The apartment was silent — too silent.

Rosemary sat on the edge of the couch, still in the same outfit from the press conference. Her hands trembled as she stared at the photo splashed across every news portal: Adrian holding Casandra, while she stood behind them, eyes wide and broken.

The caption beneath it read:

“Jealous Designer Causes Public Scene — Casandra Hale Collapses in Trauma.”

Her phone buzzed again, another wave of notifications and hate messages flooding the screen. Monster. Jealous witch. Try harder next time, maybe she’ll really die.

Rosemary dropped the phone to the floor. “They’ve already decided who I am,” she whispered.

Adrian came out from...