Chapter 3

The hum of the taxi engine was the only sound accompanying the rapid thumping of my heart. I was out. Free. But the freedom felt cold, sharp, and terrifying. Hudson' s apartment, a sleek, modern space overlooking the city, was a welcome refuge. He met me at the door, his face etched with concern, his strong arms pulling me into a comforting embrace.

"Erin, what happened?" he whispered, his voice gentle. He saw the bruise blooming on my arm, the weariness in my eyes.

"Everything," I choked out, the dam finally breaking. I told him everything, from the anniversary request to the secret studio, to the video, to Evan's aggression and Dahlia's theatrics. He listened patiently, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a quiet fury.

"He won't get away with this, Erin," Hudson said, his voice firm. "I promise you." He was more than a friend; he was my anchor. He represented stability, respect, and a genuine care that starkly contrasted with Evan's volatile world.

The next morning, after a fitful, dream-haunted sleep, I found solace in Hudson's spare bedroom. My phone, which I'd charged overnight, buzzed with notifications. Missed calls from Evan, dozens of texts. All ignored. The world was still reeling from my anonymous art forum post. The comments section was a warzone, a mix of outrage and speculation. Evan's carefully constructed image was starting to crack.

Hudson walked in, a tray with coffee and toast in his hands. "Morning, sunshine," he said, trying for levity. "Still moving forward?"

I met his gaze, my decision unwavering. "More than ever."

He nodded, setting down the tray. "Good. Because I've already drafted the initial divorce papers. And," he paused, his expression hardening, "I've included a section for marital misconduct, based on the evidence you collected. This is going to hit him hard."

A grim satisfaction settled over me. He deserved it. Every single agonizing moment of it.

Later that afternoon, a text came through. Not from Evan, but from Dahlia. My blood ran cold imagining what her twisted mind could concoct. "Erin, can we talk? Please. I need to explain."

I stared at the message, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Explain? After everything? I typed a quick, dismissive reply: "There's nothing to explain, Dahlia. You made your choices. Now live with them."

Her response came immediately. "Evan is devastated. He's blaming you for everything. You don't want to make things worse, do you?"

My heart hammered. She was trying to manipulate me. Trying to turn Evan against me even more. "Things couldn't get worse, Dahlia," I typed back, "They're just getting real."

Then another text, this one from Evan: "Erin, where are you? We need to talk. This is insane. You're going to destroy us both. Please, just call me." His messages were a mix of anger, confusion, and a strange underlying panic. He didn't understand. He thought he could still control the narrative, control me.

I blocked him. And Dahlia. I needed to breathe, to think, without their toxic influence poisoning my mind.

Days turned into a week. My life felt like a surreal dream. I was living with Hudson, working remotely on architectural projects I' d long put aside, slowly piecing myself back together. The legal wheels were in motion. Evan' s lawyers were already pushing back, denying everything, threatening counter-suits. It was ugly, just as Hudson predicted.

Then, a new message popped up on my phone. An anonymous message again. "Watch this. It's for you." My stomach clenched. I clicked the link.

It was a video compilation. A montage of publicly available clips of Evan, from interviews and gallery openings. Each one featured him talking about me, his "muse," his "one true love." And interspersed between these clips, brutally edited in, were the explicit photos of Dahlia from his secret project. The video ended with a close-up of Dahlia's face, a triumphant, almost predatory smirk. And a single, chilling title card: "The Dahlia Project: Exposed."

My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the phone. This wasn't just a betrayal. This was a public execution of my every loving memory. My heart twisted, a fresh wave of nausea washing over me. It was so vile, so disgusting. Only Dahlia could orchestrate something so cruel, so calculated. She wasn' t just trying to replace me; she was trying to erase me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash something. But instead, a cold, frightening calm settled over me. This wasn't just about my broken heart anymore. This was a war. And I had just been given all the ammunition I needed.

My phone rang. It was Evan. I picked up immediately.

"Erin! Did you see that? The video? It's everywhere! What the hell is going on?" His voice was a frantic, desperate shout.

"Oh, now you're interested, Evan?" I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Now that your precious public image is in tatters? Now that your 'artistic integrity' is being questioned?"

"No! Not mine! Yours! They're saying you leaked my personal work! They're calling you a scorned woman, a vengeful ex! This is destroying everything!" He was sputtering, barely coherent. "And Dahlia! She's getting death threats! You have to take it down, Erin! You have to explain! It's gone too far!"

"Take what down?" I asked, feigning innocence. "I didn't make that video, Evan. But I'm sure glad someone did. The truth has a way of coming out, doesn't it?"

"You're a monster, Erin! A vengeful, cruel monster!" he roared. "How could you do this to Dahlia? To me? After everything we had?"

"Everything we had was a lie, Evan," I said, my voice hardening. "A beautiful, exquisite lie that you carefully constructed. And now it's crumbling. Good."

He hung up. Silence. But this time, it felt different. Not empty. But pregnant with consequence. I had taken a step, a bold, dangerous step, into uncharted territory.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Hudson. "The video is out. It's brutal. Do you know who did it?"

"I have a very strong suspicion," I typed back. "And it's not me. But whoever it was, they just gave us the leverage we need."

I smiled, a cold, hard smile that didn't reach my eyes. The war had just begun, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of power. A dangerous, exhilarating power.

A new email notification popped up, from Hudson. "Drafting the official divorce petition. I'm filing it first thing tomorrow. You ready for this, Erin?"

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Ready doesn't even begin to cover it. I thought. I typed back a single word. "Ready."

The phone rang again. It was Evan. I ignored it. He could call all he wanted. It was too late for apologies, too late for explanations. The time for talking was over. Now, it was time for action.