A flush creeps up Fiona's neck. "I don't know what she's told you?—"
"She's told me nothing about you," Tristan interrupts. "But I know everything I need to know about your character from this interaction alone." He turns to me. "Our drinks are ready. Shall we go?"
I nod, unable to find my voice. Tristan collects our drinks from the counter and guides me toward the exit.
"This isn't over," Fiona calls after us, loud enough for the entire shop to hear. "Ask her about Martin Devereaux. Ask her what really happened with his company's design contract!"
Tristan doesn't slow, doesn't turn, just guides me steadily through the door and onto the sidewalk. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly spill my drink.
"I don't even know a Martin Devereaux," I say once we're out the door. "What is she talking about?"
Tristan's jaw is tight, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble. "She's making shit up to upset you." He stops, turning to face me. "Are you okay?"
I nod, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. "I just... I can't believe she'd say those things to my face. In public."
"People who feel threatened lash out," he says, his eyes searching mine. "She obviously feels threatened by you."
"By me?" I almost laugh. "What could I possibly have that threatens Fiona Astor?"
Tristan's expression softens. "Everything that matters," he says simply, and guides me toward his car, leaving Fiona and her venomous accusations behind us.
When we walk into Tristan's penthouse, Alex and Julian are already there, heads bent over something on the dining table. They both look up when the elevator doors slide open, and something in our expressions indicate that something's wrong.
Julian straightens first, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. "What happened?" he asks, crossing the room to meet us. I'm still clutching the shopping bags, the encounter with Fiona playing on repeat in my head.
"We ran into Fiona Astor," Tristan says, his voice tight as he relieves me of the bags and sets them aside. "At the juice bar after shopping."
Alex's expression darkens immediately. "What did she say?"
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "She basically called me a gold-digger. Implied I've done this before—trapped wealthy men. She even mentioned someone named Martin Devereaux. She’s obviously lost her fucking mind."
Julian and Alex exchange a look. Alex moves to the bar cart in the corner, pouring water into a crystal tumbler and bringing it to me. "Did she say anything else?"
I take a sip, gathering my thoughts. "Just that I was 'ambitious' for landing three wealthy men instead of just one. Made it sound like I planned all this as some kind of... scheme." My voice wavers slightly on the last word, and Julian sits beside me, his warm hand finding mine.
"She was trying to create a scene," Tristan adds. "Saying it loud enough for everyone to hear. Clearly wanted to embarrass Camille."
"I don't even know who Martin Devereaux is," I say, frustration edging into my voice. "I've never heard that name before today."
Another loaded look passes between the three men. Julian's hand tightens around mine, while Alex's jaw clenches visibly. Tristan stops pacing and turns to face me directly.
Alex moves to sit next to me, his posture rigid with controlled anger. "Camille, there's something we need to tell you. Something we've been working on behind the scenes."
"We didn't want to worry you," Julian adds quickly. "With everything else going on—your parents, the baby, the media attention—it seemed better to handle this ourselves."
A ball of anxiety forms in my stomach. "Handle what?"
The three men exchange glances again, and it's Tristan who finally speaks. "Fiona is the source of all our media problems. She's been feeding stories to the tabloids, creating false narratives, suggesting anonymous 'sources close to the situation'—it's all her."
The revelation hits me like a physical blow. "Are you sure?"
Alex nods, his expression grim. "Completely sure. I have proof—emails, text messages, payments to 'tipsters'. She's beenorchestrating this whole campaign against us—against you, specifically."
I struggle to wrap my mind around this. Fiona's dislike of me was never a secret, but this level of vindictiveness seems unhinged. "But why? What does she gain from this?"
"In her mind, she gets me," Alex says with a humorless laugh. "She's been trying to work her way into my life for years—professionally, personally. You got what she couldn't have. Then Julian and Tristan too. It drove her over the edge."
"That's why she mentioned this fictional Martin Devereaux," Tristan explains, moving to perch on the arm of the couch beside me. "She's trying to plant seeds of doubt, create stories about your past that would make us question you."
