VANESSA'S POV:
I was facing my own set of challenges. My calls to journalists had gone unanswered, my once-formidable influence reduced to whispers in the shadows. Sitting in my dimly lit apartment, i scrolled through news articles on my phone, each one painting me as a desperate, fallen woman.
"Damn them all," i muttered, tossing the phone onto the couch.
My mind raced, searching for a way to claw my way back into relevance. I had burned too many bridges, but there had to be someone—anyone—willing to give me a platform.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. I hesitated, my paranoia flaring. Slowly, i approached the door and peered through the peephole.
It was one of Victor's men, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.
"What do you want?" I asked through the door, my voice edged with suspicion.
