The Temporary Boyfriend

Chapter 20: The Mop-Up

Lyvana closed her eyes for a brief second before answering.

"I’m fine," she said coolly. "I’m home."

"Thank God," Mark exhaled. "I tried calling earlier, but you didn’t pick up. I was worried sick."

Sure you were.

"I still have friends in the media," Mark continued. "And the police. They are already working on finding those people who vandalized the company. I can come over."

"That won’t be necessary, maybe later. I’ll keep you updated," Lyvana added. "If there’s anything you need to know, you’ll hear it from me."

"Alright," Mark said. "I will order your favorite sirloin steak. So just relax."

Lyvana was surprised for a moment. So after all this time of being together, Mark still did not know what she liked and what she disliked.

Sirloin steak? For real?

"What is it? You don’t like it?" He asked when she said nothing.

"I do, thank you."

Lyvana lowered the phone and stared at it for a moment before setting it face down on the table.

Her mind raced. The humiliation with the escorts didn’t happen, so Clarisse set out to smeer her name by linking her to gangs and destroying her company’s reputation.

In the fashion world, a criminal brand was a dead brand.

Her head throbbed and a cold shiver ran down her spine as a terrifying thought hit her.

​Does this mean that everything from her past life was still bound to happen? No matter how much she changed her clothes or her attitude, was she still trapped on the same path to disaster?

​For a second, the room felt like a cage. If the past was repeating itself, she wasn’t just fighting Mark — she was fighting fate.

Her phone rang again it was Emily. She picked up before entering into the kitchen.

....

In a sleek, high-rise office across the city, Julian was sitting across from a businessman.

​Suddenly, his private phone buzzed on the mahogany table.

​He didn’t usually check his phone during meetings, but only a few people had this private number. He picked it up and frowned.

It was a message from Marco.

After reading it, he quickly sent Lily a message.

Sort out the problems with Lyvana, now.

Across the table, the man cleared his throat. "Everything alright?"

Julian slipped the phone back unto the table.

"Perfectly fine," he said calmly. "Now, where were we?"

....

Lyvana sat on her sofa and opened her laptop. She took a slow sip of the coffee.

​On social media, Aurora Fashion House, Lyvana Montclair and Vaughn Bride-to-Be were trending.

She scrolled through the comments, her heart sinking lower with every post.

I heard the break-in was a warning. Is it true she’s being sponsored by gangs?

The reporters said she has ties to underground rivals.

Didn’t her mother die under suspicious circumstances? Maybe she was involved too.

Lyvana’s fingers went cold.

​The mention of her late mother made her blood boil.

They were dragging a dead woman’s name through the mud just to hurt her.

But as she scrolled further, she saw the netizens were divided.

Wait, she doesn’t look like someone involved with gangs. She’s always so poised and quiet.

She’s a student. She’s literally about to graduate from college in a month. When would she have time to run with gangs?

She’s decent. Look at her records. She’s top of her class.

This smells like someone is trying to sabotage her before her wedding.

​Lyvana closed the laptop with a snap.

The public was confused, and that was exactly what her enemy wanted.

Half the world was defending her, but the other half was already convinced she was a criminal.

It was at this exact moment that she realized she couldn’t do it all by herself. She needed a team or least someone she could trust.

Her phone rang again. She ignored it. She wasn’t answering any number she didn’t recognize.

.... fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

In a cramped corner office tucked deep within the city’s main police station, a young officer named Pamela sat surrounded by glowing monitors.

Her fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard as she scrubbed through the city surveillance. The screens were filled with live feeds, timelines, and audio waveforms. The place looked less like an office and more like a high-tech control center.

"What’s going on?" John, another officer asked quietly as he came up behind her. "I was told there was an emergency."

Pamela didn’t look up. Her eyes stayed locked on the screens.

"It is," she said. "I’m tracking the vandalism at Aurora."

"You mean the small fashion house incident?" he asked, frowning. "Since when do we handle things like that?"

"The Commissioner himself gave the order personally. That makes it a Category One."

John’s eyebrows shot up. Before he could respond, the heavy security door hissed open.

Detective Morgan stepped in, looking sharp in a black trousers and a white shirt. Behind her followed a smallish woman clearly waiting for instructions.

John blinked. "And... now we’re involving the secret people." he whispered to Pamela.

Pamela didn’t look up. "Shut up John," she whispered back.

​"Detective Morgan," John said ignoring Pamela’s warning. "A full mop-up for a fashion house? Since when do we deploy our best resources for something so trivial?"

The detective didn’t even slow down. She set the dress she was holding on the table and turned to him.

"Since we’re paid to do what we’re told," she said calmly, "and not to ask stupid questions. And for the record, nothing the boss touches is ever trivial."

Then she looked past him, already done with the conversation.

John went silent. He knew that tone.

​"Pamela," Morgan said, turning away. "Is the script ready?"

​"Ready, Ma’am," Pamela replied. "The livestream accounts are primed, and the ’bystander’ bots are positioned to boost the signal the moment she starts talking."

​"Good." Morgan turned to the smallish woman. "You know the deal. You’re the jealous woman who has been stalking her for sometime. You hired the thugs because you couldn’t stand her success. If you play the part well, you will be on the next plane to Hawaii for that vacation. I trust you not to mess it up..."

​The woman nodded quickly. "This is not my first rodeo."

​An hour later, a video began to spread like wildfire across social media.

​A woman stood in front of the yellow police tape in front of Aurora, screaming and cussing. It was the same woman with the detective earlier that day. A small crowd had gathered, filming her on their phones.

​"She doesn’t deserve any of it!" the woman shrieked, her voice cracking with rage. "I hired those guys! I wanted to see her designs in the dirt! Lyvana Montclair thinks she’s better than us, but she’s nothing!"

​"Is she confessing?" someone in the video shouted.

​"Yeah, I did it!" the woman yelled back. "And I’d do it again!"