single, encrypted archive. She opened a new email and addressed it to the editors of the five biggest gossip columns in New York, as well as the entire board of directors of the Baxter Group.

She typed in the subject line: Regarding Baxter Heir's Fraudulent Operations and Fake PR.

She attached the archive and hovered over the 'Schedule Send' button. She calculated the time. Her flight to London was in three hours. She set the email to send that just took off, when she would be somewhere over the Atlantic, unreachable and untouchable.

She hit 'Set.'

The trap was laid. By the time Kevon realized what had happened, the scandal would be front-page news, and his board would be calling for his head.

Fiona closed the laptop, a cold, genuine smile finally touching her lips. It was a parting gift he wouldn't forget.

She stood up, tossing the half-empty cup in the trash, and walked out of the coffee shop. She slid back into her car and keyed in the address for the Manhattan penthouse she shared with Kevon. She had one last piece of business to take care of before she left the city for good.