Chapter 3

Right after finalizing my designer outfit for next week's gala, I stopped by a nearby clinic for a routine check-up.

And that's when I saw a very familiar face.

It was Chloe, standing outside the obstetrics wing.

One of her hands was resting over her slightly rounded belly, an smug, gloating grin plastered across her face.

Looks like she was here for a prenatal exam.

Small world.

When Chloe caught sight of me, she froze for a second, then looked me up and down, sizing up my high-end look. A flash of jealous bitterness sparked in her eyes.

"Well, look who it is. If it isn't our ruined, empty-handed superstar, Lauren."

Her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with venom. "What's the matter? Hit rock bottom and looking for a janitor gig at the hospital? Honestly, suits you."

I had zero interest in petty bickering. I just offered an enigmatic, razor-thin smile.

"You two love that account so much, keep it. Enjoy it. Every single drop of value on that page was built on my blood and sweat. Let's just see how long you can actually hold onto it."

Chloe looked like she had just been slapped.

"What's that supposed to mean? That account belongs to Christian and me now! It has zero to do with you! Save your sour-grapes routine for someone who cares!"

I kept smiling and walked right past her without another word.

Her voice echoed down the hall behind me, frantic and screechy: "You're dead in the water and you still act so high and mighty!"

Three days later, the night of the gala.

The Fashion Creators Summit was hosted in the grand ballroom of the most prestigious hotel downtown, packed with industry royalty.

Christian and Chloe were there, of course.

Chloe wore an obnoxious, blinding sequined gown, clinging tight to Christian's arm as they mingled with brand reps, acting as the self-proclaimed new leads of the brand.

When I glided into the ballroom flanked by the executive team from Apex Media, the entire room went silent.

My tailored white pantsuit glowed under the crystal chandeliers—sharp, sophisticated, and completely aligned with my "Corporate Breakthrough" aesthetic.

A relaxed, radiant smile on my face, I chatted softly with the executives beside me.

Christian and Chloe looked like they had seen a ghost. They never imagined I would show up like this, let alone surrounded by industry giants they could only dream of pitching to.

The whispers started rippling through the crowd instantly.

"Isn't that Lauren? What is she doing here?"

"Wait, isn't she the one who cheated..."

"Shh! Look at her, does that look like someone who's disgraced? That's the CEO of Apex Media next to her!"

"Apex? They're ruthlessly picky about public image. Why would they sign her?"

"There's definitely more to this story..."

Christian's face went from pale to furious, and Chloe's grip on his arm tightened so hard her knuckles turned white.

I raised my champagne flute toward them from across the room, my lips curling into a knowing smirk.

The real show was just getting started.

And my speaking slot was up next.

The house lights dimmed, and a spotlight bathed the main stage.

The host took the mic, voice bursting with enthusiasm.

"Please welcome Apex Media's latest powerhouse signing, whose distinct vision for modern workplace fashion hit over one million followers in under thirty days—Lauren!"

I walked smoothly and purposefully to center stage.

I caught Chloe glaring at me from the VIP tables, and I could practically hear her sneering:

"What? Did they make a mistake? What million followers?"

Ignoring her, I stepped up to the podium and spoke into the mic with calm authority:

"Thank you to the committee for having me, and thank you to my incredible new home, Apex Media, for their trust and belief. When I was drowning in a manufactured storm of lies, completely buried under false accusations, they saw the genuine value of my work and gave me the platform to stand here tonight."

The ballroom buzzed into an immediate frenzy.

False accusations? That was an unmistakable reference to the cheating scandal blowing up Twitter.

I locked eyes with Christian, whose face was turning purple, and continued:

"Most of you know me from the handle 'Style Daily.' That account held three solid years of my dedication."

"What most people don't know is that over the past month, that account was unlawfully stolen from me, and I was subjected to a calculated, malicious smear campaign."