Your Regret Isn't My Problem

My chest heaved, every inch of me screaming like I'd been ripped apart.

Then—click, click, click. Heels on pavement.

Briana.

She stepped into view, smirk locked in place.

Fake surprise dripped from her voice: "What's wrong, Lena? Cat got your tongue—or was it the drink? You know, the one the boys jerked off into?"

"You! You all—"

Nausea slammed into me.

I shoved my fingers down my throat, desperate to throw it up—nothing.

I reached out, grabbing for her skirt.

She stepped on my hand, cool as ever, then dusted off her dress like I was something disgusting stuck to her heel.

"Honestly, how useless can you be?" she sneered. "Can't even protect something your parents left you."

She spread her hands like she was innocent. "Oh, and those guys? I sent them. Just meant to scare you a little. Didn't expect... well, I guess that heirloom wasn't yours after all."

"Briana." My voice was rough, but steady. "You'll regret this."

She paused, then grinned wider.

"I'm looking forward to it, Lena."

And just like that, she turned and walked off.

I lay there on the cold pavement, clutching the shattered bracelet pieces.

Then I forced myself up.

By the time I got home, her mocking voice was still ringing in my head.

But then—

I laughed.

If peace was off the table, fine. I wasn't playing the victim anymore.

Tomorrow, they'd all see—

Who the real Leone heir was.

***

I didn't come back without backup. I kept a recorder on me—always.

After a beat, I made the call. "I need you to pull some surveillance footage."

The guy on the other end tried to play it cool, but I could hear the excitement. "Got it."

That night, I sat at my desk, uploaded the audio, and dropped it on every high-society gossip board I could find—plus a few tabloids that lived for this kind of drama.

The headline was simple:

[Fake Leone Heiress Hires Thugs to Assault Real Heiress and Smash Family Heirloom—Recording Leaked!]

In less than thirty minutes, the comment sections blew up.

[WTF, this is that sweet, gentle Briana Leone?]

[She sounds UNHINGED!]

[The real heiress got jumped and humiliated? That's savage.]

By 2 a.m., my family group chat was a full-on meltdown.

Uncle Novah: [What's going on?!]

Aunt Jessica: [Briana would NEVER do something like this!]

Uncle George: [Everyone calm down. Family meeting. 9 a.m. sharp. Mansion.]

***

Next morning, I strutted into the Leone mansion in a sleek black dress.

Every elder at the table looked like they'd sucked a lemon. Eric wouldn't meet my eyes—torn between guilt and irritation. Briana? Puffy-eyed and pitiful. Guess the waterworks ran all night.

"Lena Leone!" Uncle Novah slammed the table. "How could you post that online? You'll ruin Briana!"

I smiled, barely. Dropped a printed doc on the table.

"She ruined herself. That's from my lawyer."

Dead silence.

"I'm suing Briana. Assault, property damage. And the rest of you—" I scanned the room. "Try messing with me again, and I'll see you in court."