She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 05

She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 05

He was the family’s top-tier crisis consultant, the one you called for situations that went beyond mere scandal. Kidnappings, political sabotage, total erasure.

During college, Ghost had set up a contingency plan for me. The Ghost Protocol.

At the time, we’d imagined it would be for external threats—political rivals, blackmailers.

I never imagined the person who would force me to activate it would be the man I loved.

Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently on the desk.

Beckett.

I declined the call.

He called back immediately.

I declined it again.

After a few more attempts, the texts started.

“I bought you the new Cartier bracelet. It’s on its way to your apartment.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Daphne.”

“I’ll take you skiing in Aspen next week. Just the two of us, okay?”

“This isn’t good for either of our families. Be mature.”

“For God’s sake, Anya apologized on Instagram. What more do you want?”

That last one made me laugh, a short, bitter sound.

Anya’s apology?

The same woman who had posted a devil emoji in her Close Friends story to celebrate?

That flimsy, pathetic post—*“The party got a little crazy, some things got out of hand :(”*—was enough, in his mind, to wipe the slate clean?

Pathetic.

My phone lit up again.

“Don’t make me call your mother, Daphne.”

There it was.

First the bribe, then the lecture, now the threat.

I didn’t reply.

I blocked his number.

The room was instantly, blessedly quiet.

I sent a single message to Ghost.

“Ghost Protocol. Activate now.”

Outside my window, the lights of New York glittered.

I suddenly remembered watching fireworks with Beckett in Central Park, years ago.

That night, he’d pointed to the brightest explosion in the sky and said, “Look, Daphne. That’s our future. Bright enough to light up the whole city.”

The fireworks were beautiful that night.

But the show was long over.

The next morning, I met Ghost at a discreet, members-only club in Manhattan.

He looked like any other senior partner from a Wall Street law firm: impeccable suit, steady gaze. But you could tell this was a man who could make a person disappear as if they’d never existed.

We sat in a soundproofed private room.

He pushed a glass of water toward me, his voice low and even.

“The Ghost Protocol is a one-way street. There’s no coming back. Once initiated, the identity of Daphne Wells will be systematically erased—legally, financially, and socially. You will lose everything: your trust fund, your connections, your name. Are you sure?”

I gripped the glass, the cold biting into my fingers.

I looked him straight in the eye and nodded.

“I’m sure,” I said. “My fiancé, Beckett Blake, orchestrated a malicious, public humiliation against me on a national scale.”

Saying the words out loud was difficult.

But it was the first step.

Ghost’s expression shifted instantly.

“Evidence.”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t offer condolences.

He just wanted facts.

I opened the encrypted laptop and pulled up a triple-locked folder.

Inside was everything. Beckett and Anya’s chat logs, their flirtations, the way they mocked me, calling me a “boring porcelain doll.”

There were also videos from the party, taken from different angles.

Me, being plied with drinks.

Me, after I’d passed out, someone taking my phone, scrawling crude things on my face before snapping the photos that would end up on TMZ.

Each image was a fresh stab of ice.

Ghost scanned the files for less than three minutes before slamming the laptop shut.

The sound cracked like a gunshot in the quiet room.

His face was a mask of cold fury.

“This isn’t just a scandal, Daphne,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “This is a direct attack on the Wells family. This was a planned character assassination.”