CHAPTER 9 — THE RUMOR ENGINE
A week passed without Stella appearing in my inbox.
It didn’t feel like peace.
It felt like someone stepping back to get a better angle.
On Friday, I left work early and decided to stop by Cheng Group.
Not because Ethan asked.
Because I wanted to see what the building sounded like when I wasn’t supposed to be there.
The lobby smelled like polished stone and expensive coffee.
People moved with purpose, faces neutral in the corporate way.
But when I walked past, eyes flicked up.
Then down.
Too fast.
Too synchronized.
I waited until the elevator doors closed behind me.
Then I turned and slipped into the women’s restroom on the floor below Ethan’s executive suite.
Not to hide.
To listen.
A few minutes later, voices drifted in, muffled by tile.
Two women at the sinks.
They didn’t know I was there.
“You saw it, right?” one said.
“The video?” another whispered. “Everyone saw it.”
“So she really—”
“Shh,” the second voice said. “HR’s Stella. She knows everything.”
A pause.
Then, like the worst kind of entertainment, the story grew legs.
“They were basically engaged,” the first voice said. “Stella and Ethan. Then Ava showed up.”
“Isn’t Ava the one from foster care?” the second asked. “Makes sense.”
My fingertips went cold.
The first voice lowered.
“I heard Stella can’t have kids,” she said. “So Ethan married Ava for a baby.”
Silence.
Then laughter—small, cruel.
“Imagine being a paid womb,” the second voice said.
My breath left my chest slowly.
I didn’t record.
Not here.
Not behind a restroom door.
I didn’t need a risky clip to prove the building was rotting.
I needed to find the hand that fed it.
When I stepped out, the women at the sink froze.
Their faces drained when they saw me.
I washed my hands like I hadn’t heard anything, dried them slowly, and left without looking at them again.
The elevator carried me to the top floor.
The doors opened onto quiet carpet and glass.
Ethan’s assistants sat behind the desk.
One of them looked up, startled, then smiled too brightly.
“Mrs. Cheng,” she said.
I returned the smile and walked past.
Then I heard it—Fiona Wang’s voice, just around the corner, too familiar to ignore.
“Stella,” she was saying, low and pleased, “don’t worry. Everyone knows you’re the real one.”
I stopped.
I didn’t move closer.
I didn’t have to.
Fiona laughed.
“That woman is just a substitute,” she said. “I’ll make sure she knows it.”
I stepped around the corner.
Fiona snapped her phone down so fast she almost dropped it.
Her face rearranged into contempt.
“Well,” she said, slow and loud, “look who decided to show up.”