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Marlowe's smile tightens. “Water under the bridge now, right? We were both newer to the beauty space then.”

I follow them into Marlowe's massive corner office. I position myself near the door, watching.

“Let's cut to the chase,” Wren says once the door closes. “I know you're behind the smear campaign against me and my company.”

Marlowe's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”

“Camille Ross. The coordinated attacks. The anonymous threats.” Wren pulls out her phone, showing screenshots of our evidence. “Your IP addresses, Marlowe. Your company. Your meetings with Camille.”

“This is a heavy accusation you're levying against me.”

“Is it a mere accusation? We have the digital trail. We have photos of you meeting with Camille multiple times before she went viral.”

Marlowe walks to her desk, putting distance between them. “Anyone can doctor images these days, Wren. I expected better from you than these desperate accusations.”

“Why?” Wren presses. “Because I wouldn't sell out to you? Because I built something that stands on its merit rather than celebrity hype?”

“Don't flatter yourself. ” Marlowe's facade begins to crack. “You built your brand on what was left of your celebrity hype.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. But Lemon LLC is a corporation, not Wren Sinclair. If you’ve got a vendetta against me, why not come forme?”

Marlowe lets out a mirthless laugh. “You’re not that special, Wren Sinclair.”

“Special enough that you've spent months trying to destroy me.”

“If your company is so solid, why would a few criticisms hurt it?" Marlowe counters. “Seems fragile to me.”

I step forward. “Cut the act, Ms. Skye. We have enough evidence to take this public.”

She acknowledges me again but this time with a dismissive glance. “And you are?”

“Someone who doesn't appreciate seeing good people targeted by vindictive campaigns.”

Marlowe laughs, but it sounds hollow.

“Wren, you've hired muscle now? How dramatic.”

“Answer the question, Marlowe.” Wren's voice is calm. “Why go to these lengths? What did I do that was so terrible?”

“You know what you did.” Something ugly flashes across Marlowe's perfect features. “You've always been so self-righteous, haven't you? Little Wren Sinclair, the foster kid made good. America's sweetheart who left Hollywood for motherhood and entrepreneurship.”

“This is about me rejecting your proposal?”

“This is about you thinking you're better than everyone else!” Marlowe snaps. “You refused a partnership that would have benefited us both.”

“I refused to compromise my brand's integrity.”

“You implied my products were inferior.”

“They are.” Wren doesn't flinch. “And instead of improving them, you decided to tear me down.”

The silence that follows is charged. I watch Marlowe, noting how her hand twitches toward her desk drawer.

“I think this conversation is over.” Marlowe regains her composure, smoothing her jacket. “I have nothing to do with whatever issues you're facing, Wren. Perhaps if your ideas weren’t stolen from a small creator, you wouldn't be in this position.”

“That's rich coming from someone who built an entire career stealing other people's work.”