Kim arrived at Ivy’s cottage feeling somewhat optimistic. Sure, things had gone off the rails tely, but she was determined to gather evidence, smooth things over, and get Ivy back on track. That optimism sted approximately five seconds.

  The sight of thick bck smoke rising from the property wiped the smug "fix-it" grin right off her face. "Oh, for the love of—" She yanked her phone from her pocket, dialing the fire brigade with hands that were somehow both shaky and stiff.

  The fire crew arrived quickly, but it was no use. The damage was extensive. By the time the fmes were doused, what remained of Ivy’s picturesque cottage looked like a tragic art instaltion: “Postmodern Ash Heap.”

  Kim pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath, “Okay, universe, I get it. I’m the bad guy. Cool. Thanks for the memo.”

  As the neighbors gathered around, gawking and specuting, Kim tried to maintain her composure. A member of her security crew approached his tablet in hand.

  “We’ve got something from the cameras we set up yesterday,” he said, handing her the screen.

  Kim peered at the footage. There, clear as day, was Avery—Avery—swaggering onto the property like she was arriving at a yacht party, a can of gasoline in one hand and a lighter in the other. She wasn’t even wearing a disguise. In fact, she waved at one of the cameras before pouring the gasoline.

  Kim’s mouth fell open. “She posed?”

  The security guard scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. She gave the peace sign right after she lit the match.”

  Kim groaned, spping her forehead. “Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?” She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to scream. “Okay. Okay. Let’s recap: a celebrity socialite committed arson on camera like it’s a TikTok challenge. Great. Love that for me.”

  She started pacing, her heels crunching on the charred remains of Ivy’s garden. The enormity of the situation hit her like a freight train. If this went public, Ivy would be dragged through the mud, Harper would lose her mind, and Kim’s carefully curated influencer empire would colpse faster than a soufflé in a thunderstorm.

  Still pacing, Kim called Harper, trying to sound calm but failing spectacurly.

  “Harper? We have a situation.”

  “What now?” Harper’s voice was clipped as if she already knew whatever Kim was about to say would ruin her day.

  Kim decided to just rip off the Band-Aid. “Ivy’s house is… uh, no longer a house. It’s... how do I put this... ash adjacent.”

  Silence.

  “And,” Kim continued, grimacing, “we caught the culprit on camera.”

  “Who was it?” Harper asked, her voice dropping dangerously.

  Kim hesitated, then blurted out, “It was Avery.”

  The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Then, finally, Harper growled, “She what?”

  “I know!” Kim squeaked, waving frantically at her security guard to do something—anything—but he just shrugged helplessly. “Look, we’ll figure this out. I’m digging into her recent activities to find out why she went full pyromaniac on Ivy. Maybe she was jealous, maybe she—”

  “I don’t care why,” Harper interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut gss. “Fix it, Kim. Now.”

  Kim sighed as the call ended abruptly. She turned to her security team, who were clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

  “Alright, everyone,” Kim said, cpping her hands together. “We’re in damage control mode. Start pulling everything we can on Avery—social media posts, recent appearances, who she’s been hanging out with. I want receipts, rumors, and... I don’t know, maybe her astrological chart while we’re at it.”

  Her assistant raised a hand nervously. “Should we... call the police?”

  Kim snorted. “What are we gonna say? ‘Hi, yes, we’d like to report a bored billionaire burning down a cottage’? Her wyers would have us in court before we could finish dialing.”

  The assistant nodded. “So, uh... what’s the pn?”

  Kim paused, staring at the smoldering remains of what was once a charming slice of cottagecore heaven. “The pn,” she said grimly, “is to stay alive long enough to come up with a pn. And coffee. Someone get me coffee. Stronger than usual.”

  As her team scrambled, Kim looked up at the darkened sky and muttered, “Why couldn’t this have been a raccoon problem? I can handle raccoons...”

  ***

  The meeting room buzzed with tension as Kim nervously adjusted her bzer, smoothing down her pencil skirt for what felt like the hundredth time. She had dressed impeccably today—a crisp white blouse, navy bzer, and matching heels—but it did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach as she gnced toward Harper, who exuded an effortless, almost predatory calm.

  Harper sat in a chair near the head of the table, one leg draped casually over the other, her bck Dr. Martens pnted firmly on the floor. Her jet-bck button-down shirt was perfectly pressed, the top few buttons undone, revealing just enough colrbone to make the room feel warmer than it should. Bck trousers clung to her athletic frame, cinched by a matching bck belt. Her dark hair, always styled with an air of intentional dishevelment, fell across her sharp features. A scowl deepened across her face as she leaned back, her sharp eyes flicking from person to person like a predator assessing prey. She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. The room felt like it was holding its collective breath.

  As odd as it seemed the the one being reported to was the hired talent of the company, Harper had become the backbone of the company with her record breaking success online. She had made partner two years ago, and after buying out 49% of the shares, was a key stakeholder, so whatever she says, goes, and everyone in the room knew it.

  Kim finally cleared her throat. “So,” she began, gncing at her team for backup, “we’ve gathered all the information from the incident.”

  The head of security stepped in, a tall, burly man named Jonas. He wore a pin bck suit that stretched taut over his broad shoulders; a headset looped around one ear. Despite his intimidating size, his voice was calm and measured as he detailed the footage from the temporary cameras. “The video shows Avery arriving te at night, gas can in hand, followed by her...well, setting the pce on fire. There’s clear evidence of intent.”

  Kim winced at how bluntly he put it, shooting Jonas a desperate look. “But we’re still looking into the why,” she added hurriedly, as if softening the blow would somehow make it all better.

  Across the table, Harper raised an eyebrow. Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of her chair, a quiet rhythm of impatience.

  The CFO, a wiry man in his fifties named Gerald, who rarely made appearances, cleared his throat. His tailored gray suit looked a size too big for his thin frame, and his gsses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. “The issue,” he began in a tone that was both apologetic and firm, “is that pursuing Avery legally would be… costly. She has connections, resources, and wyers who would make this process drawn out and potentially damaging to our own reputation.”

  Kim nodded nervously, biting her lip as Gerald continued, “The financial blow would be significant, especially if it escates into a public spectacle. We have to weigh the cost-benefit of pursuing this against the potential fallout.”

  The room fell silent again, all eyes turning to Harper.

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her dark gaze fixed on the table as her fingers stilled. Then she leaned forward, her presence commanding. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, each word slicing through the tension.

  She straightened in her chair, her movements slow and purposeful. “We move the shoot to my pce,” Harper began. “We spin this. The new pitch? Country girl turned city girl. Ivy can stay in one of my spare rooms. It’s safe, it’s secure, and she can work in peace. She’ll have everything she needs to finish painting me—or whatever else she wants to paint.”

  Harper’s lips quirked into a small, humorless smile. “No more cameos. No Avery. No, anyone else. Just us.”

  Kim blinked, struggling to keep up as Harper’s commanding presence filled the room.

  “Kim,” Harper continued, her eyes locking onto her manager, “you’re going to set up an art exhibition. Something big. Showcase the final painting, Ivy’s work in progress—whatever can be salvaged from the fire. Use it to tell a story. A phoenix rising from the ashes. Make Ivy the heart of it, but keep the team looking untouchable. Use the chaos to build attention for the series.”

  Kim nodded, frantically scribbling notes as Harper leaned back in her chair, exuding a dangerous kind of confidence.

  “And don’t worry about the money,” Harper added, rising to her feet. The room collectively straightened as she stood, as if her very presence demanded respect. “I’ll take on additional work if it comes to that. Whatever we’ve lost, I’ll recover.”

  She adjusted her cuffs, casting a final gnce around the room. “Thanks for coming,” she said, her voice dipping into a softer, more reassuring tone. “We’ll be fine. But we need to act fast and smart.”

  The meeting concluded with the scrape of chairs as the team dispersed. Kim let out a long, shaky breath, silently praying Harper’s pn would work.

  ***

  As the st of the team filtered out of the meeting room, Harper leaned casually against the edge of the table, her posture deceptively rexed. Kim lingered, her notepad still clutched in one hand, knowing from Harper’s sharp, unyielding gaze that the meeting wasn’t over.

  “I’ve got something else for you,” Harper said, pulling her phone from her pocket. She tapped the screen a few times and then slid it across the table toward Kim.

  Kim hesitated, her brow furrowing as she looked down. On the screen were screenshots of a torrent of angry messages—vicious tirades and ultimatums—sent to Ivy’s phone from someone listed only as Landlord.

  “He’s been blowing up Ivy’s phone,” Harper said, her voice cold. “I blocked his number on her behalf from her phone, but not before telling him to go through you instead. He should’ve sent you a few messages by now.”

  As if on cue, Kim’s phone buzzed on the table. She groaned as she picked it up, her heart sinking when she saw a string of aggressive texts from a man demanding back rent and damages for ‘that wreck on Merryweather Lane.’

  Kim pressed her palm to her forehead. “Of course,” she muttered.

  Harper’s expression hardened. “You’re going to buy the house outright. In my name,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “I want it renovated, top to bottom. When Ivy goes back, it’ll be exactly as she left it—or better. Whatever it costs, I don’t care.”

  Kim’s jaw dropped slightly. “You want me to...repce everything?”

  “Everything,” Harper said firmly. “I want the design team to go through every second of footage we’ve got. Match it down to the st candle or pillow or stupid little trinket on a shelf. If it’s torched, it gets repced. If it’s untouched, it gets restored. Understood?”

  Kim hesitated, knowing she had no room to refuse. “Fine,” she said with a resigned sigh, adding another bullet point to her already overflowing notes.

  “And I want walls.”

  Kim looked up sharply. “Walls?”

  “Impenetrable ones,” Harper said with a flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. “Around the whole property. High, secure, with cameras. If anyone so much as breathes in Ivy’s direction again, I want to know about it before they do.”

  Kim nodded slowly, the weight of Harper’s requests pressing down on her shoulders.

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Harper’s voice softened, but not enough to ease Kim’s nerves. “Ivy’s going to need a wardrobe. Have a stylist come to the apartment and sort her out. And get a set designer to stage her workroom. Something inspiring but functional.”

  Kim stared at Harper, her pen frozen in mid-air. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

  Harper straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. “Ivy’s been through enough,” she said simply. “It’s my turn to make sure she’s taken care of.”

  With that, Harper retrieved her phone and pocketed it, her boots clicking against the polished floor as she made her way to the door. Pausing in the doorway, she cast one st look over her shoulder.

  “Don’t tell Ivy about the house,” she said, her tone softer now, almost fond. “Let her focus on her work. I’ll handle everything else.”

  Kim could only nod as Harper swept out, leaving behind an aura of authority and determination that felt impossible to argue with.

  As the door clicked shut, Kim sank into a nearby chair, tossing her notepad onto the table and letting out a long, exasperated sigh. She reached for her coffee, taking a long swig before pulling up her calendar.

  “Two weeks of leave,” she muttered to herself, scrolling to the end of Ivy’s contract. “I’m not even asking for permission. I deserve it.”