A Design for Sweet Revenge

Chapter 1

Mallory

The weight of the leather portfolio is a familiar comfort in my hands. Inside, nested in silk paper, are the blueprints for a life I’ve been sketching since I was a little girl. Our life. I smooth down the front of my emerald green dress, the one Reid said made my eyes look like sea glass, and take a steadying breath. The air in the Grand Imperial Hotel’s private penthouse corridor smells like money and lilies.

My key card clicks. The heavy suite door swings inward without a sound. I was supposed to meet him downstairs in an hour, but I couldn’t wait. I wanted to give him this gift, our future home on paper, in private.

“Just one more,” a voice murmurs from the living area, low and feminine. It’s a voice I know better than my own.

My smile freezes. I step quietly onto the plush carpet, my heels sinking into the pile. The portfolio feels suddenly slick in my grasp.

And then I see them.

Reid, my fiancé, is sunk into a cream velvet armchair, his tie loosened, his top button undone. And perched on the arm of the chair, leaning over him like a vine, is my sister. Paige.

Her crimson dress is a slash of color in the muted room. One of her manicured hands is resting on his shoulder, her thumb stroking the line of his collarbone. He holds a glass of amber liquid, and she’s guiding it to his lips.

“Sera,” he says, his voice thick. “We should stop. She’ll be here soon.”

“She’s never on time,” Paige laughs, a sound like tiny, malicious bells. “Besides, we have to celebrate. To us. To the future.” She takes the glass from him and sips from the same spot his lips just touched.

I must make a sound, a choked gasp or a shuffle of my feet, because both their heads snap in my direction. Reid’s eyes widen. He doesn’t look guilty; he looks annoyed. Irritated that I’ve interrupted.

Paige, however, smiles. It’s a slow, lazy curve of her perfect, crimson-painted lips. She doesn’t move from her perch on his chair.

“Mallory. Darling,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You’re early. We were just having a little pre-party toast.”

My gaze drops from their faces to the portfolio in my hands. The dream inside feels like it’s turning to ash. I look back up, my eyes locking on Reid. “What is this?”

He has the decency to stand, at least, setting his glass down with a soft clink. Paige remains, a queen on her throne. “Mallory, don’t be dramatic. Sera was just wishing me luck. For the speech tonight.”

“Wishing you luck?” I take a step forward, my voice trembling. “Your lipstick is on the rim of his glass, Paige. Your hand is on his chest.”

“An innocent gesture of affection,” Paige says, finally standing. She glides towards me, all smooth confidence and the suffocating scent of her jasmine perfume. “You’re so terribly sensitive. It’s one of your… charming quirks.”

She reaches out to touch my arm, and I recoil as if her hand is fire. “Don’t touch me.”

The portfolio slips from my fingers. It hits the carpet with a soft thud, falling open. The top page, a watercolor rendering of a sun-drenched modern home with a sprawling garden, is exposed.

Paige’s eyes flick down to it. A flicker of something, maybe contempt, crosses her face. “Oh, are you still playing with your little drawings? How sweet.”

That’s what she always called them. My little drawings. My silly hobby. She was the one with the head for business, the one our parents groomed to take over. I was just the artistic one, the dreamer who needed to be managed.

“Those,” I say, my voice dangerously low, “are the plans for our house. The one I designed for us.” I look at Reid, pleading with my eyes. “The one you said you couldn’t wait to build.”

Reid won’t meet my gaze. He runs a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair. “Mallory, listen…”

“No, you listen.” My shock is finally, blessedly, hardening into anger. “What were you doing? Tell me.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” he says, the classic, cowardly line of every cheat in history.

“Isn’t it?” Paige cuts in, stepping between us. She places a proprietary hand on Reid’s arm. “Honestly, Mallory, can’t you see? Some people just have a connection. A real one. Based on more than just… sketches of fantasy houses.”

Her words are a deliberate echo of a hundred childhood cuts. Every time I won an art prize and she won a business competition. Every time my parents praised her ambition and told me my talent for design was ‘a nice pastime’.

“You have stolen everything from me my entire life,” I whisper, the words raw. “My ideas, our parents’ attention, every bit of light in the room. I let you. I thought, at least I have him. At least Reid sees me.”

Reid finally looks at me, and his expression is not apologetic. It’s cold. “Sees you? Mallory, this engagement was never about seeing you. It’s a merger. The Greers and the Thornes. It’s the biggest deal of our generation. It secures our family’s future.”

My blood runs cold. “A merger? I’m a clause in a business contract?”

“You were the most logical choice,” he says, as if discussing stock options. “But you’re not strong enough. You’re all emotion and blueprints. This family, this empire, needs someone who understands power.”

“Like me,” Paige says softly, tightening her grip on his arm. “I understand. I’ve been helping Reid with the Thorne portfolio for months. While you were… drawing.” The way she says the word makes it sound like a disease.

I feel the air leave my lungs. The beautiful suite, with its panoramic views of the city lights just beginning to sparkle, feels like a cage. My engagement party. Our engagement party. The ballroom downstairs is filled with hundreds of people waiting to toast our future. A future that is a complete lie.

“So it’s been going on for months,” I state, the question dying on my lips. It isn’t a question.

Reid doesn’t answer. He just looks at Paige with a kind of possessive admiration that he has never, not once, directed at me.

“The party,” I say, my mind latching onto the next horror. “Everyone is downstairs.”

“Yes, they are,” Paige says, her tone bright and brittle. “And you are going to go down there, fix your face, and smile. You are not going to ruin this for our family.”

“*Our* family?” I laugh, a broken, ugly sound. “You mean *your* family. I was just a placeholder.”

“A necessary one, for a time,” Reid says, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Now, the situation has evolved. Paige and I work well together. We think alike. It makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” I repeat numbly. The logic of it is so cold, so transactional, it burns more than any passionate affair ever could.

“We need this alliance, Mallory,” Reid continues, his tone becoming instructional, as if I’m a clueless intern. “The Skyline Pinnacle project is on the line. With the Greers and Thornes united properly, we’re unstoppable. You can’t possibly comprehend the scale of what’s at stake.”

He dismisses my entire world, my entire talent, in one sentence. As if architecture, as if building things, is a child’s game compared to his world of hostile takeovers and leveraged buyouts. The rage that has been simmering inside me for years begins to boil.

Paige walks over to the champagne bucket on the sideboard. She lifts the bottle, pops the cork with an expert twist, and pours a single, perfect flute. She ignores the second glass sitting right beside it.

She turns, holding the champagne up. The bubbles catch the light. “To the future,” she says, her eyes locked on Reid. “A stronger, more profitable future.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “To the future.”

They toast, and I am not there. I am a ghost in my own life.

Paige takes a delicate sip, then turns her gaze to me. “Well, go on,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “Powder your nose or whatever it is you do. Don’t be late for your own party, sister. Think of how embarrassing that would be.”

She and Reid share a look, a private, intimate smile that cuts me deeper than a knife. He doesn’t even look at me as he walks towards the bedroom, presumably to fix his tie. Paige follows him, pausing at the door to look back at me one last time, her expression one of triumphant pity.

Then she closes the door, and I am alone.

I stand frozen in the opulent silence of the penthouse suite. The only sounds are the frantic beating of my own heart and the distant hum of the city below. My eyes fall again to the portfolio on the floor. My dream house. A house of glass and light and open spaces. A house designed for a life that was never real.

Slowly, I bend down and pick it up. My fingers trace the clean lines of the drawing. He said I couldn’t comprehend the scale of what was at stake. He’s wrong.

I comprehend it perfectly. He just has no idea of the scale of what he’s just lost.

Chapter 2

Mallory

My hand is on the penthouse door handle, the cool brass a stark contrast to my burning skin. I can’t breathe in here. The air is thick with their betrayal, scented with jasmine and lies. I leave the portfolio on the floor, a monument to a dead dream. I don’t look back.

The elevator ride down is a silent, mirrored torture. The woman in the emerald dress looks like me, but her eyes are hollow. The doors slide open to the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom. Below, a sea of tuxedos and jewels glitters under the chandeliers. Laughter rises like expensive champagne bubbles. Hundreds of people, all here to celebrate a fiction.

I spot them immediately. My family. They stand near the grand staircase, a perfect portrait of power. My father, Marcus Greer, looking regal. My mother, Catherine, her smile as polished as the diamonds at her throat. And beside them, Paige and Reid, already descended, holding court. She’s laughing, touching his arm. He is smiling down at her. No one seems to notice I was ever gone.

I descend the staircase, each step a conscious effort. My legs feel like they might give way. The conversations die down as I approach. Heads turn. I feel hundreds of eyes on me.

“Mallory, darling, there you are,” my mother says, her voice a silken thread of warning. “We were just about to start the toasts.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” I say. My voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise. The string quartet falters.

My father’s eyes narrow. “What is the meaning of this? You’re making a scene.”

“Am I?” I look from him to my mother, then let my gaze land on the couple of the hour. “Or am I just finally seeing the scene for what it is?”

Reid steps forward, his expression a careful mask of concern. “Mallory, are you feeling alright? You look pale.”

“I’ve never felt clearer in my life,” I say, looking directly at him. “Why don’t you tell them, Reid? Tell everyone what you were doing upstairs.”

Paige glides to my side, her touch on my arm both a comfort and a threat. “Sister, you’re not well. The pressure of the engagement, it’s been too much for you.” Her voice is a syrupy performance for the crowd, which has now formed a silent, watchful circle around us.

I shake her off. “Stop calling me that. And stop pretending.” I turn to my parents. “He’s having an affair with her. I saw them. Just now. In the suite.”

A collective gasp ripples through the onlookers. My mother’s smile tightens into a bloodless line. My father’s face is granite.

“That is a monstrous accusation,” my mother says, her voice dangerously low.

“It’s the truth,” I insist, my voice cracking. “Ask them.”

Paige produces a delicate, theatrical tear. “Mother, Daddy, I don’t know why she’s saying these things. I was just helping Reid practice his speech. Mallory has always had such a… vivid imagination. She gets these ideas in her head.”

“An imagination?” I laugh, a sharp, broken sound. “He told me this engagement was a merger. A business deal. He told me I wasn’t strong enough.”

My father steps forward, his presence silencing all other whispers. “Reid is right. You are not strong enough.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stare at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

“This alliance with the Thorne family is the culmination of a decade of work,” he says, his voice cold and clear, a CEO addressing a failed subordinate. “It secures the Greer legacy for generations. It cannot, and will not, be jeopardized by your emotional instability.”

“So you knew?” I whisper, the horror dawning. “You’re choosing her.”

“There is no choice to be made,” my mother cuts in, her eyes like chips of ice. “Paige is our daughter. She understands what is at stake. She has always put this family first.”

“And what am I?” I ask, the question tearing from my throat.

My father looks at me, and for the first time, I see no trace of affection. Only calculation. He walks to the small stage where the string quartet has fallen silent and picks up the microphone.

“May I have your attention, please,” he booms, his voice amplified throughout the massive ballroom. The silence becomes absolute.

“Tonight was meant to be a celebration of a union between two great families. And it still is.” He pauses, letting the tension build. “But a foundation must be strong. It must be built on truth and loyalty, not sentiment.”

He turns his head and looks directly at me, across the silent room. “Many of you know the story. Years ago, Catherine and I were blessed to take in a young girl who had nothing. We gave her our home. We gave her our name. We treated her as one of our own.”

The careful wording hangs in the air. *Treated her as one of our own.* Not *she is one of our own.* I feel the ground disappear beneath my feet.

“We raised her alongside our daughter, Paige,” he continues. “We gave her every opportunity. Every advantage. In return, we expected one thing: loyalty.”

His gaze is an indictment. “Tonight, that loyalty has been broken. Baseless, hysterical accusations have been made. Accusations designed to sabotage a vital alliance and harm this family’s reputation.”

Reid moves to stand beside Paige, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, her face a perfect mask of wronged innocence.

My mother watches me, her expression unreadable but utterly devoid of warmth.

“This family does not tolerate betrayal,” my father’s voice rings out. “We do not reward weakness. The Greer name is synonymous with strength. And Mallory has proven she does not possess that strength.”

I can’t move. I can’t speak. I am pinned by the weight of a thousand stares.

“Therefore, it is with a heavy heart, but a clear mind, that I must make this announcement.” He takes a breath. “As of this moment, Mallory is no longer a part of our family. The adoption, a gesture of kindness from our past, is now a liability to our future. We are officially and publicly disowning her.”

The words detonate in the silent room. Disowning me. Adoption.

My mind reels. I was adopted? They never told me. It was all a lie. My entire life, a conditional arrangement. A business transaction that has just gone sour.

“She will no longer carry the Greer name,” my father declares. “She is no longer our responsibility. We wish her well in whatever life she chooses for herself.” He places the microphone back on its stand with a decisive click.

He turns his back on me.

The spell is broken. The ballroom erupts in a cacophony of hushed, frantic whispers. I see the pity, the shock, the morbid curiosity on the faces around me. I am a spectacle. A scandal. A nobody.

Two large men in black suits, the hotel’s security, appear at my elbows. Their presence is quiet but unyielding.

“Ma’am, you need to come with us,” one says, his voice polite but firm.

I look past them, searching for one friendly face. I see Paige whispering something in Reid’s ear, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. I see my mother straighten her posture, already turning to a guest to smooth things over. I see my father, the man I called Dad my whole life, talking to Reid’s father as if he’d just concluded a difficult but necessary negotiation.

They have already erased me.

The guards gently but inexorably guide me through the crowd. People part like the Red Sea, their eyes following me, their whispers like the hissing of snakes. No one speaks to me. No one meets my eye for more than a second.

They escort me through the opulent lobby, past the fountains and the floral arrangements, and out the grand glass doors. The cold night air hits my bare arms like a slap.

“Your belongings will be sent to an address of your choosing,” the guard says, a rote line he has probably used a hundred times for less dramatic exits.

I have no address.

He releases my arm. The other guard is already speaking into his wrist. The revolving door spins behind me, a final, silent dismissal.

I am standing on the curb of the most luxurious hotel in the city, wearing a thousand-dollar dress and shoes I can barely walk in. My purse is upstairs. My phone. My life. Everything I thought was mine is locked away in a building I can never enter again.

I am nothing. I have nothing.

The city lights blur through the tears that finally, finally begin to fall. I have been cast out. And in the cold, unforgiving silence, I understand. This was not a betrayal. It was a termination. My contract was up.

Chapter 3

Mallory

The thousand-dollar heels were not made for walking. They were made for standing still and being admired. Now, each step on the cold pavement is a fresh agony. I walk without a destination, a ghost in an emerald dress under the indifferent glow of streetlights. Cars swish past, their occupants faceless strangers in warm, moving boxes.

My life ended an hour ago. Now this is just the epilogue.

I see the warm, greasy light of a 24-hour diner ahead. 'Sully's', the sign says in faded red neon. I push the door open. The bell jingles, a cheerful sound that feels like a mockery. An older woman behind the counter looks me up and down, taking in the gown, the ruined hair, the tear-streaked makeup.

“Honey, you look like you’ve had one hell of a night,” she says, her voice raspy.

“Could I… could I use your phone?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t have any money.”

She just sighs and slides an old landline across the counter. “Go on. Local calls only.”

My fingers tremble as I dial the only number I know by heart that isn’t connected to the Greers. It rings twice.

“This better be good, it’s almost midnight,” a voice groans.

“Chloe?” I choke out.

“Mallory? What’s wrong? You sound awful. Aren’t you at your party?”

“It’s over,” I say, a fresh wave of tears blurring the diner into a smear of light. “Everything’s over. They threw me out.”

There’s a pause, then the sound of rustling sheets. “Who threw you out? The hotel? Did you have too much champagne?”

“No. The Greers. My… my parents. They disowned me. Publicly.”

Silence. Then, “Where are you?” Her voice is sharp now. Awake. Focused.

“A diner. Sully’s. I don’t know the street.”

“Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m coming.”

The line clicks dead.

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe’s beat-up hatchback screeches to a halt outside. She bursts into the diner, wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her hair a messy bun. Her eyes find me, and her face crumples with concern before hardening with rage.

“Get in the car,” she says, her voice low and dangerous.

She peels away from the curb before I’ve even closed the door. She doesn't speak until we're inside her tiny, cluttered apartment, the door double-locked behind us.

“Start from the beginning,” she orders, shoving a mug of hot tea into my cold hands. “And don’t leave out a single detail.”

I tell her everything. The penthouse suite. The words ‘merger’ and ‘liability’. The microphone. The word ‘adoption’ hitting me like a bullet. When I’m done, the only sound is the hum of her refrigerator.

Chloe stares at a point on the wall, her knuckles white where she grips her own mug.

“I’m going to kill them,” she says, her voice flat. “Not figuratively. I am going to find a way to ruin them all.”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “They’re not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” She finally looks at me, her eyes blazing. “Mallory, they didn't just break your heart. They executed you. In front of everyone. For what? A business deal?”

“A stronger, more profitable future,” I parrot numbly, the words tasting like poison.

“And Paige.” Chloe says the name like it’s a curse. “Of course. She’s been gunning for your life since we were kids. I never trusted her. Not once.”

“I did,” I say, and the simple truth of it breaks me open again. I start to sob, deep, ragged sounds I can’t control.

Chloe is there in an instant, wrapping her arms around me. “I know. I know you did. You have a good heart. They just used it as a stepping stone.”

She lets me cry until I have nothing left. Then she pulls back, her expression firm.

“Okay. Here’s what happens now. You live here. My couch is terrible but it’s yours. We’ll get your things tomorrow. They have to give you your personal belongings.”

“They said they’d send them to an address.”

“Good. This is your address now,” she says with a finality that allows for no argument. “First thing tomorrow, we get you a burner phone. Then we figure out your money situation.”

“I don’t have a money situation, Chloe. I have no money. My bank accounts were all tied to the family trust. My car is registered to the Greer Corporation. Even my laptop was a ‘company expense’.”

Chloe’s jaw tightens. “They left you with nothing.”

“Less than nothing.”

I wake up on her lumpy couch the next morning, the city noise a dull roar outside. Chloe’s already gone, leaving a note on the coffee table. *Had to go to work. There’s cash in the jar for coffee and food. Don’t you dare argue. We’ll talk tonight.* A twenty-dollar bill is tucked underneath.

I can’t stay in the apartment. It feels too small, the walls closing in. I shower, borrow a pair of jeans and a sweater from Chloe, and walk out into the city that was supposed to be mine.

I find a small café called ‘The Grindstone’. It smells of burnt coffee and old books. I buy the cheapest coffee they have and find a small table in the corner. I sit for an hour, watching people come and go, living lives that haven’t been detonated.

My hand feels empty. For twenty years, it almost always held a pen, a pencil. My fingers twitch with the need to create something, anything, to prove I still exist.

I grab a flimsy paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and pull a pen from the bottom of Chloe’s bag she lent me. An image surfaces in my mind. Not a grand house for a fake life, but something else. A building that feels like defiance.

I start to sketch. The lines come fast and sure. It’s a tower, but not a sterile glass box. It twists, reaching for the sun like a living thing. The floors are staggered, creating deep cantilevered terraces overflowing with greenery. A vertical park. A building that breathes.

I’m so lost in the drawing that I don’t notice the man until he speaks.

“The load-bearing calculations for those terraces would be a nightmare.”

The voice is deep, calm, and close. Too close. I jump, my hand instinctively slamming down over the napkin, crumpling the delicate drawing.

I look up. He’s tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that probably costs more than Chloe’s car. His hair is black, his features are sharp, almost severe. He’s intimidatingly handsome, with dark eyes that seem to see right through me. He’s holding a small cup of espresso.

“I’m sorry?” I stammer.

“The sketch,” he says, his gaze fixed on my hand. “It’s an ambitious design. Beautiful, but structurally… complex.”

My cheeks burn with shame. A stranger, a powerful-looking man, commenting on my silly little napkin drawing. It’s Paige’s voice in my head all over again.

“It’s nothing,” I say, my voice tight. “Just a doodle.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes lift from my hand to my face. He takes in the faint puffiness around my eyes, the borrowed clothes, the way I’m hunched over the table as if protecting myself from a blow. A flicker of something I can’t decipher crosses his face. It’s not pity. It’s… intrigue.

“Nothing,” he repeats, his tone unreadable. “A shame.”

He gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod, and walks away, taking a seat at a table across the room, alone. He opens a laptop and the moment is over.

But it’s not. I’m left staring at the crumpled napkin under my palm. For a single, fleeting second, someone looked at my work, my real work, and didn’t call it a hobby. He called it ambitious. He called it beautiful.

I carefully smooth out the napkin. The tower is still there, a little wrinkled, but unbroken. It’s the first thing in two days that feels like it might be salvageable.