Chapter 3 Whispers in the Mirror

Rosalie Bellamy – POV

I didn't know a heart could break in silence. But that's exactly what happened when I saw Marc walk past me on Rue de la Villette-eyes cold, hands buried in his jacket, lips shut tight like they'd forgotten how to speak love. He didn't flinch. Didn't slow down. He just kept walking, like I was air. Like I was gone.

I stood frozen, outside the café we used to sneak into after late-night rehearsals, holding a warm bag of croissants meant for him. My fingers trembled, not from the cold Paris air, but from something deeper-shame, regret, fear.

I could've called out. But what would I say? "Hi. I'm the girl who once made you believe in forever and forgot to mention that your worst enemy had touched me first." So I did nothing. I just stood there like a ghost still hoping to be seen.

It all began with a dare. My cousin, drunk off red wine and feminism, said: "You always talk about real love. Go find it where the pain lives. Where music isn't filtered through autotune and TikTok trends. Go to Belleville. Go underground."

So I did. I found a dusty little studio squeezed between a bakery and a barber shop. I walked in expecting graffiti, bad soundproofing, maybe a cracked mic. But I found Marc Blanchet instead.

He wasn't singing. He was testifying. Sweat rolled down his temple, dreadlocks bouncing, every lyric a confession shouted into the universe. And when he saw me standing there-he smiled like I'd walked in holding peace. He made me believe in fire again.

But I never told him about Korex. It wasn't betrayal then. It was a secret I didn't think mattered. Korex had been a blurry chapter in a reckless summer. One night. One mistake. What I didn't know was that mistake had teeth-and it was still chewing. My phone buzzed. Sophie: Can we talk?

I didn't answer. Not because I was angry-but because I was terrified. Sophie always knew more than she said. And if she was reaching out now, it meant Korex was whispering again. I got home and threw the phone on the couch like it had betrayed me. I stared at myself in the hallway mirror. My reflection looked tired. Sad. Older.

Who was I anymore? Some days, I felt like Rosalie-the boss woman who built a skincare line from nothing. The woman who didn't flinch. Who walked into meetings with no makeup and left with contracts signed. But on days like this? I felt like a side character in a love story gone wrong.

I hadn't heard from Marc in days. But I heard the interview. He hadn't said my name-but he didn't need to. France knew. The fans knew. My inbox filled with judgment and pity and death threats wrapped in emojis. The doorbell rang. My heart stumbled.

I walked slowly, peeked through the keyhole-and almost cried. Marc. He looked broken. Eyes red. Beard rough. Shoulders sagging like he hadn't slept in days. I opened the door. "Hi." He didn't answer. Just stepped inside like he couldn't help himself. "I got a video," he said quietly. "From Korex." "I know," I whispered.

"You knew?" His voice cracked like a boy asking if monsters were real. "Sophie told me. He sent it to her too." Marc laughed. Bitter. Hollow. "Of course. Let the poison spread." I moved closer. "It was before you. I didn't even know who you were. It meant nothing." "But it does now." His eyes locked on mine. "Because you let me fall into something laced with a lie."

"I was scared," I said. "Scared that the truth would kill what we had before it even lived." He looked away. "Now it's killing me anyway." I reached for his hand. He didn't take it. "I'm still on your side, Marc." He looked up. "That's the thing," he said. "I don't know who's on my side anymore."

Then he turned and left. No goodbye. No door slam. Just... silence. I stared at the mirror again. This time, I didn't recognize the girl looking back. She looked guilty. Ashamed. Wrecked. Two hours later, my phone rang. Private number. I answered. "Hello?" That voice. Smooth. Snake-slick. Toxic.

"Hey, stranger. Looks like you're trending again." "Korex." He chuckled. "Relax. I come in peace." "I'm not interested." "You sure? Because I've got more than one video. And not all of them are grainy little party clips. Some are... cinematic. With sound." My stomach clenched. "You're bluffing."

"Maybe. But the internet loves a good twist." "I swear" "Save it, Rosalie. You trusted the wrong people. Just like you're doing now. Again." I hung up. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I called Sophie. "Where are you?" "At Maurice's. Why?" "Stay there. Something's coming. And I think it's bad."

That night, I crawled into bed and opened my phone. Old videos. Me and Marc dancing in the kitchen. Kissing in the back of a cab. Him singing off-key just to make me laugh. He used to look at me like I was music. Now? Now I was just noise in a crowded room. I whispered into the dark, "I'm still on your side." Morning.

Buzzing phone. Sophie: It's out. I sat up. "What's out?" She sent the link. I clicked. There it was. Rosalie Bellamy. Korex Obasa.

Hotel room. Clear footage. Laughter. Touches. Kisses.

Sound. Music in the background. My laugh. His voice.

Too clear. Too real. Too late. It was everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. Blogs. TikTok clips with dramatic music overlaid. My inbox exploded. My brand's page dropped by 40,000 followers in under an hour. My phone rang. Marc.

I stared at the screen, breath caught in my throat. I didn't answer. Because I already knew what I'd hear. Rage. Disappointment. Silence. And worse-goodbye. This wasn't just a scandal anymore. This wasn't about love. It was war. And I didn't know which side I was still allowed to fight for.

Cliffhanger for Chapter Four:

As Rosalie collapses to her knees, her phone buzzes one more time. A message. Unknown number. "You think that's all I have? You haven't seen the worst yet." And beneath it... a link. Titled: M²: Exposed. She clicks it.

And what she sees? Isn't about her. It's about Maurice.

And a secret that could blow everything wide open.