She had always known Genevieve Anderson was ambitious.
But this? This was calculated.
Sloane scrolled through the article again, reading the same carefully curated headline that had been plastered across every luxury media outlet.
She exhaled slowly, setting her phone down.
Vincent, who had been watching her reaction with mild amusement, leaned back against the bar.
"You're taking this well."
"That's because it doesn't matter." Sloane picked up her glass of wine, swirling it absently.
Lena snorted. "It matters enough that you're sitting there plotting their downfall."
Sloane smirked but didn't deny it.
Genevieve was an acquaintance at best. A woman who moved in the same circles, attended the same charity galas, vacationed in the same exclusive resorts. But they had never been friends.
They were rivals.
Not explicitly, of course. There had never been a direct confrontation, never an open declaration of war.
