Talia's POV
"Get ready! Now!"
I shoved Noah toward his clothes as footsteps sounded in the hallway. My heart pounded with joy, not fear. This was it. The moment I'd been planning for months.
Noah scrambled around like a scared rabbit, grabbing his shirt from the floor. "Talia, what have we done? Belle's going to be destroyed."
"Good," I mumbled, fixing my hair in the mirror. "It's about time."
He stared at me like I'd grown two heads. Poor, stupid Noah. He had no idea who he was really dealing with.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. I could hear Belle stumbling with her keys, probably excited about her pathetic anniversary surprise. I almost laughed.
"You don't mean that," Noah said, his voice shaking. "Belle's your best friend."
Best friend. The words tasted like poison in my mouth. Belle Whitmore had never been my friend. She'd been my goal.
I thought back to the first day I met her two years ago at the coffee shop where she worked. Sweet, innocent Belle with her bright smile and kind eyes. She'd given me a free muffin because I was "new in town and looked sad."
What she didn't know was that I wasn't sad. I was hunting.
I'd been following her for weeks before we "accidentally" met. Studying her routines, her job plans, her pathetic little life. The private detective I'd hired had done his job well. He'd found Noah Blake, Belle's boyfriend who was trying to make it as a writer.
Perfect.
"Belle trusts you," Noah continued, pulling on his pants. "She tells you everything. How can you—"
"Because she has everything!" The words burst out of me before I could stop them. "Do you know what it's like to watch someone float through life without a care in the world?"
Noah looked confused. "Belle works three jobs. She barely sleeps. How is that floating through life?"
He really didn't understand. None of them ever did.
"She chooses to work those jobs," I said, my voice getting sharper. "She could go home anytime she wants. Back to her perfect family and her perfect life."
"What are you talking about? Belle never mentions family."
I smiled. Sweet Noah. Belle had lied to him about so many things. But then again, she'd been lying to herself too.
The truth was, I knew exactly who Belle Whitmore was. I'd known from the very beginning.
My phone buzzed with a text message. I glanced at it and my smile got bigger.
"Everything in place?" the message read.
"Almost," I texted back.
Noah saw me texting and frowned. "Who are you messaging right now?"
"No one important," I lied.
But it was very important. This whole thing was bigger than Noah could imagine. I wasn't just some jealous friend ruining a relationship for fun. I was being paid to do this.
Very well paid.
The key turned in the lock. Belle was coming in.
"Hide!" Noah whispered furiously.
"No," I said quietly. "Let her see us."
"Are you insane?"
Maybe I was. But I'd been planning this moment for too long to hide now.
I thought about my real life. Not the things I'd told Belle about growing up poor and struggling. The truth was much worse.
I grew up in foster homes. Fifteen different families in eighteen years. Some were nice. Others weren't. I learned early that the world was split into two types of people: those who had everything, and those who had to take it.
Belle belonged to the first group, even if she was trying to be in the second.
When I was sixteen, I lived with a family who worked for rich people. The Whitmores. I cleaned their big house and served at their fancy parties. That's where I first saw Belle.
She was fourteen then, laughing with her friends by their swimming pool. Golden hair shining in the sun, not a fear in the world. She had everything I'd ever dreamed of: loving parents, a beautiful home, money, education, a future.
And she didn't even understand it.
I watched her for weeks that summer. Saw how she took everything for granted. How she whined about small things while I scrubbed her family's floors. How she threw away food while I went hungry.
One day, she caught me watching her and smiled. Actually smiled at me like I was a real person instead of just the help.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Belle. Want to swim with us?"
For a moment, I almost believed she was truly nice. But then her mother called her inside for piano lessons, and she skipped away without another thought.
That's when I knew: Belle Whitmore was the enemy.
It took me six years to track her down after she ran away from home. Six years of planning and saving and preparing for payback.
The door opened.
"Noah?" Belle's voice was soft and happy. "I'm home!"
Noah looked at me with fear in his eyes. He still thought this was just about jealousy. He had no idea about the bigger plan.
My phone buzzed again. Another text.
"Phase one complete. Begin phase two quickly. The client is pleased."
I looked at the message and felt a thrill of joy. This was just the beginning.
Belle appeared in the bedroom doorway holding flowers and a small wrapped box. Her face was glowing with happiness and love.
For exactly three seconds.
Then she saw us. Noah half-dressed. Me sitting quietly on her bed like I owned the place.
Her face went through so many feelings so fast: confusion, disbelief, understanding, pain.
The flowers fell from her hands. The gift box hit the floor with a small thud.
"Surprise," I said softly.
Belle's mouth opened but no sound came out. Tears started rolling down her face.
Noah jumped up. "Belle, I can explain—"
"Can you?" I interrupted. "Can you really explain why you've been cheating on her for three months?"
Belle's face went white. "Three months?"
Noah shot me a look of pure hate. "Talia, don't—"
"She deserves to know the truth," I said, standing up slowly. "Don't you, Belle? You deserve to know that while you were working yourself to death for him, he was with me."
Belle started shaking. I could see her whole world falling apart, and it felt amazing.
But then her phone rang.
Belle looked at it with dead eyes. The caller ID said "Dad."
She hadn't talked to her father in four years. Why was he calling now?
Belle replied with a shaky voice. "Hello?"
I couldn't hear what her father said, but I watched Belle's face change from sadness to shock to something else entirely.
"What do you mean the company is in trouble?" she whispered.
My blood turned cold. This wasn't part of the plan.
Belle looked up at me, and for the first time since I'd known her, her eyes weren't kind.
They were dangerous.
"I'll be on the next flight home," she said into the phone. Then she hung up and stared straight at me.
"This isn't over," she said softly. "Not even close."
Something in her voice made my skin crawl.
What had I just unleashed?