9:14 P.M. — Vaughn Penthouse, Bathroom
Steam curled in the air like ghosts of her old life.
Eira sat on the tiled floor, knees pulled to her chest, as the shower thundered behind her.
She didn't remember turning it on.
She just needed something—anything—to drown the sound of the headlines still screaming in her head.
"Eira Vaughn, corporate wife turned cautionary tale.""Seduced by the lens: Was it art or adultery?""Mistress of her own downfall."
She'd been reduced to clickbait.
No mention of her degrees.
Her courtroom wins.
Her twenty-seven pro bono cases.
Just her moans.
Her thighs.
Her body.
She was the center of attention—but for all the wrong reasons.
Note: In modern scandal culture, women involved in sex leaks are often rebranded socially and digitally. The public redefinition of their identity becomes harder to undo than the leak itself.
She turned off the water.
Picked up her phone.
Typed slowly:
Eira: "Meet me. I want names. And I want proof."
Theo: "On my way."
—
10:03 P.M. — Theo's Apartment, Studio District
Theo lived in organized chaos.
Half-finished canvases, books with broken spines, a lopsided neon sign that read TRUTH IS UGLY BUT NECESSARY.
He handed her whiskey in a chipped glass.
"You look like you just declared war on someone," he said.
"I did," Eira replied. "And she doesn't even know it yet."
Theo nodded. "Naomi?"
"I found a note in my lipstick tube," she said. "The same one she stole from my vanity two years ago."
He arched a brow. "That's cold."
"That's psychotic."
Theo pulled open a drawer, flipping through files.
"She's been on my radar for months," he said. "Even before the leak."
Eira tensed. "Why?"
He handed her a manila envelope.
Inside were photos. Emails. Bank transfers.
All traced to Naomi Blaire.
She blinked. "Wait… what is this?"
"Naomi owns a shell PR firm—Optika. It's been buying ad slots on scandal blogs. Funding anonymous tip leaks. Spreading slander under burner accounts."
Eira stared.
"You're telling me she didn't just leak my video—she paid to make it viral?"
Theo nodded grimly.
"And not just yours. She tried to tank Callen's career three years ago. Tried to frame him for coercion. But the model recanted before it hit the press."
Eira clenched her jaw.
"How long has she hated me?"
Theo sat back.
"Honestly? I think since college."
—
Flashback — Nine Years Ago, University of Manila
Naomi had always been the beautiful one.
The seductive one.
The unreachable one.
Until Eira got into law school, graduated top of their class, and married Julian Vaughn.
The boy Naomi had once kissed during Truth or Dare.
The boy who picked Eira instead.
Note: This introduces Naomi's emotional origin—she doesn't just want Eira's life. She believes it was stolen from her. This fuels her pathological need to dismantle Eira piece by piece.
That was the night Naomi changed.
No more open jealousy.
Just slow, poisonous praise.
"You're so lucky, Eira.""You always get chosen.""Some girls just have it all, huh?"
—
Present — Back at Theo's Apartment
"She's not just trying to ruin me," Eira whispered.
"She's trying to be me."
Theo nodded. "And the only way to kill a fantasy is with facts."
Eira's eyes narrowed.
"Then we give her the truth. And we burn her with it."
—
11:28 P.M. — Naomi's Condo, Private Office
Naomi scrolled through social media, sipping wine.
Eira was trending again.
But this time, hashtags were turning.
#TeamEira#ScandalOrSetUp#BuryTheRealVillain
She frowned.
Her burner accounts were working overtime to twist the narrative, but…
Someone was fighting back.
She clicked on a new blog post by an anonymous user.
"Who Profits from the Fall? Inside the Shadow Games Behind the Vaughn Scandal"
The article exposed Optika.
The shell company.
The connections to a private media blitz targeting Eira and Callen.
No direct names.
But the breadcrumbs were there.
Naomi dropped her glass.
It shattered.
So did her calm.
Eira wasn't hiding anymore.
She was hunting.
—
Meanwhile — Callen's Studio
Callen sat with his laptop open, staring at an old file.
"Undone: Vol. VII"A series he never published.
Photos he had never shown.
Each subject?
Broken women.
One of them was Naomi.
Younger.
Vulnerable.
Posed with her fingers on her lips like she had a secret.
She did.
She'd whispered it between takes: "I want to ruin someone. I just haven't decided who yet."
Callen had forgotten.
But now?
It all made sense.