Scarlett's jaw tightens.
She's stopped directing the staff. She stands frozen near the ice swan, her back ramrod straight. She isn't looking at them directly, but her head is angled just enough.
The professional mask is still there, but beneath it… oh, there it is. A flash in her eyes. Not just anger. Raw, possessive jealousy.
Directed squarely at Natalie.
The pieces click into place with an almost audible snap.
Scarlett isn't jealous of me.
She never was.
That couples massage was a test—just not the kind we thought.
With me, it wasn’t about jealousy.
It was about control.
She wanted to see if I’d crack.
If I’d be embarrassed. Shamed. Made small.
And she wanted to see what West would do when put on the spot.
He chose me. Publicly. Without hesitation.
That told her everything she needed to know.
I’m not the competition. I’m no longer worth her attention.
But the real jealousy? That's aimed at Natalie.
We thought we'd trigger her by making her jealous of me—mistress versus potential replacement.
But that's not what's happening here.
She doesn't see herself as Blake's mistress. She sees herself as his partner.
But right now, her partner is playing the devoted fiancé. He's touching Natalie's hand. Laughing at her jokes. Kissing her temple when her mother's looking.
And Scarlett—brilliant, competent, beautiful Scarlett—is watching the man she's sleeping with perform love for another woman.
Yet she’s doing the real work, managing the details, holding everything together while Blake plays the charming groom. She thought she was the hidden power behind the throne. The indispensable one.
And watching him shower Natalie with public affection—the woman he's actually going to marry, the woman who represents the merger, the status, the future—is destroying her.
She's realizing she's just the side piece. The dirty secret. The one he uses andvery publiclyputs down, discards when the performance requires it.
Blake isn't choosing her. He's choosing the merger. He's choosing Natalie. Publicly. Permanently.
Her pride is in tatters. Her sense of ownership over Blake, over this event, over her position—crumbling in real time.
And jealous people who feel slighted, discarded, publicly humiliated?
They get sloppy.
A slow, fierce smile spreads across my face.
