Echoes of Betrayal

Eloise

Betrayal was something I was used to. I always thought betrayal would feel the same, like a clean, sharp thing. Like a knife sliding between my ribs, fast, precise and undeniable.

But this? This was something slower. A rot I couldn’t see, only sense. Something wrong beneath the surface that I couldn’t name, but felt in every fiber of me.

It started with a message.

Cass, a stylist I’d worked with once in Milan, slid into my DMs.

“Hey… did you collaborate with that big house on the capsule Jennifer dropped today? The designs scream YOU.”

I stared at the screen, the words blurring. My stomach...