Chapter 4Not Your Savior

The next morning, with dark circles under my eyes, I walked into Mr. Davies's law office, Sarah by my side. Mr. Davies was a man in his forties, dressed in a sharp, immaculate suit, his gaze calm and piercing.

I laid everything out for him: the whole sordid story, the sickening chat logs, the mountain of transfer receipts.

He listened intently, never interrupting, only occasionally adjusting his glasses as his expression grew more and more serious.

"Ms. Vance," he said, his voice steady and reassuring, "based on what you've told me, the actions of Mr. Coleman and his sister go far beyond a mere moral failing."

"Ms. Coleman knowingly disseminated false information online to attack your character. That constitutes slander. And Mr. Coleman, fully aware that you were the sole leaseholder, conspired with his sister to illegally evict you and change the locks. That is unlawful entry and occupation."

He paused, tapping a finger on the copy of the will. "As for this document, it is legally tenuous. First, a testator must be of completely sound mind, free from coercion or deception. Given Mr. Coleman's critical condition, his mental capacity at the time is highly questionable. But more importantly…"

Mr. Davies looked at me, his eyes sharp.

"You need to prove that you were not just 'going Dutch,' but that you were, in fact, the primary financial contributor to this relationship. These financial records you've brought are invaluable. They are the most powerful weapon you have to demolish their narrative."

I looked at the thick stack of papers on his desk, a detailed history of my ten-year-long mistake. Every receipt, every transfer was a needle in my heart.

But they were also the swords I would use to strike back.

Just as a sliver of hope began to break through the darkness, Chloe's assault intensified.

She had sold her story to a notorious online tabloid. They twisted the narrative of the "designer girlfriend abandoning her dying boyfriend" into a modern-day tragedy, painting me as a vain, money-grubbing social climber who had bled her partner dry and left him for dead.

The article went viral, catapulting the story to the top of the local news feeds.

My name, my profession, even the address of my design studio were plastered all over the internet.

The studio phone rang off the hook. Clients started sending cautious emails, asking veiled questions, their words laced with doubt and hesitation.

Then came the first contract termination.

Then a second. And a third.

My business, my passion, everything I had worked so hard to build, was crumbling around me in a matter of days.

A suffocating despair threatened to drown me. I had never imagined that human cruelty could sink to such depths.

The final blow came when Chloe, flanked by reporters from the tabloid, ambushed me outside my studio.

A barrage of cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face.

"Ms. Vance, do you have any comment on the allegations that you abandoned your partner?"

"Is it true you ran off with Mr. Coleman's life savings?"

"Have you already found a new sugar daddy?"

The questions were sharp, cruel daggers aimed directly at my heart. I was trapped in my own office, a cornered animal surrounded by a pack of hyenas. Through the glass door, I could see Chloe's triumphant, gloating face.

My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe. My mind was a chaotic storm, and I could feel myself teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown.

And then, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the noise.

"Members of the press, please maintain a professional distance! Your actions are a severe violation of my client's right to privacy and a direct assault on her reputation! We will pursue legal action against any party publishing unsubstantiated and defamatory statements!"

It was Mr. Davies.

He and Sarah had arrived. He stood before me like a shield, calmly and professionally addressing the media frenzy, his voice firm as he warned Chloe that her actions constituted a criminal offense.

Staring at his solid back, the fog in my brain began to clear.

A tiny ember of hope rekindled in the ashes of my despair.

I wasn't alone.

I couldn't fall apart.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the pain jolted me back to full awareness. I looked through the glass, my gaze meeting Chloe's defiant stare. The fear and vulnerability in my eyes receded, replaced by the hard, unyielding glint of tempered steel.

You drove me into a corner, Leo and Chloe.

Now, get ready. Because I'm not just coming back to clear my name.

I'm coming back to ruin you.