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Wren tilts her head to a side, her eyebrows squishing together,

“Lily?” she says, opening the folder like it might bite. “That’s… impossible.”

I get it. I’ve watched Lily hover like a shadow at Wren’s side since the day I walked into this job. Scheduling, email filters, even picking up Eric from school sometimes. She’s not just an assistant, she’s woven into the fabric of Wren’s life.

“I wish I was wrong,” I tell her, softer now. “But the trail is clean. And it’s hers.”

I walk them through it. I show the access logs. The calendar downloads. The IP data that ties Lily’s login credentials to a burner email account. Every step is documented, timestamped, and undeniable.

Then I click into the group chat.

“‘LemonInsider’ is Lily,” I explain. “And ‘StarPower’ is Marlowe Skye.”

Talia arches a brow. “You’re sure?”

I nod and scroll to another screen. “Because ‘StarPower’ chats with Camille Ross in a separate thread. And here’s Marlowe coordinating with gossip blogs. Specific timing. Specific drops.”

I pull up a thread of messages that includes screenshots of Wren’s calendar. Discussions about when to release damaging information about Wren. Texts to blog editors with instructions to “stir the pot.”

And the kill shot. A photo, grainy but clear, from a restaurant security cam of Lily and Camille, seated across from each other. Several weeks ago.

Talia leans in, flipping through the printouts with a quiet string of profanity under her breath. Wren doesn’t speak. Her expression’s frozen like she’s holding herself together by a thread.

“It's not just sloppy behavior,” I tell them. “This is intentional. Deliberate. She’s been feeding information to Marlowe and Camille for weeks, months maybe. The campaign leak came from her. Every leak came from her.”

“I trusted her.”

I stay still, letting the moment breathe.

“She’s been with me since Lemon launched,” she goes on, like she’s remembering things in real time. “When Eric had a fever last year, she brought soup and stayed over. And we talked throughout the night. She’s held my hand before pitch meetings when I thought I’d throw up.”

Her voice catches. “How could she do this?”

Something sharp and protective twists in my chest. My job has led me to see betrayal a hundred ways before. From corporate espionage to political leaks and even family implosions. But this? This is different. Personal. And Wren deserves better.

“People’s motives get messy,” I say. “Money. Recognition. Envy. Sometimes the ones closest to us are the ones with the deepest grudges.”

Talia’s quiet until now, absorbing everything like a strategist banking pieces on a chessboard. She looks up, her eyes sharper than before.

“We can flip this,” she says. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. We can make the leak work for us.”

Wren blinks. “How?”

“We release the screenshots. The chat. The picture of Marlowe and Camille together. We don’t say a word. Just drop it into the right hands. People don’t like manufactured drama. If they see Marlowe’s been pulling the strings the whole time, the story turns.”

“Smart,” I say. “And we don’t come at them head-on. We let the public connect the dots.”

“What about Lily?” Wren asks.

Then the door opens.

Lily walks in with a bright smile holding a file and packet of coffee.

“I brought coffee! Oh and Wren, I got your favourite oat milk latte from?—”

Her brows furrow at the silence.

“Is everything alright? I just wanted to drop the files and the coff?—