Scarlett didn't speak.
She sat behind the counter at the shop, her eyes fixed on the cup of tea she hadn't touched. It was cold now. She didn't even remember making it.
Outside, the city moved like nothing had changed. But her phone, resting beside the cash register, was a war zone.
Her name was on it. Her face. The photo.
No blur. Just her.
And Camille's caption, cruel in its softness: The devil who came in disguise as an angel. My nemesis.
Scarlett didn't need to scroll. She already knew. The comments were brutal. The reposts, endless. Her inbox—if she dared to open it, was probably full of strangers dissecting her life.
She was a trending topic. Not because anyone wanted to know her. But because they already thought they did.
And she didn't get to speak. She didn't get a voice.
Because she was the countryside girl from Willows Creek. The one who came to Vanguard to sew dresses. To start something with Sadie. To build a life with her hands, not her face.
And now the world only saw her as the wedding designer who fell in love with the groom.
Sadie paced near the racks, phone pressed to her ear, muttering something about postponing a client fitting.
Scarlett's stomach twisted.
The shop felt smaller than usual. The walls thinner. Even with the blinds half-drawn, she felt exposed like the whole world could see inside.
And Brian?
She'd watched the press conference.
He'd stood behind a polished podium, back straight, jaw set, and said:
"I won't entertain personal speculation. Respect our privacy. Especially hers."
Hers.
Not her name. Not her identity.
Not ownership. Not love.
Just a vague line of protection that confirmed everything without giving her anything at all.
He didn't deny her.
But he didn't stand beside her either.
Not really.
Not the way Camille still had the photos. The ring. The favor of millions.
Scarlett leaned forward, burying her face in her hands.
"I can't breathe," she said.
Sadie turned quickly, crossing to her. "Hey…..hey. Look at me."
Scarlett didn't move.
"I'm serious," Sadie said, crouching beside her. "We're going to get through this."
Scarlett lifted her head slowly. "Get through what, Sadie? Do you hear yourself? We built this shop from nothing. We worked our asses off. And now we're just… noise."
"You're not noisy," Sadie said firmly. "You're not a soundbite or a villain or some washed-up narrative."
"I'm a headline. I'm a punchline." She let out a harsh laugh. "They don't care where I came from. They don't care I'm sorry. I knew he was engaged, and I still let myself fall for him."
And she had.
It wasn't calculated.
It wasn't conquest.
It was the rooftop.
The way he listened, really listened, when she talked about leaving Willows Creek. When he asked about fabric choices, not out of politeness, but interest. His eyes stayed on her when she spoke, like she was the only voice that mattered in the whole skyline.
Then came the ride to the lake. That unspoken invitation, the way silence bloomed between them like something alive. They didn't touch until they did. His coat over her shoulders. Fingers brushing. Her breath catching. A moment so small and burning it branded itself onto her skin.
He made her feel seen.
Like she wasn't just a girl who left a small town with nothing but pins in her pocket.
Like she could be more than survival.
That was the moment she slipped.
Not for the groom.
For the man who made her feel real.
Sadie's jaw clenched. "You fell in love. You're not the first woman who did something messy."
"No," Scarlett said, "but I did it with Camille's fiancé. And now she gets to sit in her penthouse and act like she's been wronged by the peasant girl who climbed through the window."
Sadie was quiet for a beat.
"You're not the peasant," she said finally. "You're the threat. That's why this hurts so bad."
Scarlett blinked. "What?"
"You don't come from her world, and she still lost him to you. That's not a scandal, it's humiliation. And she's not going to let that go."
Scarlett pressed her palms into her knees. "Do you think she'll come here?" she whispered.
"No," Sadie said. "She won't come down. That's not her style. She'll stay where she is up high and let the fall hurt more."
Scarlett flinched.
Sadie stood and started locking up. "We need to shut the store down for the day."
"I can't afford that," Scarlett said softly.
"I know," Sadie replied. "But if one more blogger shows up at our door asking if you're the girl in that photo, I'm going to break their camera."
Scarlett nodded, barely.
Sadie's phone buzzed again. She checked the screen and winced. "Another canceled booking."
Scarlett didn't ask which one. She didn't need to.
This wasn't just gossip. It was wreckage. Reputations. Work. Income.
Camille didn't need to call her. Or confront her. Or yell.
She just had to exist.
Scarlett reached for her phone and opened the camera app. She stared at her own face.
Same eyes. Same hands. Same girl.
But she couldn't recognize herself.
The version of Scarlett Hayes on the internet was sharper. Meaner. Sleeker. A woman she'd never set out to be.
And she hated her.
I was never supposed to be part of this, she thought.
The shop lights flickered slightly, old wiring.
She stood.
"I'm going home."
Sadie looked up. "Are you sure?"
Scarlett nodded. "I just… I need quiet."
Sadie didn't argue.
She watched Scarlett pull her coat around her shoulders, hood up, face low.
Like a fugitive.
But Scarlett didn't run. She walked.
Out the door. Into the noise.
She didn't look at her phone again.
She didn't need Camille's next move.
She already felt it.
Camille wasn't chasing her.
Camille didn't have to.
Because the world had already chosen which woman it believed.
And it wasn't her.