No, you don't see things; this is a double update! Things are getting real and I know you know I am not letting them do my girl dirty!

Enjoy!

Mercedes was so into the music that she didn't notice the door open, and Sam walked inside arm in arm with Quinn.

Nor did she see the devastation on Sam's face, hearing her sing that she needed to hate him to love herself.

His eyes were glued to Mercedes, and Blaine pulled him further inside and away from Quinn. "So, she's beautiful, she can sing…I do not see why you are hesitating."

Sam groaned as Quinn saddled back up closer to him.

After the song ended, the crowd cheered as Silas jumped on the stage with the Mic. "Alright, it's time for me to sing with this beauty!"

Everyone cheered as the music kicked in, and the second Mercedes recognized the intro, she laughed.

'Better Than You' by Joe Nichols and Annie Bosko played, and she looked at Silas. "You are a fool, but who doesn't love a good Country love song!"

Silas grinned as he started the song; their chemistry was undeniable by the time the chorus came.

She and Silas sang like they'd been performing together forever—her rich, soulful voice blending effortlessly with his deep, smooth tone. The crowd loved them, clapping along, cheering, and swaying to the music.

They were dancing, laughing, and completely lost in the performance.

As Sam stood there watching the performance, he knew he made a mistake. He should have listened to Blaine. He should have fought harder. He should have—

His stomach twisted.

Because there, on stage, shining like she owned the damn place, was Mercedes. His Mercedes. And she was singing with his brother.

When she sang alone, it was one thing, but seeing her singing with Silas.

Not just singing—having the time of her life. Laughing, smiling, moving with him like they'd been doing this forever.

Silas leaned in close as they harmonized, his hand grazing her hip playfully.

Sam saw red.

He barely registered Quinn tugging on his arm.

"Sam?" she said, her voice sweet and expectant.

He didn't answer.

Blaine, beside him, let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. They are hot together,"

Sam's jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.

Because Mercedes wasn't thinking about him.

She was too busy smiling at Silas.

For the first time in his life, Sam Evans felt like he'd already lost, and then something inside him snapped.

He could handle a lot—he'd spent his entire life learning to push through disappointments to stay focused on his goals.

But watching her smile at someone else? Watching her look at Silas like he wanted her to look at him?

That was too much.

His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as he stood frozen just inside the bar.

Blaine, ever the instigator, leaned over. "Well, it looks like the ball is in your court because Mercedes is glowing on stage. She's singing like she didn't have a care in the world like she isn't thinking about you at all."

Sam watched as Silas swayed closer to her, whispering something in her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh as the song ended.

Sam felt jealousy burn in his chest like acid.

Next to him, Quinn wasn't blind to his reaction.

She had followed his line of sight, her smile faltering when she saw who had his attention.

Her grip on his arm tightened, but Sam still wasn't paying attention to her.

No way. No way was she letting Mercedes take Sam from her. During their entire friendship, Mercedes always got what Quinn wanted. When Quinn tried to buy her way into her sorority, all the girls wanted Mercedes in theirs. When Quinn got kicked out of college, and her dad had to buy the University's silence, Mercedes graduated with honors. Her own father gave Mercedes the Editor job over her. And the girls in the office loved Mercedes. It wasn't fair.

But now she had something Mercedes wanted and couldn't have. She had Sam.

Before Sam could react, Quinn yanked him toward the stage, away from his know-it-all friend.

"Come on, let's sing!" she chirped, her voice just a little too bright.

Sam frowned, distracted. "What? Quinn, I don't—"

"Don't be boring, Sam," she whined, tugging him up the steps before he could fight it.

"Hi guys, my boyfriend and I are next!" She said happily. And before he knew it, the music started.

Sam blinked at the screen.

'Lucky' by Colbie Caillat and Jason Mraz.

His stomach sank.

Quinn did that on purpose; she was marking her territory.

And then he saw Mercedes.

The moment she heard the song, she stilled, turning her head slowly. She watched Quinn wrap herself around Sam, singing to him like they were the perfect couple.

It hurt.

Worse than she expected.

Santana noticed her change in energy immediately. "Mercedes—"

But Mercedes was already getting up.

She didn't need to see any more.

She wasn't going to sit there and let herself be made into a fool.

Sam wasn't even thinking about the song.

He wasn't thinking about the performance, about Quinn's arms looped around his neck, or about the stupid lyrics flashing on the screen.

He was watching Mercedes leave.

And before he knew what he was doing—he ran.

"Sam!" Quinn shrieked, but he didn't care.

He jumped off the stage, weaving through the crowd, shoving past people until he caught up to her just outside the bar.

"Mercedes, wait!"

Mercedes stopped in her tracks, only to turn and face him, her expression unreadable.

She didn't move. Didn't soften. Didn't break.

"Mercedes, please."

"Sam, don't," she said, her voice calm—but icy.

"That wasn't what it looked like," he said quickly, his voice edged with desperation.

Mercedes let out a humorless laugh. "Really? Because it looked like Quinn paraded you around like a trophy while you sang about being in love with her."

Sam winced. "She pulled me up there, I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter," Mercedes interrupted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You don't owe me anything, Sam. We're not together."

Sam felt that like a gut punch.

She said it so easily.

Like it didn't kill her inside to say it.

Like he wasn't breaking her heart just by being here.

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. "Mercedes, I—"

He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides. "I'm doing this for my career."

Mercedes' lips parted slightly. "What?"

"This whole thing with Quinn—her dad, the tour, the money—it's my shot, Mercedes," Sam said, stepping toward her. His voice was low, rough. "I have a chance to live my dream. I can't walk away from that."

Mercedes stared at him, her breath catching in her throat.

"Sam," she said carefully, shaking her head. "You're talented. You don't have to go through all this for your books. You would make it with or without Quinn."

"You don't know that," Sam said quickly, shaking his head. "Not like this. Not at this level."

Mercedes' chest rose and fell, her arms still crossed as if she were trying to protect herself.

"Yes, you would, I would put my entire career on that!" she said firmly. "You're letting them make you believe you need them, but you don't. You're better than this, Sam."

Sam looked away, jaw clenching. "I don't have a choice. And you are one to talk; you are working for them!"

Mercedes' shoulders dropped slightly, and for the first time, he saw it—the moment she decided to let him go.

She exhaled, straightening her posture. "Fine."

Sam's stomach dropped.

"Mercedes—"

But she was already turning away.

This time, she wasn't coming back.

And as she disappeared into the night, the realization hit him like a freight train.

He had just lost her.

And it was entirely his fault.

Mercedes had barely stepped into Mr. Fabray's office when she felt the energy shift.

Something was wrong.

Russell Fabray sat behind his massive desk, his expression calm, collected, but firm.

Mercedes sat across from him, her back straight, waiting for whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

"Mercedes," he started, steepling his fingers. "Effective immediately, Quinn will be taking over Sam Evans' account. She'll be handling going on tour with him, to his media appearance, and basically handling him."

Mercedes stared at him, unblinking.

Then, she let out a short, sharp laugh. "With all due respect, sir, that is a mistake."

Russell lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Mercedes leaned forward. "Quinn doesn't know the first thing about planning a tour. She doesn't have the connections, the industry knowledge, or the strategic experience to handle something of this scale. She didn't finish her degree, she doesn't follow through, and Sam deserves better than that."

She didn't stop there.

"I've already secured major venues, worked out discounts, confirmed radio spots, and lined up exclusive media opportunities. The hotels, the cars, and everything else are in line for me. This is my project. And if you think—"

The door swung open.

And in waltzed Quinn.

Dressed in the most expensive designer fit money could buy, her heels clicking confidently against the floor, she beamed as she wrapped herself around Sam's arm.

"Oh, so Daddy told you?" she chirped, grinning like a damn pageant queen. "I'm Sam's new manager! You can go back to your office and cry now."

Mercedes turned slowly, locking eyes with Quinn, her expression unreadable.

But her voice? Sharp as a knife.

"Great job, Quinn," she said coolly. "You're getting exactly what you want and destroying lives while you are at it. Same way you did in college, which is why you were kicked out."

Then, her gaze shifted to Sam. "And she is going to cost you your career. All those things offered to you were based on my hard work."

Quinn's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on, Mercedes. Don't be bitter just because—"

Mercedes held up a hand.

Quinn blinked, startled into silence.

Mercedes turned to Sam. The one person in this room who could stop this.

"This is a mistake; you can fix it before it's too late," she said, her voice softer now.

She waited.

Sam looked down at his shoes and said nothing.

Her stomach twisted, but she masked it well.

Russell cleared his throat. "Mercedes, the decision is final. Now, there are a few manuscripts I want you to look into."

She exhaled slowly, nodding once. "Fine! Then good luck, Quinn I am sure you can set up the tour, book the venues, handle the press—"

"Oh no," Quinn interrupted with a smirk. "You will still do that. I'm just going to get all the credit."

Mercedes snapped. "Like hell you are."

Russell sighed, impatient. "Mercedes, this is your job. You will do it, or you will be fired."

Mercedes let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You don't have to worry about that, Mr. Fabray."

She stood gracefully, smoothing out her blazer. "I quit."

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

Quinn's eyes widened. She hadn't expected that.

Russell's mouth pressed into a thin line. "You're making a mistake, Mercedes. You need this job."

Mercedes laughed again, shaking her head. "No. I don't. I have turned down multiple million-dollar offers out of my loyalty to you and your daughter. I am a valuable asset, and you are gonna regret Pissing. Me. Off!"

She grabbed her bag and turned to leave but paused at the door, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, and by the way?" She smiled—cold and lethal. "I'm taking all my venues, contacts, discounts, and authors with me."

Quinn's jaw dropped.

Russell's fingers curled into a fist. "Mercedes, you cant—"

"No, no, don't try to backtrack now," she said, raising a hand. "See, when I had my clients sign with you, there was a clause I added, should I leave, they can come with me at no detriment to their careers. And oh, you signed it. So that means I guarantee that more than half of your bestselling authors will follow me out the door."

She turned and walked out, her heels clicking confidently against the marble floor.

She was done.

Mercedes had almost made it to the elevator when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

She knew who it was.

She closed her eyes.

"Mercedes, wait," Sam said, his voice low, desperate.

She turned to face him, expression unreadable.

Sam searched her eyes. "Look, I... I owe Quinn. She believed in me. She got me here."

Mercedes stared at him, something flickering behind her eyes.

Then, she shook her head.

"No, Sam." She took a deep breath. "You got you here."

Sam's brow furrowed.

Mercedes took a step closer, her voice firm but not unkind.

"Quinn didn't even want your book," she said, watching as the words hit him. "She saw your face and decided it was marketable. But me?" She placed a hand on her chest. "I read it. I saw your potential. I knew you had what it took."

She shook her head, a look of pure disappointment crossing her face.

"What a waste," she whispered.

Then, she turned and stepped onto the elevator.

Sam stood frozen, watching as the doors closed between them.

Mercedes sat at her desk one last time, staring at the space where she had spent years building her career. The bookshelves full of industry awards, the carefully organized files, the framed photos of past successful book launches—all of it felt tainted now.

She had given everything to this company. And for what?

A man who wouldn't fight for her. A boss who didn't value her. A so-called best friend who had taken everything she had worked for and laughed about it.

Yeah. Screw this place.

Mercedes exhaled and rolled her shoulders before standing up. She grabbed an empty brown box, foraging the Fabray Management-branded box; they could kick rocks.

She filled it with her things, all the things that meant something to her.

She was halfway through stacking her framed awards when the door slammed open.

Santana, Sebastian, Sugar, and Hunter stormed in, looking ready to commit felonies.

"Oh hell no," Santana hissed, taking in the sight of Mercedes packing. "Tell me this is some kind of reverse psychology thing, and you're not actually leaving. Did they fire you?"

Mercedes sighed, placing a stack of papers into the box. "No, I am done. I quit San. I put all that effort into getting Sam's tour off the ground, and Quinn took it; then, she had the nerve to tell me that I would be expected to still keep doing the work. Hell to the D! A! M! N! NO!"

Hunter, usually the most chill in any room, crossed his arms and scowled. "This is complete and utter bullshit."

Sebastian leaned against the desk, arms folded, his expression unreadable—but his jaw tight. "Quinn couldn't run a book tour if her life depended on it. She thinks marketing is just posting an Instagram selfie with the word 'excited' as the caption."

Sugar plopped onto the couch in the corner of the office, arms dramatically flailing. "I feel sick. Physically sick. I can't believe this." She covered her face with her hands before popping back up with a glare. "Actually, I can believe it because Quinn is a thief, and her daddy is a corporate gremlin."

Mercedes let out a snort despite herself.

Santana wasn't laughing, though. She paced like a caged animal. "They can't do this to you. You're the one who built Sam's campaign from the ground up! You made that tour possible. What is Quinn gonna do, put on a tiara and wave at the venues?"

Mercedes shook her head. "She better figure out something because I already contacted all my contacts and canceled everything I did. I also told them to keep the deposits. It's my parting gift to Russell and Quinn."

Hunter let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I love it. They're in for a rude awakening when everything starts falling apart without you."

"They think they're winning," Sebastian murmured, his sharp green eyes locking on Mercedes. "But they just lost the only thing keeping this company at the top. The only person keeping most of us here."

Mercedes swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. They were all mad for her. Fighting for her.

She exhaled, pushing down the emotions. "Listen, y'all. I appreciate this; I do. But I need to go."

Santana stopped pacing, eyes narrowing. "Go where? Because if you say home to cry, I will actually fight you."

Mercedes stacked the last of her belongings into the box and turned to her friends, their expressions a mix of anger, admiration, and pure anticipation.

"Alright, look, I am not going home to cry; I am going home to leverage offers," she said, rolling her shoulders back. "Multiple. Million-dollar offers."

Santana's eyes widened, and she let out a slow whistle. "Oh, hell yes."

Sebastian crossed his arms, his smirk returning in full force. "So all that time you stayed here, it was out of loyalty?"

Mercedes nodded. "And that's on me. I was loyal to people who didn't deserve it. But that's over."

Hunter, who had been leaning against the desk, straightened. "Wait—so if these companies want you, are they willing to let you bring in your own people?"

Mercedes grinned. "Not just willing. They're begging me to."

"Oh my God, the clause!" Sebastian said as he arched a brow.

"What Clause?" Santana asked.

Mercedes smiled. "When I started working here, one of Russell's competitors came to poach me. I wanted assurance that should I ever leave, I could do so while keeping all of my clients, but I also wanted to make sure that my clients wouldn't be penalized for leaving with me. So I had Bas put a clause in all of my contracts that they can leave and retain full control of all of their works as long as their advances were already paid back."

"And Russell signed it?"

Mercedes nodded. "Yep, every single one. Including Sam's, but he can stay here and rot."

Sugar looked at Mercedes. "Well then, does that mean we are talking about a full team relocation?"

Mercedes nodded. "Yep. Everyone would have a place—at higher pay, with better benefits, and more creative freedom."

Santana, finally looking pleased, tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Damn, girl. You've been sitting on a golden parachute this whole time, and you let these fools treat you like some disposable intern?"

Mercedes sighed. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I believed in building something here—but I won't waste my time where I'm not valued."

Sebastian let out a low chuckle. "Oh, this is going to be so satisfying."

Hunter cracked his knuckles. "I don't know if Russell Fabray can survive losing his top talent all in one week."

Santana's smirk turned downright sinister. "I know he can't! And I say we make it loud."

Mercedes grinned, shaking her head. "Oh, don't worry, Tana. We're not just leaving. We're making a statement."

Sugar clapped her hands excitedly. "Okay, I love this plan. When do we start?"

Mercedes picked up her box, her confidence radiating.

"Right now."

And with that, they walked out of Fabray Management together.

The beginning of a new empire.

One that belonged to them.