One night, the digital storm outside seemed to have lulled into a deceptive calm.
Heather was finally sleeping soundly in their bedroom, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing heavily on her. Rhys, however, found no such respite.
His mind raced, replaying Lena's taunting voice and the devastating impact of her lies.
He slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor, and made his way downstairs to the spare bedroom that had become Dex's temporary command center.
He knocked softly.
"Come in," Dex's muffled voice replied from within.
Rhys opened the door to a dimly lit room, the glow of multiple screens illuminating Dex's focused face.
Dex was hunched over his desk, a chaotic landscape of wires, external hard drives, and half-empty energy drink cans surrounding his laptop and a powerful desktop computer.
The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard filled the small space.
"Wassup?" Dex asked, his eyes glued to the lines of code scrolling across his screen. He didn't look up as Rhys sat down heavily on the edge of the twin bed, the springs groaning softly under his weight.
"Found anything else we can use against Lena?" Rhys asked, his voice low, not wanting to disturb Heather's sleep.
Dex finally paused his frantic typing, his fingers hovering over the keys. He leaned back in his chair, the worn leather creaking, and swiveled to face Rhys.
The light from the monitors cast an eerie glow on his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes.
"Well…" He paused, a thoughtful expression replacing his usual focused intensity. "I thought of something… Not sure if you'll entirely agree with this plan of mine…"
Rhys leaned forward, intrigued. "Let's hear it. At this point, I'm open to anything that'll stop this nightmare."
"Since Lena has three plans laid out, and two of them have already been executed with maximum damage – the doctored DMs and those horrific deepfakes targeting Heather – the only thing remaining on her little checklist is to have Starlight kick you to the curb," Dex said, his gaze direct and serious.
"Yep, so?" Rhys replied, a hint of impatience in his tone
He knew this already.
The label's cautious silence and Daniel's worried calls were a constant reminder of that looming threat.
"Your label is already working on the legal side of things, lawyering up and cooperating with the police, which is good, solid defense," Dex conceded, nodding slowly. "But how about we… apply a little pressure from the other side? Go on the offensive, so to speak?"
He looked at Rhys, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, a glint of something almost predatory in his eyes.
Rhys smirked, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. He was tired of playing defense. "Alright, Dex. My ears are open. What should we do?"
Dex leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Since our dear Lena decided to leak your supposed private messages, those pathetic forgeries, to paint you as some kind of monster… why don't we give her a taste of her own medicine? Let the world see the real Lena Wright."
He turned back to his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard once more. "Look here," he said, gesturing to the screen with a triumphant flourish.
He showed Rhys a series of direct messages, pulled from Lena's own social media accounts and other less public online interactions he had managed to unearth during his digital reconnaissance.
Rhys leaned in, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes scanned the damning words illuminated on the screen. A slow burn of anger, hot and intense, began to simmer within him, laced with a grim satisfaction that tasted like long-awaited retribution.
This was the real Lena, stripped bare of her carefully constructed facade.
"Alright," Rhys said, his voice low and steady, a hard edge creeping in. "Let's do this, Dex. But you know the drill. Make sure there isn't a single digital thread that could ever lead back to us. Not one."
Dex's head snapped up, his face a mask of exaggerated disbelief, as if personally offended by the implication.
"Man," he scoffed, pushing back from his desk with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "We've known each other since we were causing chaos in Mrs. Davison's algebra class. How many years is that now? And in all that time, when have my little… digital excursions… ever come back to bite me in the ass?" He shook his head theatrically. "Honestly, the lack of faith."
Rhys leveled a deadpan stare at his old friend. "You know exactly what I mean, Dex. This isn't some prank on the school's website. This is serious. Lena and possibly her sister are actively trying to destroy our lives. I need to be sure."
"Yeah, yeah." Dex waved a dismissive hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He understood the gravity of the situation; the teasing was just his way of deflecting the tension.
"Consider it done. My digital footprints are lighter than a ghost's whisper in a hurricane. They'll be too busy dealing with the fallout to even think about tracing the source."
He pivoted back to his computer, his fingers already flying across the keyboard, a predatory focus returning to his features.
"Go on. Get some sleep. I'll handle the distribution. You'll have some… interesting reading material waiting for you online when you wake up tomorrow. Prepare for a shift in the narrative."
Rhys clapped Dex on the shoulder, a genuine wave of gratitude washing over him. "Thanks, man. I owe you."
Dex just grunted, his attention fully absorbed by the task at hand.
With a final nod, Rhys turned and quietly made his way back upstairs to their bedroom, the image of Lena's hateful words burned into his mind.
He slipped back into bed beside Heather, the rise and fall of her gentle breathing a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within him.
He hoped Dex's plan would work, that the truth, however ugly, would finally begin to surface.
By the time the first rays of dawn painted the sky, Dex released a carefully selected cache of Lena's real direct messages onto the internet, targeting key gossip blogs known for their insatiable appetite for celebrity scandal and a network of social media influencers with massive followings and a reputation for rapid, often unverified, dissemination of information.
He ensured the leaks appeared natural, spread out across multiple platforms simultaneously, making them harder to trace back to a single source.
These authentic messages painted a starkly different picture of Lena Wright – a portrait of obsessive possessiveness so intense it bordered on delusional.
They contained vicious, unhinged rants directed at Rhys's past romantic interests, referring to them with cruel and demeaning language.
There were explicit threats, thinly veiled as warnings, promising to ruin the lives and careers of any woman who dared to get close to him.
That pathetic little nobody Yna needs to learn her place. Rhys is mine. Always has been, always will be. If I ever see her breathing the same air as him again, she'll regret the day she was born. Mark my words.
These other 'fans' who think they have a chance with him? They're delusional. They're nothing but gnats buzzing around a light. I'll swat them all down, one by one, until he sees that only I am worthy of him.
That stylist who keeps touching his arm during photoshoots? She's asking for trouble. I know people. People who can make accidents happen. She needs to keep her hands to herself before something unfortunate befalls her.
He used to talk about some girl from his childhood. Heather. Even mentioning her name makes my blood boil. She's a nobody, a small-town barista. She doesn't deserve to even think about him. If she tries to worm her way into his life, I'll make sure she regrets it. Trust me.
They think they're so cute, holding hands in public. That little display at the concert? Disgusting. She's trying to steal him away from his real fans, from me. She'll learn that no one comes between Rhys and his destiny.
They call me obsessed? I'm dedicated. I'm loyal. These other women are just fleeting fancies. I'm the constant. I'm the one who will always be here. He just doesn't see it yet. But he will. He will.
Furthermore, the messages revealed blatant and desperate attempts to bribe paparazzi for compromising and damaging photos of anyone – male or female – who showed even platonic affection towards Rhys.
I know Rhys hangs out at Black Star Cafe sometimes. There's usually a group of guys from his old neighborhood who meet him there. I need pictures. Anyone who seems to have a special bond with him, anyone he's particularly warm with, I want to see it. I need to know who he cares about besides me. The more intimate the interaction appears, the more I'll pay.
Anyone who gets too close to Rhys, anyone who seems to have his attention for too long, anyone he laughs with easily… those are threats too. A lingering look, a private conversation that looks meaningful… I want those pictures. I need to know who he shares those moments with, and it better not be anyone but me. My budget is flexible for the right shot of a potential rival.
The sheer volume and the hateful nature of the communications painted Lena not as the sweet, supportive "good girl" fan she portrayed publicly, but as a deeply disturbed and vindictive individual consumed by an unhealthy obsession.
The contrast between Lena's carefully curated public persona and her private, venomous, and frankly terrifying communications was immediate and devastating.
The internet, which had so readily condemned Rhys based on lies, was now faced with the undeniable ugliness of Lena Wright's true character.