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Matt shows up early.

That’s my first clue.

He’s usually a “right on time” kind of guy. “Fashionably insecure,” I called it once. But today, he’s pacing the lobby ten minutes before we open, clutching a green juice like it might refund his self-worth if he squeezes it hard enough.

I hold up a hand. “You okay, or are you prepping to sell me essential oils?”

He gives a hollow laugh. “We broke up.”

I blink. “Rachel?”

He nods. “It was... civilized. Quiet. Mutual-ish.”

That last part? That’s where I know it wasn’t.

“She said she felt like I ‘lacked emotional presence.’ That I was more honest before I tried to be impressive.”

Oof.

“She told me I don’t know who I am. And maybe I don’t. But I was getting there. I was trying .”

“Matt—”

“She said I was ‘performing healing instead of doing it.’”

I stare at him.

That’s not breakup vocabulary. That’s coach-speak.

Coach-speak from a very specific source.

I narrow my eyes. “Did she come up with that on her own?”

Matt shifts. Hesitates. Then: “She said she was talking to someone about it. A friend. Or a... mentor.”

“Uh- huh.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Emily. The podcast woman. She’s her coach.”

And just like that, I go still.

Like the power’s been cut, but the emergency lights haven’t kicked in yet.

Emily.

Of course it was Emily.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, slow. “Rachel goes to Emily for advice. Emily — the woman who called me a 'walking red flag in a leather jacket with daddy issues' on a livestream — tells her you’re fake, and now Rachel’s gone?”

Matt winces. “She didn’t say Emily told her to dump me. Just that... Emily helped her see what she already felt.”

I turn, walk three steps, turn again. Controlled fury in athleisure.

“This is what she does,” I mutter. “She poisons the well with feminist poetry and a head tilt. Undermines any man who doesn’t cry on command and pay for therapy in interpretive dance.”

Matt stays quiet. Smart.

“She couldn’t beat me on stage,” I growl. “So now she’s winning through sabotage. Undermining my clients. Dismantling everything I’ve built!”

I look at him.

“You didn’t lose Rachel, Matt. You were targeted. ”

Matt blinks. “I mean... we also kind of didn’t like the same movies.”

“Focus,” I snap.

He nods quickly. “Right. Emily.”

I exhale. Calm. Collected. Furious at a molecular level.

“She wants a war?” I mutter. “Good. I play dirty.”