CHAPTER 4- MY WOMAN

                 By the next morning, the events of the previous night were already forgotten. He didn’t even spare the moment a second’s thought. To him, it was a mistake that never happened.

                Enzo had arrived to inform him that the car was waiting to take them to the airport so they could return in time for the press conference the next day.

              “Is something wrong, Montez?” Enzo addressed him informally as they both got settled into the backseat of the car. Aside from being his PA, Enzo was a friend Montez could trust.

              But Montez’s mind kept slipping back to last night. The way he had claimed her lips with such reckless abandon. Screw it! He felt like beating himself to a pulp. Might just hire someone to do the damn job for him. Why couldn’t it be someone else? Anyone but her!

             “Nothing,” he responded, uncurling his fisted hands as he tried to relax, but his furrowed brows gave him away all the same.

              “You don’t look okay. You’re not usually tense.” Enzo frowned, arms crossed.

              “I’m fine, Enzo. Stop prodding,” Montez gritted out. Part anger, part frustration.

“Have it your way then.”

              It took no more than half an hour before they arrived at the airport. Soon after, Montez got settled into the VIP suite along with Enzo and his bodyguards. The flight home was smooth and comfortable.

           His entourage was already waiting to receive him at the airport the moment they landed. Flashes popped before Montez even stepped onto the tarmac, causing his bodyguards to form a wall around him immediately. Their black suits moved in perfect synchrony, forming an impenetrable shield so the press wouldn’t gobble him up alive.

             “Get me to the car,” he muttered irritatedly, underneath his breath.

             They moved quickly through the chaos and in a matter of seconds, Montez was sliding into the backseat of his Mustang Fastback, a black custom-made monster, its engines growling like it shared the anger coursing through his bloodstream.

            The moment he arrived at The Vitalio Mansion, his home, Montez dismissed Enzo and every other company. After all the shit he had been through, he needed time alone.

            The next morning, Montez was already dressed and on his way to the press conference, accompanied by ever-loyal Enzo and bodyguards driving in formation.

           The room was full of important business associates, more cameras than he could count, eager questions, and feasting eyes. After the court case, this was his first public chance to promote his company as legit and clear his name. He couldn’t afford anything going wrong.

            He stepped onto the stage, took the mic, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. Over a hundred reporters, editors, and analysts stood before him. All watching like prey studying a lion. Which was funny, because they didn’t realize they would soon be the ones hunted.

           He began to speak in a slow yet calm and controlled tone. “As the CEO of Vitalio Industries, I have made it my mission to redefine what power looks like in the modern world. This isn’t about mergers nor is it about just corporate profits. It’s about control. Vision. We’re not a company that follows trends. Here at Vitalio Industries, we create them.”

              On and on he talked about economic growth, the expansion of Vitalio Industries around the world, and a merger that would shake global markets.

             Cameras flashed, pens scribbled and thousands stared back at him like he was the god they’d all been waiting to worship again.

              “And in the coming fiscal year, we will unveil a system that will permanently alter the tech-security infrastructure worldwide. We are not just growing, we are dominating.”

               A deafening round of applause rang out through the room as he ended his speech. It felt like forever before the sound died down. He was just about to add the finishing touches when—

             “Mr. Vitalio.” A voice rang out.

               Someone had dared to interrupt him midway.

              “How do you respond to claims that you’re a reckless Casanova who manipulates and takes advantage of women in vulnerable positions?”

              The room stiffened. Whispers filled the air. Montez turned to Enzo with wide eyes. Enzo looked equally distraught. Montez’s brows furrowed deeply as he stared down at the reporter who was a blonde male, approximately in his thirties, hands slightly trembling as he clutched his mic.

              “I categorically deny such a baseless accusation,” Montez returned calmly. “I do not exploit women nor do I have time for tabloid rumors fabricated by people desperate for relevance.”

              Another reporter cut in. “What about your secretary whom you fired last week? Witnesses say you were last seen taking her up to your private suite after midnight.”

             Suddenly, the reporters’ voices rose higher and higher.

             “Did you pay her off, Mr. Vitalio?”

             “Was she threatened to stay silent?”

             “What went on in your suite that night, sir?”

              His jaw clenched. “That’s enough. This press conference is about business, not fiction.”

             “Then how do you explain this, sir?” another asked from the crowd.

               Eyes widened as everyone stared behind Montez. Turning around, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. The screen behind him blinked to life and the projector revealed a photo.

              It was him. Inside that hotel room, half-naked with nothing but a towel over his waist. His hand was buried in a woman’s hair, his mouth crashing onto hers like he owned her soul. The angle was invasive and the intimacy undeniable. The woman was wearing maid clothes which automatically painted him as a pervert. And it didn’t help that this event was happening live.

              Her face? Damn it. Her face was clear. There was no denying her identity.

              Amira Santis.

            Time stopped and Montez felt his lungs lock. His fingers twitched and for a dangerous, uncontrollable second, he forgot where he was.

            The journalist he destroyed for daring to dig into his affairs. The one he had crushed under legal pressure until she vanished into obscurity. And now? She was the same person on the screen, her lips parted under his, his arms wrapped around her body like they belonged to each other all along.

            The room burst into murmurs.

           “Oh my, it is her.”

           “That’s Amira Santis, isn’t it?”

           “Didn’t she disappear after accusing De Vitalio of covering up financial fraud and murder?”

            “Are they sleeping together?”

            “Could he have paid off her silence?”

            “Is this how he handles all his women?”

            “Are the rumors true?”

                 Montez stood frozen amid the chaos a second too long, watching his empire teetering before his eyes. Not much could be said of his image if he didn’t rectify this situation now. So he blurted out the first lie that came to his mind.

             “She’s my woman.”

               The room stilled instantly. Cameras flashed his way. As much as he hated what he was about to do, it was the only way to salvage the situation.

                 “She’s not a scandal or a vulnerable victim. She is my woman who happens to work in that hotel, and if any of you think you’re entitled to dissect my private life without my permission, think again. Don’t forget I own the city you work in.” His voice was a low growl, controlled yet brutal.

                 Gasps filled the air. Reporters exchanged glances. Phones lowered. The tension shifted.

                “I expect a full retraction in every media outlet represented here or stand being sued,” he continued. “You want to accuse me? Then do it with proper evidence, not some tabloid garbage.”

               The room fell into pin-drop silence. No one dared to speak again. Faces flushed with embarrassment.

              Satisfied with the damage control, Montez turned away from the podium. But the second the door shut behind him, he burst into rage.

              “Enzo,” he growled, sprinting toward the exit.

              “Yes, Signore?”

              “Find her.”

                Enzo blinked. “You mean—?”

              “Amira Santis, yes. I want a background check on her. I want to know everything about her. Where she is, what she’s doing, and down to who she talks to. Everything.”

               Enzo hesitated, still unsure. “Why? Didn’t you say you wanted her dead?”

             “And I still do,” Montez snapped, voice like steel. “No one tries to ruin my reputation and walks away untouched. But for now, it seems I’ll be needing her to perfectly salvage what’s at stake. Find her, Enzo. Find me Amira Santis.”

             Enzo nodded. “Understood, sir.”

             The tables had turned and the hunt had begun.