Lucia sat on the park bench, her hands clasped tightly around her phone. She'd come here for a moment of peace, but the storm in her head refused to quiet. The nickname echoed relentlessly.
"Mal."
Lucia's jaw tightened at the thought. Stephanie had uttered it so casually, like it belonged to her. And Malcolm? He'd let it slide, as if it were perfectly normal. It wasn't just the nickname that grated on her nerves—it was the familiarity, the ease.
She let out a bitter laugh, brushing her hair out of her face. "Why can't men just stick to one woman?" she muttered under her breath.
Her thoughts spiraled into the events of the past day. Malcolm had been quick to ruin her evening at the club, but when Stephanie wrapped herself around him in public, he stood there like a statue, letting the world watch. The hypocrisy was suffocating.
Lucia pulled out her phone, desperate for a distraction. But the universe seemed to have other plans. Headlines about Stephanie flooded her screen. The Icon Returns: Stephanie Young Spotted with Malcolm Sterling. Clips of the confrontation at the mall were everywhere, drawing thousands of comments.
With trembling fingers, she opened the comment section:
User 1: "Malcolm Sterling and Stephanie look perfect together! Just like old times."
User 2: "Lucia Scott should just back off. Her marriage to Malcolm is obviously arranged."
User 3: "Lucia Scott? Please. Look at her wedding photos—Malcolm looked disgusted."
User 4: "She delayed her vows at the wedding, pretending to be noble in a loveless marriage. Such a joke."
User 5: "Now that Stephanie's back, maybe we'll finally see her resume her acting career. She was amazing!"
The words cut deeper than she expected. Her chest tightened at the neverending hate comments, and she gripped the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. How had the world turned her into the villain of her own story?
She used to admire Stephanie. As a teenager, she'd binged every movie, marveled at her grace and talent even though she was as flat as pancakes. But now? Now, Stephanie felt like an opponent in a battle Lucia hadn't signed up for.
Taking a shaky breath, she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. You're Mrs. Sterling, she reminded herself. Whatever happened between them is in the past. You're not an intruder—you belong here.
Yet the world didn't see it that way, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself, doubt gnawed at her.
---
Miles away in Chelsea, Alexander Flynn stared out the window of his office, the city lights reflecting off his brooding face. His voice was sharp when he spoke. "Find her," he ordered.
"Yes, Mr. Flynn," his secretary, Leslie, replied. She quickly exited the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't been able to get the woman from the club out of his head. Her infectious laughter, the way her body moved with confidence—it all haunted him. And that playful kiss she'd blown before being whisked away? It was the final nail in the coffin of his composure.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. Leslie entered, her eyes gleaming with urgency. "You'll want to see this," she said, handing him an iPad.
Alexander's heart sank as he saw the image on the screen. It was a wedding photo of Lucia Scott and Malcolm Sterling.
He stiffened, his grip tightening on the device. "F**k," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"The woman from the club is Mrs. Sterling," Leslie confirmed, her voice subdued.
Alexander leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "Why Malcolm Sterling?" he muttered. His stomach churned at the thought. Malcolm always had to have the best—power, wealth, and now this woman.
Leslie cleared her throat. "They married the day you arrived in London. But it doesn't seem to be going well. Stephanie Young is back."
At the mention of Stephanie, Alexander's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Of course she is," he muttered.
Six years ago, Malcolm had destroyed their friendship over Stephanie. No one could criticize her, and any whispers of scandal were buried under Malcolm's relentless control. Alexander had stepped aside back then, thinking it was the right thing to do.
But this time? He wasn't backing down. Not for Malcolm, and not for anyone else.
Scrolling through the video comments from the mall, Alexander's anger simmered. Lucia had every right to defend herself. She was Malcolm's legal wife. Yet Malcolm had left her to fend for herself while the internet tore her apart.
For the first time in years, Alexander felt a spark of defiance. He wasn't going to let Malcolm's negligence destroy another life.
---
At the Sterling family house, Dorothy Sterling was livid. Her voice echoed through the halls as she barked orders at the staff.
"Call Malcolm back this instant!" she demanded.
"Yes, ma'am," the butler replied, rushing to comply.
Alice and Meredith sat at the breakfast table, exchanging worried glances. They weren't blind to the chaos unfolding around them, and the hate their sister-in-law was receiving online was unbearable.
Alice couldn't hold back anymore. Pulling out her phone, she quickly typed out a post:
Lucia Scott—now Lucia Sterling—will always be my dearest sister-in-law. Cheaters can go to hell.
Meredith, scrolling through the comments herself, saw Alice's post and immediately followed suit. She had glow-up tips to ask Lucia and wasn't about to let her lose to some washed-up actress.
Go to hell, Stephanie. You'll never be a Sterling, slut. Lucia Sterling forever!
The posts sent the internet into a frenzy. Speculation swirled as people tried to piece together what had happened between Malcolm, Stephanie, and now Lucia.
Dorothy massaged her temples in frustration. "Will you two stop stirring the pot?" she snapped.
"But Mom," Alice protested, her eyes glistening with anger, "Lucia deserves better."
Dorothy sighed. "I know. And that's exactly why I'm calling your brother. He needs to fix this mess—now."
---
Lucia remained on the park bench, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon. The day had been long and unforgiving, but she wasn't about to let it break her.
Her resolve hardened as she stood, brushing off her skirt. She might be Mrs. Sterling in name, but she'd be damned if she let anyone—Malcolm included—dictate her worth.
Unbeknownst to her, the chessboard was being reset. Old alliances were crumbling, and new players were preparing to make their moves. The game was far from over.