Eva, the businesswoman, ran a skincare company —handmade soaps, scrubs, oils. Their social media was full of pinks and golds, testimonials, and behind-the-scenes videos. Eva often wrote about “clean beginnings” and “starting fresh.” Her captions hinted at pain but also fierce resilience. She had turned wounds into brand stories.
She looked powerful—like someone who never forgot who hurt her. Her posts were kind, but razor-sharp. Vincent didn’t flag her. He already knew. She wouldn’t give him a dollar. She would smell the desperation and turn it into a cautionary tale. “This is what we rise above,” she’d write. He shivered.