Chapter 28- The conspiracy

Aiden’s eyes lock onto the arresting officer who claimed he "caught her in the act." The man’s face goes from white to a sickly, mottled grey.

"You caught her in the act?" Aiden whispers, his voice like the edge of a winter wind.

He takes a single step forward, and the entire police line recoils. "Then you'd better start praying, Officer. Because my wife isn't the only one who’s going to be in a cell tonight."

Aiden turns his head slightly, hearing the faint sound of a second engine approaching. But it isn't another police car.

It’s a black van with tinted windows, and as it rounds the corner, it doesn't slow down. It accelerates directly toward the group.

The side door of the van slides open with a mechanical hiss before the vehicle has even fully settled. Three figures leap out with the practiced agility of predators.

They aren't holding guns, but in this world, their weapons are far more lethal: high-definition cameras, boom mics, and smartphones already live-streaming to millions.

Snap. Flash.

The fading evening light is swallowed by the aggressive, rhythmic flicker of camera flashes.

The strobes hit Olivia’s tear-streaked face, illuminating the drying blood on her dress and the cold, mocking shine of the silver handcuffs.

Aiden stands paralyzed for a heartbeat, his mind racing through a thousand damage-control scenarios. His blood runs cold when he recognizes the woman leading the charge.

It’s Jessica Vance. She isn't just a journalist; she is a tabloid executioner, a woman whose career is built on the skeletal remains of high-society reputations.

Jessica moves with a terrifying, predatory confidence. She doesn't stumble over the uneven dirt; she marches toward the police line like she owns the crime scene.

Her camera operator follows her every step, the lens pointed directly at Olivia’s chest.

"Mrs. Logan! Over here!" Jessica’s voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a serrated blade.

She thrusts a microphone toward Olivia, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of a kill.

"Ma'am, the scene behind you is gruesome. Obviously, you’ve been arrested.

The police have you in restraints at the site of a violent struggle. Why did you do it, Olivia? Why did you unalive Mr. Weiller?"

The question isn't a query; it’s an indictment. It’s a statement of guilt wrapped in a thin veil of journalism.

"I... I didn't..." Olivia’s voice is a ghost, a fragile thread that snaps before it can even reach the microphone. She stands there, numb, her mind reeling.

The word unalive echoes in her head, hollow and terrifying. She looks at the cameras, and all she sees are the eyes of a world ready to devour her.

At this point she remembers Chloe, she realized just how much she misses her. She would have dealt and put these people in their places. Tears carved streaks down her face.

Aiden begins to pace. His charcoal suit, usually a symbol of his untouchable status, now feels like a straightjacket.

He moves to and fro in the narrow space between the cars, his fingers digging into his palms so hard his own knuckles begin to bleed.

The chaos is approaching like a tidal wave. He can feel the Logan brand - the empire his father built on a foundation of perceived perfection - cracking under his feet.

In the age of viral media, the truth doesn't matter; the image does.

And the image currently being beamed to every smartphone in the city is that of the Logan matriarch covered in blood and bound in steel.

“If these videos go live... if this reaches the board before I can bury it...” Aiden’s thoughts are a frantic jumble of anxiety and confusion.

He looks at Olivia, seeing her vulnerability, and then he looks at the cameras, seeing the vultures.

He is caught between his instinct to protect his wife and his duty to protect the crown.

The mixture of emotions is a poison in his veins.

"Jessica, turn those cameras off. Now!" Aiden roars, finally finding his voice. It’s a fierce, hoarse command, but for the first time in his life, the Logan name doesn't stop the world from spinning.

Jessica doesn't even flinch. She turns her gaze toward him, a mock-sympathetic pout forming on her lips. "Mr. Logan! We didn't see you there. What a tragic day for your family."

She signals her cameraman to pivot. Now, the lens is on Aiden’s bruised face, capturing the raw, unpolished panic in his eyes.

"Mr. Logan, your wife has been accused of a cold-blooded murder at an abandoned property," Jessica says, her voice rising for the benefit of the live stream.

"A man is dead, and she was found standing over him. What do you have to say to the public? How does the Logan family explain this level of violence from one of its own?"

Aiden opens his mouth to speak -to demand a lawyer, to cite a gag order, to lie - but Jessica is faster. She doesn't want an answer; she wants a narrative.

"We know you must feel terrible right now, Aiden," she adds, her tone dripping with a fake, oily kindness that makes his skin crawl. "You’ve worked so hard to keep this family’s image clean.

You’re such a good man, a pillar of the community. It’s rather unfortunate that you’ve been saddled with... this. Is this the reason for the bruises on your face? Was there a domestic dispute before the murder?"

Olivia stands in the center of the storm, lost in the moment. Every word Jessica utters feels like a stone being thrown at her.

The queries aren't seeking the truth; they are judgmental, calculated to embarrass her and craft a story of a "deranged trophy wife" who finally snapped.

"She’s not saying anything!" one of the other journalists shouts. "Look at the blood on her hands! She’s in shock because she knows she’s caught!"

Olivia’s head spins from left to right. The flickering lights of the cameras become a blinding blur.

She feels the weight of the Logan name - the very name she tried to save Chloe from - now dragging her into a deeper darkness.

She looks at Aiden, pleading with her eyes for him to do something, to be the "Secret Protector" she felt he was becoming.

But Aiden is still pacing, his face a mask of agony. He is watching the Logan legacy burn in the reflection of Jessica’s camera lens.

"Aiden..." Olivia whispers, her voice breaking. "Please. They're lying. I didn't do it."

The journalists pounce on the whisper.

"She’s pleading with her husband!" Jessica screams into the mic. "Is she asking for a cover-up, Mr. Logan?

Are you going to use your billions to make this body disappear like you do with your taxes?"

The tension reaches a fever pitch. The police, still dumbstruck and stuck in their own confusion, finally try to intervene, but they are hesitant.

They are caught between the power of the Logans and the power of the press.

Lisa Bernard, watching from the police cruiser, bursts into a fresh wave of uncontrollable tears.

"My son is out there!" she screams, her voice muffled by the glass. "Why are you talking about murders? Find my son!"

But no one is listening to the mother of a missing boy. The narrative has shifted. The "Trophy Wife Murder" is a better story.

Aiden stops pacing. He stands directly in front of Jessica, his shadow falling over her.

His eyes are wide, fierce, and pulsating with a dangerous light. He is no longer the polished businessman; he is a man whose back is against the wall.

"Jessica," he says, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration that vibrates in the chest of everyone present.

"If one second of this footage hits the evening news, I won't just sue your network.

I will buy it, I will dismantle it, and I will make sure you never even hold a smartphone again, let alone a microphone. Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

Jessica stammers for a second, the sheer force of his gaze making her take a half-step back.

But then, she looks at the red "LIVE" light on her camera. She knows she has the footage of a lifetime.

"Is that a threat, Mr. Logan?" she asks, her confidence returning. "Are you threatening the press to protect a killer?"

Olivia looks at Aiden, “let's go guys” Jessica Commanded. He’s looking at the black van. He notices a fourth person sitting in the driver’s seat - someone who hasn't stepped out.