ALEXANDER
The media storm hit at dawn.
I woke to my phone buzzing incessantly, the screen lighting up with calls from reporters, board members, and business associates who'd seen the morning headlines. Beside me, Isabella stirred against my chest, her warm breath tickling my throat as she emerged from sleep.
"Make it stop," she mumbled, pressing her face into my neck to block out the harsh light of my phone.
I reached over to silence the device, but not before catching a glimpse of the notification preview: *WSJ: Tech Espionage Scandal Rocks Boston Elite as Caldwell Patriarch Arrested.*
"It's started," I said quietly, setting the phone aside and pulling Isabella closer. Her naked body fit perfectly against mine, all soft curves and warm skin that made the outside world seem irrelevant.
She lifted her head, amber eyes still hazy with sleep. "How bad?"
Before I could answer, the landline in the penthouse began ringing, a number known only to family and essential business contacts. Then
