Chapter 3 — The First Strike
Third Person
Margot Hensley sat at her sleek mahogany desk, its surface so polished it reflected the sunlight streaming through the bay window of her apartment. The room, like Margot herself, was immaculate—minimalist decor in muted tones, with a single vase of fresh white lilies adding a touch of elegance. Her Precision Planner lay open before her, its meticulously color-coded tabs and timelines a testament to her relentless pursuit of control. A steaming mug of green tea cooled, untouched, to her right. Her focus was wholly consumed by the glowing laptop screen before her, where phase one of her revenge campaign awaited execution.
On the screen, a photo of Ryan Caldwell mocked her with its absurdity. Taken during their college years, it showed him mid-keg stand, shirtless and wearing a neon pair of sunglasses that screamed immaturity. His frat brothers were frozen in the background, cheering him on with drunken delight. Margot had hated that photo then, and she hated it even more now. To Ryan, it had been a harmless keepsake of his carefree youth. To Margot, it symbolized everything about him that had festered beneath the surface: his arrogance, his entitlement, his ability to charm his way out of any situation.
Her finger hovered over the trackpad, frozen in midair. A whisper of hesitation crept in, uninvited. Her piercing blue eyes flicked to her Precision Planner, and she flipped to the current day’s tab—everything was accounted for, every variable controlled. Still, her pulse quickened. Was this step too petty? Too personal? Images flashed through her mind: Ryan’s easy laugh as he charmed his way out of a parking ticket, the way he’d dismissed her meticulous wedding plans as “overkill,” and finally, the empty space at the altar where he should have stood. Her jaw tightened. This wasn’t just about humiliation. This was about justice.
And yet, a fragment of an old memory surfaced against her will: Ryan, years ago, surprising her with coffee during an all-night study session. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, but his smile—so genuine—had made her forget her exhaustion. She shoved the memory aside with a sharp intake of breath. That Ryan was gone. Maybe he’d never existed.
“Well,” Margot muttered, her voice taut with determination, “let’s see how the world likes the unvarnished Ryan Caldwell.”
The door buzzer jolted her from her thoughts. She glanced at the intercom screen and saw Sophie Alvarez standing outside, holding a pastry box that tilted precariously in her hands. Margot let out a sigh and pressed the button to let her in.
Moments later, Sophie burst through the door, her presence as vibrant as the floral maxi dress she wore. Her curly dark hair was piled into a messy bun, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with mischief as she swung the box onto the kitchen counter.
“Brought carbs,” Sophie announced. “Every evil genius needs fuel.”
Margot raised an eyebrow, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’m not an evil genius.”
“Sure, you’re not,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes as she pulled out an oversized croissant. “So, what’s today’s act of villainy? Planting snakes in his car? Hiring a skywriter to spell out ‘Jerk’? Oh, wait—please tell me you’re going full soap opera and faking your own death.”
Margot swiveled her laptop to face Sophie. “No. Just this.”
Sophie leaned over, squinting at the screen. The moment the image registered, she threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, this is gold. Classic frat-boy shenanigans. Caption it: ‘Future CEO or future meme?’”
“‘Some things never change,’” Margot corrected, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Sophie’s laughter faded. She set the croissant down, her brow furrowing. “Look, I get it. Believe me, I do. But are you sure this is what you want? Spreading dirt on social media? Is it going to make you feel better?”
“Yes,” Margot said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly. “He left me at the altar, Sophie. In front of everyone. He deserves this.”
Sophie crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Okay, but here’s the thing. Revenge might feel good in the moment, but it doesn’t fix anything. It just... distracts you from what actually hurts.”
Margot stiffened. “This isn’t a distraction. It’s about accountability.”
Sophie sighed, her expression softening. “Alright, Cruella. Just don’t wake up one day and realize I don’t recognize my best friend anymore, okay?”
Margot ignored the jab and turned back to her laptop. Her hand hovered over the trackpad for a moment longer before finally clicking. The upload bar filled, then vanished. It was done.
---
Later that day, Margot parked her car in the gravel driveway of the Hensley Estate, the sprawling mansion that had been both her childhood sanctuary and a prison of expectations. Ivy climbed the stone walls, unchecked and wild, a stark contrast to the pristine interior that awaited her. She stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the gravel, and took a steadying breath. She hadn’t been back since the wedding debacle, and the sight of the house stirred a mix of nostalgia and resentment.
Elaine Hensley awaited her in the grand sitting room, framed by tall windows that bathed the space in soft afternoon light. Her ash-blonde hair was styled into an impeccable chignon, and her tailored navy dress was as sharp as her green eyes.
“You’re late,” Elaine said, her voice clipped as she gestured for Margot to sit.
“Traffic,” Margot replied, settling onto the stiff antique sofa. She crossed her legs, her pointed heels clicking lightly against the polished wood floor.
Elaine didn’t bother to hide her disapproval. “We need to discuss the estate’s expenses. The gardens alone are costing a small fortune to maintain.”
“They’re overgrown,” Margot pointed out, glancing toward the window. “Maybe cut back on the staff.”
Elaine’s lips thinned. “This estate is a symbol of our family’s legacy. It’s not something we can simply neglect.”
Margot resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Elaine’s obsession with appearances was suffocating, but Margot understood it all too well. They were more alike than she cared to admit.
As Elaine launched into a meticulous breakdown of the estate’s finances, Margot’s phone buzzed in her purse. She discreetly checked the screen and saw a notification from the gossip page. The photo was gaining traction fast—likes, comments, shares. A triumphant thrill coursed through her.
“Something amusing?” Elaine asked, her tone icy.
“Nothing important,” Margot replied, slipping her phone back into her purse. “Just glad to see some plans falling into place.”
Elaine’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. “Plans have a way of unraveling when they’re not thought through carefully.”
Margot frowned at the cryptic remark but said nothing. She filed it away in the back of her mind, another thread to untangle later.
---
By the time Margot returned to her apartment, the photo had gone viral. News outlets had picked it up, framing it as a “lighter side” exposé of a business mogul’s wild college days. The comments ranged from mockery to disbelief, and Ryan’s polished reputation had taken its first serious hit.
Margot poured herself a glass of wine and sank into the plush cushions of her living room sofa. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, scrolling through the reactions. But as the initial rush faded, Sophie’s earlier words echoed in her mind: *I don’t want to wake up one day and not recognize my best friend.*
Her phone buzzed again, breaking her reverie. It was a text from an unknown number: *Nice move. But you’ll need more than frat boy photos to take him down.*
Margot’s heart skipped a beat. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed a reply: *Who is this?*
The response came almost instantly: *There’s more to Ryan than you know. Call if you’re ready for the truth.*
Her pulse quickened. The message was maddeningly vague, the kind of bait she knew she should ignore. And yet, curiosity tugged at her. If this person had information that could help her—
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Sophie: *Wine and carbs at my place tomorrow? Bring your planner. I want to see this madness up close.*
Margot smiled despite herself. Sophie’s unwavering presence was a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed. For now, that would have to be enough.
She glanced back at the anonymous text, unease prickling at her chest. She had opened Pandora’s box, and she wasn’t sure she could close it again.
With a deep breath, Margot set her phone aside and reached for her Precision Planner. The next phase of her plan was already taking shape.
