Chapter 18
I was laughing while watching Margaret throw trash about me like it was some kind of morning routine. Her staged therapist video. Her crocodile tears on national news. Her whispers to the media like she’s some hunted saint.
I paused the screen on her crying face and smiled at it like an old friend. “You’re not stupid, Margaret. I’ll give you that.”
She recognized me just from the way I blink, the way I walk, the way my hands move. That means I left a mark. That means she’s still scared. And honestly? I’ll give her credit, she figured out I’m Harmony fast. But instead of running or panicking, I stood my ground. Back then, I had no way out. But now? Now I’ve got a voice and a new face and I’m using both to burn everything you built to the ground.
You both killed a version of me I mourned for months. Now watch what I do with the
ashes.
Cassian walked in without knocking, same as always. He tossed a flash drive on the table like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“Time to return the favor,” he said, voice low. “You ready to set the world on fire, Celeste?”
I stood up and walked to the drive, my eyes not leaving his. I didn’t need time to think. I was done waiting. I was done hiding. I was done healing in silence while the world praised my
abusers.
“Margaret wanted a stage?” I said. “I’m giving her one. But this time, I’m controlling the lights, the mic, and the goddamn curtains.”
Cassian gave a single nod and motioned to his team. They moved like a silent army behind screens and cables and codes.
Then we started…
Every photo I once leaked during their wedding? Every truth that got buried? It was now sharper. Clearer. Time–stamped. Geo–locked. Backed with layers of metadata, proof, credibility. We weren’t just leaking them. We were making them immortal.
Cassian leaned closer and whispered, “They scrubbed this from the internet… now it’s in every underground forum, whistleblower channel, and cloud leak mirror. It’s everywhere, Celeste. They can’t kill it this time.”
I opened a new secure server. No name. No trace.
And I uploaded everything.
Titled it:
“What They Hid After The Masterson Wedding”
Than I hit cond. Not onco
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But to a hundred different modio outlote Black woh journaliste
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Then I hit send. Not once. But to a hundred different media outlets. Black web journalists.
Public justice forums. Open file repositories. Conspiracy watchdogs. Political watchdogs. Global leak trackers.
Let them chase my ghost now. I wasn’t hiding.
I was haunting.
The next step Cassian did, after my next taping… was take me to his other safe underground house. This one wasn’t like the usual quiet villa. It was wired from floor to ceiling, surveillance monitors on every wall, thick steel doors, and an Al firewall system so tight even the FBI would break their teeth trying to get in.
Cassian didn’t speak at first. He just nodded toward one of the screens.
And when I looked?
I stopped breathing.
The CCTV footage started rolling. Grainy but real. Dated the night of my mother’s death. The same night they told me it was a “short circuit.” That the fire was “accidental.” That there was “no foul play.”
But this footage?
This footage showed Margaret.
Stepping out of a black SUV like it was just another Tuesday. She wore all black, sunglasses, and walked like she owned the house she was about to destroy. She walked in. Stayed for five minutes. And when smoke started rising from the windows, she walked out. Calm. Composed. Then laughed on a phone call like she just stepped out of a shopping mall.
Not even a single twitch of guilt. No panic. No running. Nothing. Just her smiling like a psychopath.
My hand gripped the edge of the table and the silver hairpin in my other hand. The same one I kept all this time. My mother’s.
I felt my jaw clench and my voice cracked, but I held it steady.
“She killed my mother. That’s not even a metaphor anymore. She burned her. She walked in, and she walked out, and she laughed. And Hakeem? He buried it. He buried the truth to protect her. Because she was his first love. Because I was never the first choice. What a fucking joke.”
Cassian didn’t say anything right away. He just walked to the console, ran his fingers across the footage timeline, and said, “Let’s burn her legacy. One screen at a time.”
? I ∞
He looked at me then, eyes steady and sharp, but his voice was soft like velvet. “This time,
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don’t have to be afraid, Celeste. You have me.”
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And I don’t know why but when he said that, something in my chest cracked. Not in a painful way. More like… something thawed. I just nodded, eyes wet, but I didn’t cry. I’ve
done enough of that.
That night, his cyber unit worked like devils. They turned that footage into a two–minute exposé and named it:
“The Angel Who Lit The Fire: Margaret’s Real Wedding Gift.”
We didn’t release it all at once. No. Cassian’s men flooded it across platforms in waves. Twitter. Reddit. Telegram. Even encrypted dark web drops. Every time some reporter tried to take it down, ten new versions rose up.
The hashtags exploded like wildfire.
#MargaretMastersonExposed
#JusticeForHarmony
#HarmonyWasRight
#MafiaBrideBurnedALegend
#HakeemBuried The Truth
People started talking. Really talking.
Then we dropped the Al comparison tools. Let the internet play detective. Side–by–side photos of Harmony and Celeste voice analysis, ear lobe matches, blink patterns. Margaret’s deepfake claims? Debunked. By the people themselves.
But we weren’t done…
Chapter 18
