Chapter 3 The Emergence of a Common Enemy

## Chapter 3: The Emergence of a Common Enemy

I woke to the sound of persistent knocking. Groaning, I rolled over to check the time: 7:13 AM. Who on earth would be at my door this early on a Saturday?

"Coming!" I called, throwing on a robe and shuffling to the door. Through the peephole, I saw Oliver's anxious face.

"Have you seen this?" he demanded the moment I opened the door, thrusting his phone at me.

Still bleary-eyed, I squinted at the screen. It was a gossip blog with the headline: "CORPORATE RIVALS OR CORPORATE SPIES? Fashion Industry Scandal Brewing." Beneath it was the photo Aidan had taken of us by the river, alongside corporate headshots of both of us.

"What the hell?" I scrolled through the article, my stomach dropping with each paragraph. According to this "exclusive report," Aidan and I—executives at competing fashion brands—were suspected of industrial espionage, trading company secrets during our "affair."

"This is ridiculous," I sputtered. "I've never stolen anything in my life!"

"Except hearts," Oliver quipped, then sobered when I glared at him. "Sorry, not the time. But Layla, this is serious. Your company is mentioned by name."

My phone began buzzing with notifications. Texts from colleagues, my boss, even my mother. The last one made my blood run cold—an email from HR requesting my "immediate presence" for a meeting on Monday morning.

I called Aidan, my hands shaking slightly.

"I'm guessing you've seen it," he answered without preamble, his voice tense.

"What is happening? Who would do this?"

"I don't know, but it's not good. My boss already called. They're launching an internal investigation."

"This is insane! We don't even work for competing companies!" I paced my living room. "I'm in publishing, for God's sake. You design furniture!"

"Technically, I design for a furniture conglomerate that has a small fashion division," he corrected. "But that's hardly the point. Someone deliberately fabricated this."

"But who would—" I stopped, a horrible thought forming. "Aidan, how many exes do you have who might hold a grudge?"

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The silence on his end was telling.

"Great," I muttered. "Me too."

"We need to talk in person," he said finally. "Meet me at Riverside Café in an hour."

When I arrived, Aidan was already seated in a corner booth, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes like some B-movie spy. Despite everything, it made me smile.

"Very inconspicuous," I said, sliding in across from him.

"I've been recognized twice already." He looked exhausted. "The article's everywhere."

"I know. My phone hasn't stopped—" I froze, spotting a familiar face entering the café. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"Don't turn around," I hissed. "It's Brandon. My ex."

Aidan, of course, immediately turned around. "Which one?"

"Blue jacket, near the counter." I ducked lower in my seat. "He's the last person I want to see right now."

But Brandon wasn't alone. He was talking animatedly to a woman with sleek blonde hair, both of them glancing around the café as if looking for someone.

"Aidan," I whispered. "The woman with him—do you know her?"

He turned again, then went perfectly still. "That's Vanessa. My ex."

Our eyes met across the table, realization dawning simultaneously.

"You don't think..." I began.

"They're behind this?" He finished. "It's quite a coincidence."

We watched as they took a table nearby, neither noticing us yet. Their conversation looked intense, heads bent close together over coffee.

"We need to hear what they're saying," I decided.

"And how do you propose we do that? Sneak over in disguise?"

I pulled out my phone. "Better. I'll record them."

"That's probably illegal."

"So is defamation." I stood up. "Cover me."

Before he could protest, I walked to the counter, positioning myself in line with a clear angle to their table. I opened my voice recorder app and placed my phone partially hidden under my purse on the counter.

When I returned to our table with two fresh coffees, Aidan was looking at me with a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're either brilliant or insane."

"Why not both?" I sipped my latte. "Now we wait."

Ten minutes later, I retrieved my phone and we huddled together to listen to the recording. Most of it was ambient café noise, but certain phrases came through clearly:

"...can't believe it worked so well..."

"...deserves it after what he did to you..."

"...your idea was perfect, the media loves a scandal..."

"...teach them both a lesson about playing with people..."

We looked at each other, faces grim.

"They set us up," I said.

"Because we're players?" Aidan sounded incredulous. "That's a bit extreme."

"Brandon never took rejection well. I broke things off when he started talking about our future after three dates."

"And Vanessa..." Aidan hesitated. "She wanted commitment. I didn't."

"So they're punishing us for not wanting what they wanted." I shook my head. "But how did they even meet?"

"Probably a 'my ex is the worst' support group," Aidan said dryly.

We spent the next hour piecing together what we knew. Brandon worked in digital marketing; Vanessa was a PR specialist. Together, they had the skills to plant a convincing fake story and make it spread.

"We need to clear our names," I said. "Our jobs are on the line."

"We need proof it was them." Aidan ran a hand through his hair. "The recording isn't clear enough."

"Then we get them to confess." I leaned forward, mind racing. "If they think their plan is working, they might get cocky."

Aidan's phone rang. He glanced at it and grimaced. "It's my boss again. I need to take this."

While he stepped outside, I found myself studying his profile through the window. The way his shoulders tensed as he spoke, the furrow between his brows. For someone who claimed emotional detachment, he looked genuinely distressed about potentially losing his job.

When he returned, his expression was grim. "I'm suspended pending investigation."

"Aidan, I'm so sorry." Without thinking, I reached for his hand.

"It gets worse." He met my eyes. "They mentioned your name specifically in the allegations. Apparently, someone anonymously sent 'evidence' that we've been exchanging confidential information."

"But there is no evidence! We haven't done anything!"

"I know that. You know that. But right now, everyone else believes we're corporate Bonnie and Clyde."

I squeezed his hand, suddenly aware that I was still holding it. "We'll fix this. Together."

His eyes softened, and he turned his hand to interlace our fingers. "Partners in crime, literally?"

"Partners," I agreed, ignoring the strange flutter in my chest.

As we left the café, planning our counterattack, I spotted Brandon watching us from across the street. He quickly looked away, pulling out his phone.

"They're still watching us," I murmured to Aidan. "Good. Let them think we're panicking."

What I didn't say was that I was panicking, just not about the scandal. Something far more dangerous was happening: I was starting to care what happened to Aidan beyond our game.

And in the rulebook we'd established, that was the first step toward losing.