Page 8 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

SEAN

T he second Cal pings my phone, I know it’s big.

I am in my Lemon LLC office, spread out across the desk. Screens glowing in the dark. Security footage. Messages. A whole web of filth aimed at Wren.

I tap the call.

“Talk.”

Cal breathes out. “We got something. The @everybodyhatelemons account.”

“The troll account led somewhere?”

“Indeed. And it’s not a troll account.”

A particular hate account called everybodyhateslemons caught my attention during our investigations.

Whoever was behind seems to have had it out for Wren and Lemon LLC for about a year now posting hate content, and reviews and going on about how much they hate her and her company.

The level of consistency and hatred caught my attention even though it was a small account and most of their content goes unnoticed.

But I couldn't help but notice they were always in Camille Ross’s comments and every media hating on Wren.

I told Cal and Dani to investigate the account in case it was not a regular social media troll like some of our trails.

“Tell me about it.”

“The first few threats are not from random kids or chronically-online stans. We traced them back.”

I sit up straighter. “Where? To Nova Grey?”

“Bingo. Specifically, to a cluster of burner accounts created on their office network. Whoever did this wasn't exactly covering their tracks like a pro.”

I stare at the map on my screen of the IP address match. Nova Grey. Marlowe Skye’s company.

“What a—” I cut myself off. “Marlowe Skye’s behind this.”

“Looks that way. I've packaged everything into a report for you. Just sent it.”

“Thanks, Cal.”

I end the call and open the report. Cal's thorough—timestamps, screenshots, access logs. It's all here. Marlowe Skye has been orchestrating this campaign against Wren from the beginning.

The vindictiveness of it makes my blood boil. I've seen a lot in my security career, but using your resources to destroy someone's reputation like this? That's a special kind of cruelty.

I check my watch again. 11:25 AM. She’s in a meeting. This needs to wait until her meeting is over, but I can’t sit still. I've watched her struggle under the weight of these attacks for weeks. Seen her fighting to stay strong for her son, and for her company. She deserves to know the truth.

My mind drifts to the night before, how she fell asleep against my shoulder while we watched a movie with Eric. How right it felt having them both there. How complicated everything is becoming.

Focus, Langston.

I print the key findings from Cal's report and add them to my own. An hour later, I grab my jacket and head to her office.

Wren is in the office when I find her, studying some papers. She looks up when I walk in.

“Bad news?”

“Depends how you look at it,” I say. “We found something.”

Immediately, she arranges for Talia and the core team to meet in the conference room. This isn't something I want to explain multiple times.

“Sean's found something,” Wren announces as we enter.

Talia nods. “About time we get some good news.”

Raj adjusts his glasses. “Please tell me it's something we can use.”

I set my laptop down, connecting it to the projector. “It's something you can use.”

The door opens and Wren’s assistant, Lily walks in with a tray of coffee. “Sorry for intruding. Thought everyone could use a cup of coffee in these tense days.”

Wren smiles at her. “Thank you, Lily. You’re a savior. I’m too nervous for whatever Sean has to say.”

I watch Lily as she sets the tray down. She glances at the projector and meets my eyes. She smiles. I don’t. I wait until she leaves before I begin.

“Let's begin,” I say, bringing up the first slide—a web of connections centered around a familiar face. “Marlowe Skye is behind the attacks on Wren and Lemon LLC.”

The room falls silent.

“What?” Talia is the first to recover. “Marlowe? Are you sure?”

"Completely." I click through to the evidence. "My team traced the IP addresses from the most vicious threats. They originate from Nova Grey's networks—Marlowe's company.”

Wren's face goes pale. "Marlowe? I—I don't understand."

“Do any of you recognize this username, everybodyhateslemons ?”

Bailey, the head of content and socials, perks up. “Yes. It’s a Wren hate account. We don’t pay them any mind.”

“Well, that account was traced to be from Nova Grey.”

“What?”

“There's more. Cal, my cybersecurity specialist, found evidence that it might have been Marlowe's team who amplified Camille's accusations. They might’ve paid for promoted posts, and coordinated with gossip sites to keep the story alive.”

“That nasty woman.” Talia slams her hand on the table. “I knew something felt orchestrated about how fast this spread.”

Raj shakes his head in disbelief. “But why would Marlowe target us?”

I look to Wren. She's gone still, her fingers pressed against her lips.

“I think Wren might know.”

All eyes turn to her. She takes a deep breath.

“Marlowe approached me about two years ago. She wanted a collaboration line.”

“You never told us about this,” Talia says.

“Because I shut it down immediately. Marlowe's products cut corners. Heavy on marketing, light on quality. Everything I've fought against.” Wren stands, pacing now. “She didn't take the rejection well. Said I'd regret not aligning with someone of my 'caliber.'”

“Looks like this is her version of payback.”

“But working with Camille?” Raj asks. “That seems like a stretch.”

I click to the next slide. “Not when you see this.”

The images show Marlowe and Camille first meeting at Jerkins and another meeting in what appears to be Marlowe's backyard. They're huddled close, looking at something on a laptop.

“Where did you get this?” Wren's voice is that of disbelief.

“I have contacts at various media outlets. Called in some favors. One of them had been documenting celebrity comings and goings. Found these in their archives.”

I click through several more photos showing the two women together on multiple occasions.

“The timeline matches,” I explain. “These meetings began days after Camille went public with her accusations. Perhaps Marlowe came across the first post she made which didn’t go viral and decided to take her under her wing.”

Ava shakes her head. “This is so sick.”

Talia's already typing on her phone. “This changes everything. We can go on the offensive now.”

“I want to confront her.” Wren's voice is steel now, her moment of shock passed. “I want to look her in the eye when I ask her why.”

“I advise against that,” I say. “At least not yet.”

“Sean's right,” Talia interjects. “This warrants a strategic release, through proper channels.”

“No.” Wren stands again, her posture rigid. “She’s tearing down everything I built. Letting trolls send hateful packages to my son’s school. Marlowe didn't have the courage to attack me directly. She hid behind Camille, behind anonymous trolls. I won't do the same. I'm confronting her.”

I recognize that expression. It's the same one Eric gets when he's made up his mind about finishing a drawing before going to bed. Stubborn determination runs in the family.

“Then I'm coming with you,” I say.

“Sean—”

“Non-negotiable, Wren. If you're doing this, I'm your shadow.”

Our eyes lock in silent battle. Then, she nods.

“Fine.”

Marlowe Skye's office is what you'd expect from a woman whose brand is called Nova Grey. Everything is sleek and monochromatic. Cold. Like the woman herself.

She keeps us waiting in her reception area for approximately thirty minutes. Power play. I've seen it before with high-profile clients. I stay standing while Wren sits, my back to the wall where I can observe everything.

At last, Marlowe emerges. All polished blonde hair, startling blue eyes, and too-white teeth. She’s camera-ready in a silver pantsuit that costs more than most people's monthly rent.

“Wren, darling!” Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “What a surprise. My assistant wasn't clear on why you needed to see me so urgently.”

Her eyes dart to me, a slow smile crosses her expression as she does a double-take, before settling on Wren.

“Who’s the hunk?”

Wren rises, ignoring her comment. “I think you know why I'm here, Marlowe.”

“Do I?” She laughs. “Well, come into my office. We can catch up, we should catch up! It's been, what, two years?”

“Yes. Since the Vanity Fair party where I rejected a collaboration with Nova Grey and you told everyone my skincare line would never last another six months.”

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 for me ?”

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.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your first hit film? The one that put you on the map? Everyone in the industry knows you lobbied to have the original lead actress replaced. You took her role, her breakthrough.”

Marlowe's face flushes red. “Get out of my office.”

“And now you're doing the same thing with Camille. Using her, manipulating her to get what you want.”

“I said get out!”

“We're leaving,” I say, stepping between them. “But this isn't over, Ms. Skye.”

In the elevator down, Wren lets out a shaky breath.

“You okay?” I ask.

“No.” She leans against the wall. “But I needed to see her face. To know for sure.”

“And now?”

“Now we fight back.” Her eyes meet mine, fierce and determined. “She wants a war? She's got one.”

I nod, admiring her resolve. But the way Marlowe was so quick to escalate, the personal nature of her vendetta nags at me. It feels like there's more to this story than a rejected business proposal.

As we exit the building, my phone buzzes with a text from Cal:

More on Marlowe. Found an old connection between her and someone on Wren's team. Need to talk ASAP.

I glance at Wren, who's already on the phone with Talia, strategizing their next move. I don't want to worry her with half-formed suspicions, but my gut tells me we've only scratched the surface of what's going on.

And someone close to Wren might be part of it.