The Devil In Disguise

The ranch air was different.

It smelled like pine and dust, like quiet mornings and promises no one could hear. The wind moved through the trees like a whisper, brushing past the tall grass and the wooden frame of the wraparound porch. The sky was wide. No towers. No noise. No headlines.

Inside, Scarlett sat curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick grey blanket that fell around her like armor. One of Brian's old sweaters clung to her shoulders—too big, too warm, too comforting. Her tea had gone cold in her hands, but she didn't care. The fire across from her crackled gently in the stone hearth, casting shadows that danced along the walls.

She didn't want to talk. But the silence between them had stretched too long.

"I didn't come here to be with you," she said softly.

Brian didn't look at her right away. He was sitting a few feet away, watching the fire, hands clasped together. He waited a few seconds before answering.

"I know."

"I needed to get away," she continued, her voice a whisper. "Everything felt like it was closing in. I couldn't breathe in the city anymore. I needed space."

"You got it."

She glanced at him now, uncertain. "That's all it was. At first."

Brian's jaw tensed slightly, but he nodded.

The wind pushed against the window again, a gentle howl through the cracks. Scarlett listened to it, letting it echo through her ribs.

"So what now?" she asked after a while. "Do we just... go back? Pretend this didn't happen?"

Brian looked over at her finally. "Do you want to pretend?"

"No," she said, too quickly. "But I don't want to make it worse either. I don't want to be the reason everything burns."

"You're not the reason," he said gently.

Scarlett shook her head. "Then explain something to me."

Brian leaned back, waiting.

"If you're here with me now, why was she the one in the first place?" Scarlett asked. "Why Camille? What made her the right choice back then?"

He looked into the fire for a long time before answering.

"I didn't choose her because she was right. I chose her because she was always there."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Her dad and mine were friends. Business partners. They built so much together. Camille was the girl I grew up beside. Every holiday. Every family event. She lost her parents in a car crash when she was twelve. After that, she became part of our world."

Scarlett's heart softened.

"She didn't have anyone," Brian continued. "Just a grandmother who passed later. She was brilliant. Smart. Strategic. But broken, too. I saw that. I watched her armor build up year after year. And I think... part of me felt like I owed her."

Scarlett swallowed. "Did you love her?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I did. Maybe I loved the history. The comfort. The sense of responsibility. But I didn't want her the way I want you."

Scarlett dropped her gaze.

Brian's voice dropped to something quieter. "She always liked me. Everyone saw it. Even when we were kids. But when we were nineteen, we made this pact—if we weren't married by thirty, we'd marry each other."

"You didn't expect her to hold you to it."

"No," he said. "I didn't expect myself to fall into it either."

Scarlett shifted beneath the blanket. "That changes things."

"How so?"

She looked up at him, guilt flickering behind her eyes. "Because I see her differently now. Not just as the cold woman trying to control everything—but as a girl who lost everything. And maybe never healed from it."

Brian was silent.

"I love you," she said finally, voice barely audible. "But I can't lie—I feel something else now, too. Guilt. Compassion. Responsibility, maybe. I don't want to be the reason she loses more."

"She didn't lose me because of you," Brian said gently. "She lost me because I'd already gone."

Scarlett didn't respond right away.

The fire popped.

"I don't want to be the blurred girl anymore," she whispered. "But I also don't want to be the girl who ruined someone's last piece of home."

Brian reached across the couch, gently took her hand.

"You didn't ruin anything. You just showed me what real feels like."

She looked at him—unsure, scared, but open. He leaned closer, and for a moment they just breathed together.

"I'm not going to run from this," he said. "Not from you."

And she didn't pull away.

The next morning, the air was warm, the road empty. Brian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on Scarlett's thigh.

They didn't talk much on the way back. It wasn't silence—it was stillness. The kind of peace you don't want to disturb too quickly.

When they reached the city, Scarlett changed. The layers came back—sunglasses, zipped coat, hair pulled into a clean twist. She met Sadie near the coffee spot before heading back to their shared workspace.

Sadie grinned the moment she saw her. "You look like a person again."

"I think I remembered how to sleep."

They linked arms and started walking, hot drinks in hand, weaving through the sidewalk traffic.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like life might be returning to normal. The air didn't carry tension. The city just moved around them like it always had.

They talked about fabrics. New client requests. The photoshoot they'd postponed twice. The site revamp. And what their first big drop under their own label might look like. For once, they weren't designing under someone else's name.

No Camille. No expectations. Just them.

"I'm thinking a structured cut with softer contrast fabrics," Sadie said, excited. "Modern feminine. Something that feels like us."

Scarlett smiled. "Let's make it loud."

They laughed, walking past a group of girls with iced lattes and tinted lenses.

That's when Scarlett noticed it.

The stare. The pause. The unmistakable shift of attention.

One of the girls froze mid-step, eyes locked on her. Then her phone came up, screen turned outward. Tapping. Recording.

Scarlett's chest tightened.

"Sadie…" she said.

Sadie glanced up.

More people were slowing down.

Whispers.

Pointing.

Phones.

"Scarlett," Sadie said sharply, pulling her to the side. "What the hell is happening?"

Scarlett's heart pounded in her throat.

Then Sadie's phone buzzed.

She pulled it out, unlocked it—and froze.

Scarlett leaned over. "What?"

Sadie didn't answer. She just turned the screen toward her.

A press conference clip. From the night before.

Camille. Standing on a stage, poised in a dove-grey suit, surrounded by lights and reporters. Her smile was soft. Elegant.

"Brian and I are stronger than ever. These past few weeks have been challenging, but love doesn't break under pressure—it sharpens. We ask for privacy, and thank you for your continued support."

Scarlett's mouth went dry.

"Sadie—"

"There's more."

Sadie's hands shook as she tapped over to SnapTok.

Scarlett saw it instantly.

A photo posted barely twenty minutes ago. Camille in a cream silk robe, seated by the edge of her bed. Her hair sleek. Her skin glowing. The morning light perfectly staged.

And beside her?

Scarlett.

Her full face. Her eyes. No blur. No denial.

The caption:

The devil who came in disguise as an angel. My nemesis.

Scarlett's blood ran cold.

People were already commenting. Sharing. Tagging. News outlets had begun reposting it with captions like:

"Mystery girl no more: Camille's betrayal story turns public."

"The woman behind the Wexler scandal has a name—and a face."

She could barely hear Sadie calling her name.

The world tilted.

People were snapping pictures now—live. Real time. Right on the street. Pointing. Whispering her name like it was trending.

And it was.

Scarlett Hayes.

The blurred girl was no longer a blur.

She was a headline.