“Don’t think you can destroy me with one cheap video, Rosemary!”

Cassandra’s voice echoed through her dark office, sharp and venomous. The sound of her high heels clicked against the marble floor, each step punctuated by the relentless ticking of the clock—a sound that felt like an explosion in the tense silence of the night.

Her personal assistant, Mira, stood trembling before the massive desk cluttered with files and phones vibrating endlessly with breaking news alerts.

“Ma’am… the video has spread everywhere. The hashtag #JusticeForRosemary is trending number one. Several brands are starting to—”

“Shut up!” Cassandra snapped.

Her bloodshot eyes burned with rage. She grabbed a glass of wine...