Thursday — 9:00 A.M.Studio 8, ABS Primetime Network – Quezon City
The makeup artist leaned in."Want us to cover the scar under your eye?"Eira met her gaze in the mirror."Leave it. It's the most honest thing on my face."
The studio was freezing, but Eira barely noticed.
Across from her sat Aileen Perez, the country's most feared interviewer—sharp-tongued, unflinching, and infamous for ending reputations in under an hour.
The live broadcast countdown ticked down on the monitors.
00:00:1500:00:1000:00:03
And we're live.
—
Aileen: "Good morning, Philippines. Today we sit down with the woman at the center of one of the year's most talked-about scandals—attorney Eira Vaughn."
Eira didn't blink. "Thank you for having me."
Aileen: "Let's get straight to it. Why come forward now?"
Eira: "Because silence is mistaken for guilt. And I've been silent long enough."
—
Cut to Callen watching from the studio.Julian watching from his office, fists clenched.Naomi watching with red-stained teeth, biting down on a wine cork.
The world was listening.
—
Aileen: "Were you in a sexual relationship with Callen Reed?"
Eira: "Yes."
A pause. Gasps in the control room.
Aileen: "You admit it openly?"
Eira: "Because it wasn't a secret. Not to the people who mattered. Only to the ones pretending to be surprised."
Aileen: "Some would say you cheated on your husband."
Eira: "Some would say I was never in a marriage. Just a contract with rings."
Aileen blinked.
The studio leaned forward.
Eira leaned in.
Eira: "Julian Vaughn had an affair with my best friend for over a year. Naomi Blaire. He paid her through offshore accounts, funded her shell PR firm, and used her to leak the sex tape you're all pretending not to watch."
Note (Webnovel-style):Eira's method is known as "tactical transparency"—when a subject exposes a damaging truth to control the framing of it, then redirects the narrative toward the greater injustice. It's a power move. Risky. But effective.
—
Aileen: "Do you have proof?"
Eira slid a flash drive across the table.
Eira: "Emails. Transfers. Messages. Timestamped. Verified."
Aileen: "And what do you want from this?"
Eira: "Not sympathy."
A pause.
Eira: "I want them to burn."
—
Julian, watching in his office.He threw the remote. Shattered the screen.Turned to his lawyer."Start the defamation lawsuit. Now."
—
Naomi, sipping vodka on her couch.Smiling.
"She played her hand," she whispered. "Now I play mine."
She pulled open her burner phone.
Typed a message.
To: MediaLeaksPH"Want exclusive audio? Callen Reed… coercing a crying girl in studio. Unreleased file. 200k."
She attached a distorted clip of Julienne's voice—edited. Manipulated. Out of context.
She was going nuclear.
—
Back at the Studio
Aileen narrowed her eyes.
Aileen: "So you're not denying you posed nude. Were filmed. That you—"
Eira: "That I f*cked someone I actually wanted?"
Gasps.
Eira: "No. I'm not denying it. I'm owning it."
Aileen blinked.
Eira leaned forward.
Eira: "Women are punished for wanting. For choosing. For existing outside the mold. So fine. Let them judge me for what I did in the dark. But let's also judge what Julian and Naomi did in boardrooms, behind closed doors, with lies dressed in Prada."
The studio went quiet.
Then erupted.
The broadcast cut to commercial, but the damage was done.
Twitter exploded.Clips went viral in under three minutes.
#JusticeForEira#ExposingNaomi#JulianVaughnUnmasked
—
Callen stood up in his studio, shaking.
She had said his name.
Said his name, on national television, not with shame—but with truth.
She had put herself on the altar.
For him.
For both of them.
He picked up his phone.
Dialed.
She answered.
Breathless.
"Callen."
"I love you," he said. "Even if the whole world doesn't."
She smiled.
"Then let's give them something worth hating us for."
—
Meanwhile — Julian's Private Office, 11th Floor
His lawyer handed him a document.
"We can counter with character assassination. Leak the audio Naomi just sent. Paint Callen as predatory. Eira as manipulated."
Julian tapped the table.
Cold. Calculating.
Then smiled.
"Do it."
—
Meanwhile — Naomi, sipping and smiling.
Because she still had one card left.
A birth certificate.
From five years ago.
Buried in a drawer.
Signed by Julian.
Next to a positive paternity test.
Next to her son's photo.
"She took your last name," Naomi whispered. "But I gave birth to your blood."
And "this war?
Was only beginning."