Phoebe notices things before anyone else does.

A look held too long. A laugh that doesn’t include her. A name whispered just often enough to matter.

Her rival arrives quietly—new money, new charm, and just enough innocence to make people curious. She doesn’t challenge Phoebe openly. That would be foolish.

She does something worse.

She replaces her.

Phoebe finds you alone on the balcony, city lights stretching endlessly below. She doesn’t greet you with a smile this time.

“They’re circling,” she says softly. “And they think I don’t see it.”

You don’t ask who they are. You already know.

“She’s been telling stories,” Phoebe continues, eyes fixed on the skyline. “Little ones. Nothing provable. Just enough to make people doubt.”

She turns to you then, expression composed—but there’s something cold underneath. Calculating.

“I need your help.”

You hesitate. “With what?”

Phoebe steps closer, lowering her voice. “Nothing messy. Nothing obvious. Just… precision.”

She lays it out carefully. A rumor planted where it will grow. A truth revealed at the worst possible moment. An invitation that never arrives. Social exile by a thousand polite cuts.

“She doesn’t deserve this world,” Phoebe says calmly. “And I won’t let her take it from me.”

You study her face, searching for guilt. For doubt.

There is none.

“Will you do it?” she asks. “Help me remind her who she’s dealing with?”