Lili
She closes her eyes. Holds out her phone so Alexander can see the images for himself.
“Wait a second… I know this woman,” he says, leaning closer.
“You… what?” she asks, nearly gasping. Because until last night, Lili had never seen the redhead before in her life.
It started yesterday, when Casey texted her about another “work thing.” The kind of text she used to rationalize: “These are the sacrifices you make for the job,” or “Dinner alone isn’t so bad.” Or worse, the kind of red flag she simply chose to ignore, burying her head in the sand.
But not anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending. Denial, it seemed, had been the real villain all along. And Daphne’s fixation with her—the DMs, the online abuse—it had never existed in a vacuum. There had to be more. More than petty jealousy. Daphne had to be circling something. Or someone.
Alexander was right. She deserved clarity. She had a right to know, to see for herself. But she didn’t announce her plan, didn’t confront Casey, didn’t even tell Boots or Gareth. She just grabbed her keys and got in the car.
She parked across from Casey’s office and waited. When he finally emerged—business casual, phone to his ear, sunglasses on—he didn’t glance her way. He got into his Porsche and drove off. She followed. Two car lengths behind. West, toward the water.
By the time he pulled into a metered spot near Venice Beach, the sun had begun to tip low on the horizon. The streets shimmered with orange light. Couples wandered with melting ice cream cones. Skateboarders glided past. Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
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Had she misjudged it? Maybe it really was a work thing. Maybe she could still trust him after all.
But then the door opened. And there he was. And there she was. Not Daphne. Not even someone… messy. Just… her. The redhead. Tall. Elegant. Skin like porcelain. Draped in a linen wrap dress that fluttered in the salty breeze.
And Casey… he looked happy. Relaxed in a way he hadn’t been around Lili in months. Maybe years.
Then, they kissed. It wasn’t quick. Or tentative. Or even the desperate mess of a tawdry fling. This was slow. Familiar. Intimate. A kiss from a man who knew the woman he was kissing. And Lili, still in the car, still watching, felt the world tilt.
She caught her breath. But she didn’t cry—though that kiss was worse than anything she’d prepared for. Not a cheap betrayal. Not a drunken lapse. Something deeper.
She reached for her phone. Raised it. Click. One photo, then two, then three. She zoomed in on the woman’s face. Steadied her breath. Captured it again as they kissed. Made sure the moment was documented—not for revenge. For proof.
“She’s that tech executive’s ex-wife,” Alexander says, breaking the silence, eyes still on her screen.
Lili stops cold, then turns sharply. “What? You recognize her?”
Alexander nods, unfazed. “Rafaella Simonetti. Ethan John Davies’ ex. Their breakup’s all over the tabloids. She’s in the public eye. Which means—”
The realization slams into Lili. Casey isn’t just involved with another woman… he’s tangled up with a headline.
“If this gets out,” she whispers, “it won’t just be humiliating…” Her voice falters as the truth settles. “It’ll be catastrophic.”
“Then you get ahead of it,” Alexander says, voice low, gaze anchored to hers with quiet command. “Or you let it self-destruct. Either way, you’ve got a choice to make, Lili. Play the scorned wife… or play the strategist.” He tilts his head, voice soft enough to sound sincere—
“Or? Play both.”