Tune In for My "Apology"

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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My ex-boyfriend, Gabriel, the man who once promised me forever, looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit. He was here to finish the job of destroying my life. To save my brother from jail, he demanded an impossible six-figure settlement and a humiliating, live-streamed public apology. Three years ago, his now-fiancée, my rival Aspen Watkins, framed me for cyberbullying. Gabriel believed her lies, publicly denounced me, and shattered my world. The scandal led to my expulsion, my parents' fatal car crash, and the loss of our family fortune. He was ready to humiliate me all over again for a crime I never committed, his eyes cold and unyielding. The punishment wasn't just for my brother; it was for me. But as I prepared for my public execution, a mysterious billionaire made me an offer. He knew the truth and gave me the means to fight back. Aspen wanted a spectacle. I decided to give her one.

Rebirth Comeback Revenge Female-centered Personal growth

Chapter 10

Today 17:54

Chapter 1

My ex-boyfriend, Gabriel, the man who once promised me forever, looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit. He was here to finish the job of destroying my life.

To save my brother from jail, he demanded an impossible six-figure settlement and a humiliating, live-streamed public apology.

Three years ago, his now-fiancée, my rival Aspen Watkins, framed me for cyberbullying. Gabriel believed her lies, publicly denounced me, and shattered my world. The scandal led to my expulsion, my parents' fatal car crash, and the loss of our family fortune.

He was ready to humiliate me all over again for a crime I never committed, his eyes cold and unyielding. The punishment wasn't just for my brother; it was for me.

But as I prepared for my public execution, a mysterious billionaire made me an offer. He knew the truth and gave me the means to fight back.

Aspen wanted a spectacle.

I decided to give her one.

Chapter 1

My ex-boyfriend, Gabriel Haynes, the man who' d once promised me forever, looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit, and I knew my life was about to shatter all over again. Three years. Three years I' d spent picking up the pieces he helped break, and now here he was, ready to finish the job.

It wasn't a choice to see him again. The universe, in its cruel, twisted humor, had decided that my seventeen-year-old half-brother, Jalen, would pick a fight with Aspen Watkins's younger brother, Jorden. And just like that, the past came slamming into my present, dragging me back into the very nightmare I' d fought so hard to escape.

I sat in the sterile, overly air-conditioned mediation room, the silence a heavy blanket over us. The polished oak table reflected the grim faces, making them seem even more distorted. Gabriel sat opposite me, his posture rigid, a stark contrast to the casual way he used to lean into me, his arm a warm weight around my waist. Now, he was a high-powered attorney, sharp and unyielding, representing Jorden Watkins, the so-called victim. And I was just Elle Owens, the disgraced socialite, the cyberbully, the girl whose life had imploded.

Gabriel opened his briefcase with a crisp snap. The sound echoed in the quiet room, making me flinch. He laid out a series of glossy photographs, each one a close-up of Jorden' s bruised face. A split lip, a swollen eye, a nasty gash above his eyebrow. The images were damning. They screamed violence, and my stomach churned.

"The evidence is clear, Ms. Owens," Gabriel' s voice was even, devoid of any emotion. It was the same voice he used in court, the one that broke down witnesses and swayed juries. It was the voice that had once whispered promises against my hair. "Your brother, Jalen Hart, assaulted Jorden Watkins. The injuries are severe enough to warrant criminal charges."

My cheeks burned. Shame, hot and unwelcome, spread through me. Jalen wasn' t a saint. I knew that. He was a good kid, but he was also a ticking time bomb of anger, especially when it came to anyone associated with Aspen Watkins. But to see the extent of the damage, laid out so coldly, made my throat constrict.

"Jalen wouldn't just attack someone without reason," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. "There has to be more to this. Jorden... he's always been a provocateur."

Gabriel' s lips thinned. He didn't even look up from the photos. "Arguments based on conjecture and personal vendettas hold no weight in a court of law, Elle. We deal in facts. And the facts show Jorden Watkins was physically assaulted by your brother."

His use of my first name, so casual, so familiar, felt like a deliberate jab. It tore at the carefully constructed wall I' d built around myself. He believed in facts. He always had. Three years ago, those "facts" had utterly destroyed me.

I glanced at Jorden, who sat beside Gabriel, nursing his jaw. He looked less like a victim and more like a smug little brat who enjoyed the chaos he' d caused. He caught my eye and offered a sneering smile, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. Jalen, who was supposed to be sitting next to me, was nowhere to be found. He' d stormed out just minutes before Gabriel arrived, muttering something about not letting them win.

"What exactly happened?" I pressed, trying to keep my voice steady. "Was there a police report? Witness statements? I want to see everything."

Gabriel finally looked at me, his gaze cold and hard. "You'll have access to the full report if this proceeds to court. For now, we're attempting mediation, a courtesy extended by the Watkins family." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "A courtesy that, given your brother' s past history of defiance, I' m surprised they even allowed."

As if on cue, the door burst open. Jalen stood there, his hair disheveled, his eyes blazing. "I hit him!" he practically yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "I hit him, yeah! And I' d do it again!"

My heart leaped into my throat. "Jalen, no!" I scrambled to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.

He ignored me, stepping further into the room. "He deserved it! He was talking about you, Elle. Talking about how you deserved everything that happened, how you were a pathetic excuse for a sister, how you drove Mom and Dad to their deaths!"

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Jalen' s face was contorted with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked so young, so lost, so much like me when I was at my breaking point.

Before I could reach him, he spun on his heel, flinging the door open again. "I'm not sitting here through this farce," he spat, glaring at Gabriel and Jorden. "Do what you want. I don't care." And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

"Jalen!" I yelled, rushing to the door. "Jalen, wait!"

I burst into the hallway, but he was already halfway down the corridor, his long strides carrying him away. "Jalen, please! This is serious!"

He stopped, turning to face me. His eyes were red-rimmed, but still full of anger. "Serious? What's serious, Elle? You losing everything again? You letting them walk all over you?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You're just like them. Always trying to fix things, always trying to be the good girl. Look where that got you. Look where that got us." His gaze hardened. "You let them brand you a cyberbully. You let them take Mom and Dad. And now you want me to sit here and let them take me too?"

His words, like poisoned darts, pierced through the thin skin I' d grown over my deepest wounds. My parents. Their car crash, rushing to New York after the scandal broke, after I was expelled. My chest tightened, a cold, empty ache spreading through me. He was right. He wasn't entirely wrong. I had let them. I had let everyone.

I stood there, frozen, the hallway suddenly too bright, too loud. The weight of his words, the accusation, the raw pain in his voice, pressed down on me. Jalen watched me, his expression a mix of defiance and hurt, then he shook his head, a gesture of profound disappointment, and disappeared around the corner.

My shoulders slumped. I felt an invisible hand clenching around my heart, squeezing all the air out of my lungs. I stumbled back into the mediation room, my legs feeling like lead. Gabriel was watching me, his expression unreadable. Jorden, however, wore a smug, satisfied smirk.

"Well," Gabriel said, his voice cutting through the ringing silence in my ears. "That was... productive." He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. "Given your brother's admission, and his unwillingness to cooperate, we can move straight to the demands."

My breath hitched. "Demands?"

"A settlement," he clarified, his eyes like ice. "To compensate Jorden for his physical and emotional trauma, and to ensure such an incident doesn't happen again. We're looking at a figure in the high six figures."

My head snapped up. "Six figures? Are you insane? We don't have that kind of money, Gabriel! You know our situation!" The words tumbled out, desperate and raw. He knew. He of all people knew the wreckage of my family's finances, the mountain of debt I was buried under.

He simply raised an eyebrow. "That's your problem, isn't it? The alternative is criminal charges. And given Jalen's outburst, that's a very real possibility. A public apology from you, Elle, would also be expected. A live-streamed one, to address the public perception of the Watkins family being repeatedly targeted."

A public apology. From me. For something my brother did, something I still didn't fully understand. My blood ran cold. The thought of facing the cameras again, of being publicly humiliated once more, made me want to curl into a ball and disappear. It was a fresh, hot wave of shame crashing over the old, cold one.

"You have one week," Gabriel stated, picking up his pen. "One week to agree to the settlement and arrange the apology. Otherwise, we proceed with legal action. And believe me, Elle, you don't want us to proceed with legal action."

Jorden, beside him, cleared his throat dramatically. "Gabey, darling," he drawled, his voice sickly sweet. "Let's not be too hard on her. She's clearly distraught."

Gabey. The nickname, so intimate, so familiar, felt like a fresh stab wound. Aspen. Aspen Watkins. Of course. They were engaged. The thought was a bitter taste in my mouth, a stark reminder of how far he' d fallen, or perhaps, how perfectly he fit into her twisted narrative.

Gabriel' s gaze flickered to Jorden, then back to me. His eyes, usually so sharp, now held a cold, unwavering intensity. "Justice, Jorden, is about consequences. And some consequences," his voice hardened, "are long overdue." His eyes bore into mine, a clear, unmistakable warning. The punishment, he seemed to say, wasn't just for Jalen. It was for me too.

I watched, numb and helpless, as Gabriel packed up his briefcase. Jorden stood up, preening, and then they were both walking out, leaving me alone in the silent room. The door clicked shut, sealing me in with the suffocating weight of my despair.

My legs gave out. I sank back into the chair, the cold leather chilling my skin. My head fell into my hands, the tears burning my eyes but refusing to fall. I was suffocating. The air felt thick, heavy with the ghosts of my past.

Three years ago, I was Elle Owens, the vibrant art student, the socialite, the girl with the world at her feet. NYU, parents who adored me, a trust fund, a promising future. And Gabriel. We were young, idealistic, and deeply in love. He was the scholarship student from a modest background, brilliant and ambitious, while I was the carefree heiress, indulging in my passion for art. Our worlds were different, but our hearts had found a way to connect. He taught me about responsibility, about fighting for what you believe in. I taught him to loosen up, to enjoy the moment. We were a perfect, improbable pair.

Then came Aspen. Aspen Watkins. She was a classmate, a rival in the art program. Talented, yes, but consumed by a venomous jealousy. She always overshadowed me. Or at least, that's what she claimed. She craved the spotlight, the attention, the inherent ease with which I navigated the social circles she so desperately wanted to belong to.

She framed me. Fabricated screenshots, anonymous messages, all accusing me of cyberbullying her, tearing down her art, making her life a living hell. She painted herself as the victim, the sensitive artist driven to the brink by the "privileged bully." And Gabriel, with his unwavering belief in hard evidence, saw the fabricated proof and believed her. He saw the "facts."

"How could you, Elle?" he'd screamed, his face a mask of betrayal. "I thought I knew you! How could you be so cruel?"

I' d tried to explain, tried to tell him it was all a lie, a setup. But the evidence, carefully crafted by Aspen, was too convincing. He broke up with me publicly, denouncing my actions, solidifying my status as a pariah.

Expelled from NYU, my reputation in tatters, I lashed out. I was raw, wounded, and desperate. I vandalized Aspen's gallery show, destroying her art, the very thing she claimed I hated. It was a stupid, impulsive act born of pure, unadulterated rage and despair. It only reinforced the narrative that I was a bitter, cruel bully.

Then came the phone call, the one that still haunted my nightmares. My parents, rushing to my side, distraught by the scandal, had been in a car accident. They were gone. Just like that, everything I had, everything I loved, was stripped away. The family business, without them at the helm, was swiftly taken over by opportunistic partners, leaving Jalen and me with nothing but massive debts.

My parents. My chest ached, a physical pain that never truly faded. The guilt was a constant companion, a heavy stone in my gut. If I hadn' t been so reckless, so impulsive, if I hadn' t been so consumed by my own pain... they would still be here.

I pulled myself out of the painful memories, pushing them back into the dark corners of my mind. There was no time for self-pity. Jalen. I had to protect Jalen. A six-figure settlement. It was an impossible sum. I was already working two jobs, a VIP hostess at an exclusive Manhattan lounge by night, and hustling freelance art commissions by day, barely covering the interest on the debts.

My phone vibrated, pulling me back to the present. It was an email from a contact I'd reached out to a few days ago, desperate for any high-paying gig. The subject line read: "VIP Hostess - Special Engagement - Unprecedented Compensation." I opened it, my fingers trembling.

We' ve reviewed your profile, Elle. Your reputation, though tarnished, still carries a certain notoriety that aligns with our client' s unique requirements. The compensation for this particular engagement would cover a significant portion of your recent financial obligation. However, it comes with... specific conditions. Discretion, absolute loyalty to the client during the engagement, and a willingness to adapt to unconventional requests are paramount. Are you in?

My throat was dry. Unconventional requests. Discretion. It sounded dangerous, demeaning, probably illegal. But the alternative was Jalen going to jail, or me losing everything I had left.

The email ended abruptly. Reply by midnight tonight. This offer will not be extended again.

It was a trap, a gilded cage. But I had no choice. I typed out a quick, curt reply. "I'm in."