The headlines were everywhere.
"Lucian Velmore and Caliste Winslow Officially Divorced!"
"Heiress Flees the Country Following Split!"
"Where in the World is Caliste Winslow?"
But the woman once known as Caliste Winslow had disappeared without a trace. No security team, no designer heels, no pearls strung around her neck. Only a backpack, a fake ID, and a quiet name: Cassy Moore.
Cassy now lived in a sleepy coastal town—miles away from flashing cameras and suffocating expectations. The ocean whispered peace to her each morning, and the locals only knew her as the quiet newcomer who kept mostly to herself. That's how she liked it.
She had found a small rental home just off the main road. It wasn't grand or fancy, but it had windows that let in the morning light and a garden that needed tending. It was perfect.
Each day, she walked ten minutes to the local diner, Maggie's, where she worked the morning shift. She wore her hair in a low bun and let her natural beauty blend in with the warmth of the town. No one asked questions. No one cared that she could once command a boardroom or pose for the cover of glossy magazines.
Here, she was just Cassy—the girl who made a mean cup of coffee and always offered an extra smile with your pancakes.
It was exactly what she needed.
But the freedom came at a cost. She hadn't spoken to her parents in weeks. She hadn't dared to open Lucian's messages—if he had sent any. The world she left behind had no place in this new life. Because peace, true peace, meant cutting the ties that once held her in place. Even if those ties still tugged at her heart.
One evening after closing, Cassy stood by the ocean, her shoes in her hands, toes buried in the sand. The sky was streaked with gold and orange. She looked out at the horizon, wondering if he—Lucian—was looking at the same sky.
Her heart ached, but she shook the feeling off. That chapter was closed.
This was her life now.
Cassy Moore.
Unknown. Unbothered. Unbound.
At least… that's what she kept telling herself.
----
Lucian Velmore had access to the best—investigators, hackers, private jets, media leverage—but none of them could find her.
Caliste was gone.
No trail. No credit card activity. No digital footprint. Not even her parents knew where she went.
He sat in his office, surrounded by reports that all said the same thing:
Dead end.
"She vanished like smoke," his head of security said solemnly.
Lucian clenched his jaw. "No. She's hiding. She doesn't want to be found."
That truth was more painful than anything.
He tried calling her number again.
Disconnected.
He messaged her old email. No reply.
He even showed up at the Winslow Estate, only to be turned away.
Victoria's words still echoed in his mind:
"You don't deserve her."
For the first time in his life, Lucian Velmore felt powerless.
But if he couldn't find Caliste, there was one thing he could still do—make those who ruined their marriage pay.
Starting with Mirana.
The same day the media broke the story of Caliste's disappearance, Lucian ordered his legal team to dig into everything about Mirana—the model who falsely claimed she was pregnant with his child, setting off a chain of chaos.
Within hours, the truth unraveled.
Fake medical reports.
Fabricated ultrasound scans.
Secret payments to tabloids.
A hidden connection to a rival company who stood to gain from Velmore-Winslow's collapse.
Lucian stared at the evidence in cold silence. "She played me… used me to sabotage everything," he muttered.
He didn't shout. He didn't curse.
He simply stood up and said, "Call the press."
That night, Lucian Velmore held a press conference. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. He stepped forward, sharp in a dark suit, eyes burning with quiet fury.
"I would like to address the false rumors spread by Mirana Vane," he began. "She was never pregnant with my child. It was all a scheme."
The room fell silent.
"She falsified medical documents and deceived the public for her gain. Legal action has been taken, and I will ensure she is held fully accountable."
He didn't mention Caliste by name—but the pain in his eyes, the regret in his tone, spoke volumes.
Back at her little seaside town, Cassy Moore watched the broadcast from a tiny TV in the diner's kitchen. Her hands trembled as she held a towel. She didn't know whether to cry or feel vindicated.
Lucian had finally spoken the truth.
But was it too late?
----
Days turned into weeks.
The once-bright star of Mirana Vale now flickered in the ashes of her own deception.
News outlets that once praised her beauty and charm now turned their headlines into daggers.
> "Supermodel Mirana Vale Exposed—Fake Pregnancy Scandal Rocks Fashion and Business Worlds."
"From Runway Queen to Ruin: The Price of Lies."
"Mirana's Fall: The Woman Who Tried to Destroy the Velmore Legacy."
Every click, every headline, every whisper on social media was a death sentence to her career.
Brands dropped her. Agencies released her. Even her followers abandoned her in droves.
One by one, the doors closed.
Her face was no longer on billboards—but on news tickers labeled "fraud" and "schemer."
Lucian Velmore had not only cleared his name, but ensured the truth would never be buried again. His team released evidence, testimony, timelines. Enough to leave no doubt.
And Mirana? She disappeared from public life. Her penthouse sold. Her accounts frozen under investigation. No one knew where she went—nor did they care.
She had become a cautionary tale, not a celebrity.
Mirana Vale's Point of View
There was a time when cameras flashed wherever she went.
When people whispered her name with admiration—Mirana Vale, the nation's sweetheart. The face of elegance. The woman every girl wanted to be and every man wanted to have.
Now, no one looked twice at her.
She sat at the farthest corner of the café, sunglasses hiding swollen eyes, hoodie pulled low over her forehead. No one recognized her. Not anymore.
The barista didn't even spell her name right.
"Mirna," the cup read. A mockery.
Her fingers trembled as she stirred the coffee, watching the foam swirl into nothing. Just like her life.
Her face was off every billboard. Her contracts, all canceled. Social media—a graveyard of venomous comments and lost followers. She had become the warning, the cautionary tale of what happens when you touch power that was never yours to hold.
All because of Caliste Winslow.
All because Lucian chose her.
Mirana gritted her teeth, the bitter taste of betrayal far more pungent than her coffee.
"I gave up everything for him," she muttered under her breath. "I waited. I loved him first. I stood by him first."
And still, he cast her aside for that prim little heiress with soft smiles and innocent eyes.
But Mirana Vale wasn't just a woman scorned.
She was a woman with nothing left to lose.
And sometimes, that's the most dangerous kind of woman.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small black notebook, flipping through its pages—clippings, photos, receipts, and one final trump card. A name. A secret Lucian never wanted exposed.
"Let the world adore your precious Caliste now…" she said coldly, her reflection in the window looking more ghost than human.
She smirked, bitter and broken.
"Let's see how long love lasts when the past refuses to stay buried."
Because if Mirana had to burn—
She'd drag someone down with her.