Chapter 3

The entire studio went dead silent.

The comment feed stuttered for a moment — then exploded at ten times the speed it had before.

"She's fighting back?! The owner is actually fighting back?!"

"The nerve on this woman — absolute ice."

"Still denying it even with a pregnancy test in her face. Classic."

"Waiting for the guy to show up. Three-way confrontation. This tea is piping hot."

Selena clearly hadn't expected this.

In her version of events, I was supposed to collapse in tears. Beg for forgiveness. Run.

She ground her teeth and locked eyes with me.

"Quinn, you never know when to quit."

"You think Ethan's going to protect you? He figured out what you are a long time ago."

She pulled out her phone, jabbing at the screen with hard, furious taps.

"I'm calling him right now. Let him tell everyone exactly who you really are."

The call connected.

Ring. Ring.

Every tone tightened the nerves of the millions watching.

Vivian suddenly stepped forward, putting herself between me and Selena.

Her eyes glistened. Her voice broke with what sounded like genuine distress.

"Selena, please — don't do this to Quinn!"

"Quinn is a victim too! Ethan told her he was single the whole time. She had no idea you existed. We're all women here — why push her this far?"

The moment those words hit the air, the comment section shifted.

"The best friend just admitted it!"

"Wait — so she's basically confirming Quinn knew Ethan and had a relationship with him?"

"Knowing about the fiancée or not doesn't matter. Taking the money is a fact. A home wrecker is a home wrecker."

"That best friend is something else — pretending to defend her while stabbing her in the back."

I turned my head and looked at Vivian with cold, flat eyes.

"Vivian. When did I ever say I knew Ethan?"

Vivian's expression froze. Her gaze darted away.

"Quinn, this isn't the time to be difficult! Men will throw anyone under the bus to protect themselves. If you just admit he deceived you, that's way better than letting people think you went after him on purpose."

"So your advice is — to admit to something I never did, just to 'cut my losses'?"

I stepped closer to her, my gaze sharp as a blade.

"Vivian, are you my operations director, or are you working for Selena?"

Vivian's foot started tapping frantically. Tears streamed down her face.

"Quinn, how could you think that about me? I've been grinding through this with you since we were in a basement. I'm trying to save you!"

Save me.

That was the same line she'd used in my previous life — every time she steered me one step deeper into the trap.

Every time she made me bow my head. Every time she made me stay quiet. All of it had led to a place I couldn't come back from.

Click.

The call went through.

Through the speaker came a low, slightly raspy male voice.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Selena grabbed onto it like a lifeline. Tears spilled down her face.

"Ethan! I'm at Quinn's studio! Tell everyone — didn't she deceive you? Isn't she the one who took your money and tried to trap you with a pregnancy?"

A few seconds of silence on the other end.

Then the voice let out a slow sigh.

"Quinn, let it go."

"Just give Selena back whatever needs to be returned. You and I... this is where it ends. I don't want to hurt anyone."

The comment section detonated.

"Ethan just confirmed it! What else is there to explain?"

"Trash man, trash woman — perfect match."

"He's calling her by her nickname and she wants us to believe nothing happened?"

"Quinn get out of the restoration industry. Give back the money!"

Selena let out a cold, triumphant laugh and held the phone up in front of me.

"You heard him. Quinn — what do you have to say now?"

I stared at that phone. Listened to the voice coming through it — that voice with just a faint trace of static — and I smiled.

Not bitterness. Not performance.

The thrill of finally getting your hands on what you've been chasing.

In my previous life, that voice had been the last straw that broke me.

Now, it was the first card in my winning hand.

"Ethan, right?"

I leaned toward the mic, my voice perfectly steady.

"You say you don't want to hurt anyone. So why won't you turn on video? Why won't you show your face?"

Silence.

"You're saying you know me. That we had something. Fine — let me ask you a few questions."

I picked up a tool from the worktable.

"Last month, you said your favorite piece I'd ever restored was an emerald necklace. So tell me — what technique did I use on the pendant?"

Faint breathing on the other end.

Selena jumped in to defend him. "Ethan's a mess right now. Who memorizes the craftsmanship on some necklace?"

I ignored her and kept my eyes on the phone.

"Okay. Too technical. Can't remember. Let me make it easier."

"If you've visited my studio as often as you claim — tell me what's displayed in the entryway, right when you walk in. What antique. What design."

The seconds ticked by.

Millions of viewers held their breath.

Vivian quietly edged back half a step, her hand slipping into her jacket pocket.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

The "Ethan" on the other end finally cleared his throat.

"I've got a stomach thing. I'm at the hospital. I'm not doing this."

"Not doing this?"

I let out a short, cold laugh.

"A man who supposedly visited my studio constantly. Who was so close with me that I'm pregnant with his child. And he doesn't even know what my front door looks like?"

"Ethan — is it really that your stomach hurts? Or is it that you have never once set foot in this place?"