You're broken

You're broken
The elevator doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the sleek marble hallway of Gabrielle’s penthouse. Scarlet stepped out, soaked from the rain, her heels clicking against the floor with a rhythm that sounded almost like a war drum.

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t hesitate.

She pushed open the unlocked door and stormed inside.

Gabrielle lounged on a velvet chaise, a glass of white wine in one hand, an amused smirk curling her lips. Her golden hair was twisted into a careless knot, makeup flawless, gown clinging to her like a second skin.

“Well, well,” Gabrielle drawled, not even sitting up. “The prodigal scandal returns.”

Scarlet shut the door behind her with a snap. “You planned it.”

Gabrielle laughed lightly, swirling her wine. “You’re going to have to be more specific, darling. I’ve planned so many things.”

“The hotel. The cameras. Michael.” Scarlet’s voice was low, dangerous. “You set me up.”

Gabrielle tilted her head. "And you fell for it so beautifully."

Scarlet stepped closer. "You ruined my life."

"No, sweetheart," Gabrielle said, sipping her wine. "You ruined your own life the day you thought you could play queen in a kingdom built on blood."

Scarlet’s hands shook at her sides. "I loved him."

Gabrielle’s smile sharpened. "That’s your first mistake."

Scarlet’s chest heaved. "Why? Why go after me?"

Gabrielle rose, moving toward her slowly, a predator in designer heels. "Because you don’t belong here. Because you never did. Because everything about you your hope, your sincerity it disgusts people like us."

Scarlet stared at her. "You’re broken."

Gabrielle’s laughter bubbled up, bright and cold. "And you’re stupid."

"I trusted you," Scarlet said, voice trembling. "I thought "

"You thought what? That we were friends?" Gabrielle sneered. "That I cared whether you sank or swam?"

Scarlet's nails dug into her palms. "I never did anything to you."

"You existed," Gabrielle hissed. "That was enough."

Scarlet closed the space between them in two steps.

And slapped her across the face.

The sound cracked through the penthouse like a gunshot.

Gabrielle staggered back, touching her cheek, stunned.

Scarlet’s chest heaved. "You deserved worse."

Gabrielle’s eyes darkened, something vicious flickering there. "Careful, Scarlet."

"You think I’m afraid of you?" Scarlet said. "You think after tonight, after everything you’ve done, I’m just going to crawl away?"

Gabrielle straightened, smiling slowly, cruelly. "No. I think you’re going to fight."

"And I’m going to win," Scarlet said.

Gabrielle stepped closer until their faces were inches apart. "You won’t. Because people like me? We don’t need the truth to destroy people like you. We just need a headline."

Scarlet didn’t flinch. "You’re right about one thing."

Gabrielle arched a brow. "Do tell."

"I don’t belong in your world," Scarlet said. "Because when I burn it down, I’m not going to feel a single ounce of guilt."

Gabrielle laughed again, the sound cold as ice.

"Let’s see how loud you can scream without an audience," she said softly.

Scarlet turned and walked out, not looking back.

But as the door clicked shut behind her, her hands were steady, her heart a furnace.

And she knew

The real war had just begun.

Tucker shut the study door with a slam that rattled the frames on the wall. The chandelier overhead trembled. His breathing came harsh and fast as he leaned back against the wood, eyes squeezed shut, fists trembling at his sides.

The storm outside raged, wind rattling against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the war inside his chest.

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing the whiskey decanter and pouring a heavy glass. His hands shook as he brought it to his lips.

It tasted like fire, like punishment.

The door creaked behind him.

He didn’t turn.

"Sir," came the voice of his assistant, cautious.

"What?"

"You should see this."

He dropped into the leather chair behind the massive oak desk, head pounding. "I’ve seen enough tonight."

The assistant hesitated. "There's evidence… Scarlet might have been set up."

Tucker’s head snapped up. "Get out."

"Sir, please "

"GET OUT!" Tucker roared.

The assistant flinched, then backed out, leaving the door ajar.

Tucker stared at the empty space where someone had once dared to bring him hope. His lip curled in disgust.

He grabbed the framed photo on his desk. The one of him and Scarlet at the engagement party. Her eyes were laughing. His hand was around her waist. For a moment, they had looked like a future.

He hurled it across the room.

Glass shattered against the bookshelf.

He rose, pacing, the fury uncoiling inside him with every step.

She had lied.

She had smiled while she did it.

He yanked open the drawer of his desk. Inside, tucked beneath contracts and receipts, was her necklace the one he had given her when they first married. A delicate gold chain with a tiny diamond at the center.

He stared at it.

His hand curled around it.

It felt too light. Too harmless.

It mocked him.

He ripped it from the drawer and strode to the fireplace, the flames low but hungry.

He tightened his fist around the necklace.

"You never deserved this," he said, voice ragged.

The fire crackled, waiting.

He opened his hand.

The necklace dangled, twisting once in the light, the diamond catching the flame’s reflection.

He threw it in.

The gold flashed once, bright, defiant

Then blackened.

He watched it burn, jaw locked, fists trembling at his sides.

Then something caught his eye.

A slip of paper, half-tucked into the side of the drawer he had yanked open earlier.

He pulled it out.

It was a photo.

Not just any photo.

Scarlet.

Laughing.

In the garden.

Tucker behind her, arms around her waist, grinning like a boy in love.

It wasn’t staged.

It wasn’t posed.

It was real.

And written in faint ink on the back, in her handwriting: "For every battle we face. I choose you."

His breath caught.

He stared at the words.

The fire popped loudly behind him.

He crushed the photo in his hand and stumbled back to the desk, heart hammering against his ribs.

His mind reeled.

If she had meant to betray him… why keep this?

If she had planned to humiliate him… why treasure something so small, so secret?

He dropped into the chair, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Doubt slithered in.

But pride roared louder.

She still stood with Michael Richards.

She still smiled at him.

She still destroyed everything.

He couldn’t erase that.

He wouldn’t.

Tucker shoved the photo deep into the bottom drawer and slammed it shut.

Let the past rot with everything else.

He rose, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and poured another glass.

The storm outside howled against the house, drowning out the sound of his breaking heart.

And this time, he let it.