Betrayal

Meanwhile, the hush of rumor brushed the city's corners: questionable allegations about Mike, suggesting he made salacious promises to aspiring models. Tanya acted shocked, disclaiming any knowledge, though her eyes gleamed with a hidden resolution. She fed these rumors tactfully to a small gossip blogger named Lillian, offering faint "concerns" about how she'd once felt uneasy at times. Lillian devoured the tip, splattering it across her blog with sensational spin.

Mike grew frantic. Doors that once opened to him slammed shut. Brand calls dried up. He confided in Tanya, voice thick with heartbreak, "I'm being blackballed. I just can't see where it's coming from." She kissed away his tears, whispering, "We'll get to the bottom of it, baby," hating how easy the lie felt.

17

Within weeks, the avalanche of scandal fully buried Mike Price's career. Magazine editors publicly distanced themselves. A top modeling agency blacklisted him. Lillian's blog hammered fresh allegations daily, fueled by Tanya's subtle tips. Mike sank into despair, clinging to Tanya for emotional support. She let him, still playing the comforting partner. Even as guilt flickered, she told herself: I can't lose what I've built.

Then came the final explosion: a mainstream outlet published a story titled "Rising Star Photographer's Shady Deals," featuring multiple "witness accounts." Mike smashed a glass in their apartment kitchen, trembling with rage. She tried calming him, but he spun around, tears shining.

"It's…all lies," he rasped, voice quivering. "You believe me, right?"

She exhaled shakily. "Of course." She patted his arm. "It's sabotage. Some competitor is out to get you."

He slumped against the wall, burying his face in his hands. She stared at him in silence, a swirl of pity and determination. That same night, she quietly finalized her arrangement with a new manager.

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A few days later, she moved out, leaving a note about needing distance to focus on an international shoot. Mike called repeatedly, texts unanswered. She refused to read them.

One stormy evening, however, he forced his way into her new penthouse, sneaking past building security. She opened the door to find him drenched, eyes wild. "Tanya," he spat, "I know it was you."

Her stomach dropped. "What are you talking about?" she asked, feigning confusion, though her heart hammered.

He raked a hand through his hair, stepping inside uninvited, water dripping onto her pristine floors. "I confronted one of those 'witnesses.' She broke down. Said she was paid… by a woman claiming to represent you. She described you, your manager, everything."

Tanya froze. A swirl of emotions churned: sorrow, anger, and an edge of defiance. "Mike, you're upset. You're imagining conspiracies."

He glared, lip trembling. "Why would you do this? I gave you my everything—my home, my camera, my connections. I—I loved you."

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Silence weighed heavily. The city's neon lit them from behind, turning the windows into a sheet of flickering color. She steadied her voice, speaking with forced coolness. "I never asked you to ruin yourself for me," she said quietly.

His face collapsed into heartbreak. "So this is real? You used me. And now… you've destroyed my name."

She turned away, arms folded. "You don't understand. This city is savage. If you found another 'star,' you'd overshadow me. I've lived my life powerless, tossed aside. I can't— I won't let that happen again."

He took a shaky step closer, voice cracking. "So I'm just… a stepping stone?"

She whirled, fury mixing with self-loathing. "I felt something for you," she hissed, "But I learned long ago that love is a weakness men exploit. I exploited it first, for once." Her eyes shone with tears she refused to let fall.

He stared at her in horror. "You're monstrous," he whispered.

A twisted laugh escaped her lips. "Monstrous? That's what they used to call me. Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't be anything else." Her voice softened, though. "I never wanted to hurt you. But it's done."

Mike's fists clenched, tears cutting silent paths down his cheeks. "I believed in you. In us. God, Tanya, I believed in your goodness. I guess I was a fool."

She felt her throat tighten. But she forced a mocking shrug. "Fools in love—such a cliché."

He exhaled, wounded. "I hope you find what you're chasing. Because you've destroyed the best thing you had."

For a heartbeat, her chest ached so fiercely she thought she might beg his forgiveness. But the image of the dumpster, of the Joneses' strip clubs, flashed in her mind. She squared her shoulders, letting the cold front mask her heartbreak. "Goodbye, Mike," she said, voice low.

He lingered, gaze locked on her face, as though hoping for a final shred of remorse. Finding none, he left, the door slamming behind him, leaving only a hush that thundered in her ears. She stared at the swirling city lights outside, tears threatening but refusing to fall. She'd chosen self-preservation again.

Days later, rumor said Mike took the first flight out of Aurora to some remote wilderness, photographing wildlife far from human lies. She avoided reading further details, burying any guilt under new deals and brand endorsements. She rose swiftly in the city's power circles, forging alliances with cunning executives. She radiated confidence in every photograph, every runway step, every social media post. To the world, she was unstoppable.

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Yet in quiet corners of her penthouse, nights stretched long. She sometimes lay awake, glimpsing old memories of that train ride, the sweet innocence in Mike's voice as he offered her a chance. A vague ache sharpened: her final savage betrayal. She swallowed it like poison, reminding herself: Better to break one heart—his, or even her own—than remain powerless.

Eventually, she latched onto Henry Milton, a famous singer who had also faced heartbreak. She repeated the pattern, letting him think she was a gentle spirit needing rescue. In truth, it served her brand to be seen with him, and it satisfied a piece of her that missed a man's sincere warmth. He melted under her seductive prowess like all the rest, craving her in bed with an intensity she fed with practiced skill. Once, her vindictive assistant Beverly had asked, half-drunk on champagne, "Tanya, how do you do it? These men kneel before you."

Tanya smirked, raising her glass. "I'm a Scorpio, dear," she quipped. They laughed, clinking flutes. Beverly's grin was laced with awe, though she knew to keep her place.

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Now, in the hush of this morning, she sealed the memory of Mike's heartbreak behind thick mental walls. She heard Henry rouse in the bedroom, rummaging for clothes. She turned to watch him step out, hair still bed-tousled, a hopeful smile on his lips. He murmured, "You okay? You look… far away."

She forced a light laugh. "Just thinking about the meeting I have tonight, that's all." She slid her arms around his waist, pressing close enough to feel his heartbeat spike. He smelled of aftershave and faint sweat. He bent to kiss her, and she allowed it, letting him taste the faint hint of minted lip balm. She'd learned men found that seductive.

He lingered, a question in his eyes. "I'm all yours, Tanya," he whispered. "Don't forget me."

She patted his cheek. "I won't." Then she added silently, Until I must.

That night, after Henry left for a recording session, she dressed in her usual killer style: a scarlet gown with twin slits up each side, hair pinned in an elegant bun. She gazed at the mirror. The diamond necklace traced her collarbone, dropping between her cleavage. Her reflection looked every bit the queen of Aurora—yet behind her eyes flickered the ghost of that garbage dump, the memory of Mike's devastated face. A pang pinched her heart. She repeated the mantra, No weakness, and strode out.

She arrived at the exclusive rooftop restaurant, escorted by a black limousine. The city sparkled below, neon bridging glass towers. Inside, a hush fell as she appeared in that scandalous gown, parted to reveal smooth, endless legs. She refused panties, an unspoken power move that made men's eyes widen in raw desire. She glided to the private table where an older councilman awaited, his face flushed with nerves.

She settled across from him, crossing her legs in a shift of fabric that intentionally revealed a good portion of her thigh. He swallowed, eyes flicking helplessly. She smiled—half gentle, half predatory. She recognized the look of men enthralled, men about to do anything she requested.

"Good evening," she purred, letting her voice slip into a seductress hush. "I hope the wait wasn't too long."

He coughed. "No, Ms. Valentine. I'm honored you made time. The proposal you sent regarding your expansions… it's quite ambitious."

She lifted her wine glass, swirling it. "Aurora is a city of ambition, is it not?" Then, leaning forward, letting the diamond catch candlelight, she added softly, "My only question is: do you stand with me, or not?"

He blinked, lips parting, clearly unprepared for her direct approach. She savored his confusion. Another puzzle piece for her empire. Or perhaps just a night's thrill. She parted her lips, forming the faintest grin. In that moment, all illusions of innocence parted from her mind—she was top of the food chain, forging her next conquest. The city roared outside, but in this gentle candlelit table, her unstoppable will reigned once more.