The bedroom door felt like the only thing still holding the world together. I sat on the floor with my back against it, silk dress pooled around my knees like a discarded flag of surrender. My phone wouldn't stop. Each buzz landed like a slap. I finally opened the screen again and watched the notifications stack so fast the numbers blurred.
The photos were everywhere now. Not just the family chat. Someone had uploaded them to every major gossip site in Chicago. The headlines were already spinning: "Pierce Heiress Caught in Hotel Orgy While Boyfriend Proposes to Sister." They named the hotel. They named the date. They even circled my face in red like I was some criminal in a lineup. Worse, the captions claimed the six men had tested positive for multiple infections. The comments poured in like gasoline on a bonfire.
*Rich girls think they're untouchable.*
*Selene Pierce deserves every bit of this.*
*Hope Mason dodged more than just a bad proposal.*
I scrolled until my thumb went numb. Hashtags trended in real time: #SeleneScandal, #PiercePrincessExposed. Someone had already edited the birthday party footage from earlier tonight and stitched it together with the hotel stills. The clip showed Mason choosing Camille, then cut to my supposed "night of sin." It had half a million views in under an hour.
A text from Layla flashed at the top. *Selly call me RIGHT NOW. This is insane.*
I couldn't. My throat closed every time I tried to type. The betrayal from Mason had left a raw wound; this felt like someone pouring acid into it. I hadn't been in any hotel with six strangers. I hadn't even been out alone last month. But the pictures looked real enough to ruin me. Whoever set this up had done their homework.
A knock rattled the door behind my head. "Lena?" My mother's voice, strained and careful. "Open the door, sweetheart. We need to talk."
I stayed silent. Another knock, heavier this time. Julian's tone cut through, calm but edged with the authority he wore like armor. "Selene. It's me. Let us in before this gets worse."
Worse. As if the entire city calling me a disease-carrying slut wasn't already the bottom.
I pushed myself up on shaky heels and unlocked the door. They spilled in, my mother first, eyes red-rimmed, then Julian, Elliot right behind him looking ready to punch something, and finally Camille, hovering at the back with that same careful smile she'd worn in the garden.
My father followed last, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the party still echoing downstairs. Augustus Pierce didn't raise his voice. He never had to. The room simply adjusted to his presence.
He looked at me, assessing damage the way he assessed stock reports. "We've contained what we can. My PR team is already working the angles. Deepfakes, hacked accounts, the usual story. By morning this will be yesterday's noise."
Camille stepped forward, arms open like she wanted to hug me. "Selly, I'm so sorry. This is horrible timing on top of… everything. But we're family. We'll fight it together."
Her voice dripped sympathy, but her eyes held that glint again, the one that said she was measuring how much space she could claim now that I'd been knocked down. I felt my jaw tighten.
Elliot dropped onto the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees. "Who the hell would do this? Those pictures are fake as hell. You were with us at the gala that night, Selly. Mason too."
Julian nodded once, arms crossed. "I've already got people tracing the upload. We'll find the source. In the meantime, you stay here. No statements. No social media. Let Dad handle it."
My mother reached for my hand. "Lena, please. A scandal like this… it passes. Remember when that blogger tried to say your father was laundering money? Gone in a week. You just have to ride it out inside these walls where we can protect you."
I pulled my hand back. The words built behind my teeth, sharp and unstoppable. "Ride it out? While the whole city thinks I'm some infected whore who couldn't keep her legs closed on the same night her boyfriend proposed to my sister? You want me to smile for the cameras tomorrow like nothing happened?"
Camille's smile faltered for half a second. "Selly, that's not what anyone's saying..."
"That's exactly what they're saying." I grabbed my phone and shoved the screen toward her. The latest article loaded: "Selene Pierce's Secret Life of Excess, Sources Confirm Multiple Partners, Health Concerns." "Look at the comments. They're calling me worse than that. And you ..." My gaze snapped to my father. "You're already planning damage control like this is just another business deal. Like I'm the problem that needs fixing."
Augustus's expression didn't change. "You are my daughter. I protect what's mine. That includes your name."
"My name?" The laugh that came out of me was ugly. "My name is trending as a punchline right now. Mason made sure of that in front of two hundred people, and whoever took those pictures made sure the whole world joined the party."
Elliot stood, restless energy crackling off him. "We'll kill the story. I know people who can make it disappear faster than PR ever could."
Julian shot him a warning look. "Not that way. We do this clean."
I backed up until the windowsill pressed against my spine. The garden lights still glowed outside, mocking me with their beauty. Inside this room the air felt thick, suffocating. Every concerned face reminded me I was trapped by the scandal, by the family that expected me to swallow it quietly, by the sister whose smile still looked too satisfied.
Camille tried again, voice soft. "Let me stay with you tonight. We can talk it through. I know you're hurting about Mason, but this… this is separate. We'll get through it."
The poisoned sweetness in her tone snapped something inside me. "Separate?" My voice rose, sharp enough to cut. "You stood on that stage and took the man I loved while the cameras rolled, and now you want to play the supportive sister while my life burns online? Don't pretend you're here for me. You've wanted everything I had since we were kids. Tonight you finally got it."
The room went still. My mother's hand flew to her mouth. Julian's jaw flexed. Even my father's calm cracked for a flicker.
Camille's eyes widened, the perfect picture of wounded innocence. "Selly… I never..."
"Save it." I turned away, fingers already yanking the zipper of my dress down. The silk slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet. I didn't care who saw. "I'm done pretending. I'm leaving Chicago tonight. Mexico. Somewhere no one knows my name or my face or my supposed diseases."
My father stepped forward. "Absolutely not. Running makes you look guilty. The press will chase you. You stay here, under this roof, where we control the narrative."
I laughed again, colder this time. "Control the narrative? Like you controlled the guest list tonight? Like you controlled the fact that my boyfriend...no, ex-boyfriend chose my sister in front of everyone? No. I'm packing one bag and I'm gone before sunrise. Delete my number if you have to. Tell the press whatever story keeps the family empire shiny."
Elliot moved to block the closet. "Selly, think. Mexico alone? With this heat on you? It's not safe."
"I'll be safer there than here where every mirror shows me the woman they all think I am now." I shoved past him, yanking jeans and a plain black sweater from hangers. No designer labels. No Pierce elegance. Just clothes that wouldn't scream money.
My mother's voice trembled. "Lena, please. Your father's right. We can fix this together."
"Together?" I spun on her, the word tasting like bile. "The same way we all stood there clapping while Mason picked Camille? I'm finished being the perfect daughter who smiles through everything. The photos are fake. I know it. You know it. But the world doesn't care. And I'm not staying here to watch Camille wear my future like it's a new dress."
Camille stayed quiet now, the smile finally gone, replaced by something tighter. Good. Let her feel it.
Julian exhaled slowly. "At least let me arrange security. A private jet. Something discreet."
I shook my head, already stuffing clothes into a small leather duffel. "No. No jets with our logo. No drivers. I'll take a commercial flight under a different name. I need to disappear, Julian. Completely."
My father watched me for a long moment, the silence stretching until it felt like another argument. Finally he nodded once, curt. "One week. Then you come back and we face this properly."
I didn't answer. One week. Or one month. Or never. Right now the only plan was distance.
They left eventually, each of them offering one last plea or warning. The door clicked shut behind them. I finished packing in silence, then called a car service under Layla's name. By the time I slipped out the side entrance, the party had finally died downstairs. The house felt hollow.
O'Hare was quiet at that hour. I bought a ticket to Mexico City with cash from the emergency envelope I'd kept in my drawer for years. No one looked twice at the woman in jeans and a baseball cap. The flight was long and numb. I stared out the window at nothing until the wheels touched down in the humid Mexican dawn.
The hotel I chose was small, anonymous, tucked in a quiet neighborhood far from the tourist strips. I checked in under a fake name, dropped my bag on the bed, and headed straight for the rooftop bar. The city spread out below, alive with lights and music I didn't have to join. I ordered the strongest tequila they had and drank it fast.
The burn slid down my throat and settled in my chest, loosening the knot that had been there since the birthday cake. One drink became two, then three. The bartender didn't ask questions. Strangers laughed at nearby tables, but I kept my eyes on the glass.
The scandal was still burning back home, I could feel it in my bones, but here, under a different sky, it felt a little farther away. The betrayal, the photos, Camille's smile, my father's control… they all blurred at the edges. I just wanted to forget. To let the tequila wash away the woman everyone thought I was now.
I signaled for another round. The night was young, the city loud, and for the first time in twenty-four hours I didn't feel like Selene Pierce at all. Just a girl at a bar trying to drown the flames.