“The photos are everywhere, but your smile is sharper than any headline.”Mel spread five different newspapers across the kitchen counter like she was dealing cards in a poker game where everyone was about to lose. The images were brutal—me standing in my wine-stained dress and composed while Killian looked ready to commit murder, and the crowd watching our humiliation like spectators at a gladiator match.But something was different in these headlines. Where I'd expected mockery, but I found something entirely different.“Sinclair Stands Strong Under Attack,” I read aloud. “Grace Under Fire: How Emery Handled Society's Cruelest Test.”Killian leaned against the marble counter, with a coffee cup in his hand, with a sharp smile. He'd been making calls since five AM, his voice carrying through the penthouse in low, dangerous tones that made my stomach flutter with something between excitement and fear.“The narrative shifted overnight,” Mel said, clearly still processing the turn of ev
I grip the makeup brush handle so tightly that it left lines in my palm. I sat on my dressing mirror and watched as Killian paceed behind me, his phone pressed to his ear, already deep in damage control mode for a night that hadn't even started.His tuxedo jacket hung over the chair like a costume waiting for its actor. Everything about tonight would be a performance—the smiles, the small talk, the carefully display of unity. My red dress was chosen not because I loved it, but because it photographed well under harsh camera lights.“Smile tonight,” I said without looking up from my reflection. “Just for the cameras.”His pacing stopped. “smiling isn't really nmy thing, you know that.”I met his eyes in the mirror. The makeup brush trembled slightly in my hand.“Then that's going to be a problem.”Neither of us smiled.~~~~The Whitmore Gala sprawled across the entire top floor of the Meridian Hotel, crystal chandeliers casting rainbow patterns on marble floors while string quartets pl
The city stretched below me like broken glass catching morning light. Steam rose from coffee cups on distant balconies, taxis honked through invisible traffic jams, and somewhere down there, people were living ordinary lives that didn't revolve around board meetings, hostile takeovers, and press briefings.I pressed my palm against the cool window and watched Killian's reflection as he moved behind me. He had been on the phone for over twenty minutes, his voice low and clipped, shoulders had gone rigid. Even in reflection, I could see the tension carved into every line of his body.He ended the call and set the phone down with the kind of careful control that meant he wanted to throw it through the wall.“Whatever it is,” I said without turning around, “just say it. I would rather bleed with you than be left in the dark.”His silence lasted for more than three minutes.“If you bleed, I lose,” he said finally, each word measured. “If I lose, they win.”I didn't ask who ‘they’ were. We
“You're staring at that phone like it might bite you.”Killian's voice cuts through the morning silence. He has been at his desk for hours, going through the files Alec had left behind, and his concentration was sharp. He has gotten up from the chair since Alec left. But he's watching me too, always watching.I gripped my coffee mug tighter, staring at the contact name on my screen accusingly: Harper. The woman I told my secret to, the woman who was there even during my college days, who painted my nails during the college final. The same woman advised me to stay strong after my divorce from Tobias, the same person who held my hand at charity galas when others poured champagne on me.That same woman who sold me out.“I need to make a call.”“About last night?”“About everything.”Killian finally set down his papers, his piercing blue-gray eyes stared at mine from across the room, and I saw the question in his eye that he had refused to ask. Trust had been a fragile glass between us—on
“You look ready.”Killian's voice came from behind me as I stared at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. The black Valentino dress fit like it was made just for me—elegant, expensive, armor disguised as evening wear. He'd left it on the bed this morning without explanation, just his way of making sure every detail has been placed in order and nothing could disturb the flow.I fastened the diamond necklace at my throat, my hands steady despite the weight in my chest. “Ready for what, exactly? More performance art?”“Ready for more wins.”He moved into view in the mirror. He was in a sharp black suit, not a thread out of place, his face was unreasonable as ever— cold. Plain. We looked like the perfect power couple. At least on the surface but not in the soul.“The car's waiting,” he said, checking his watch. “Ready to go now?”His voice held no tenderness, just reassurance like the battle had already been won before it even started.I grabbed my purse and followed him out.~~~~The Wol
“Well, this was quickly handled.”Mel's voice rang throughout the silent room, while I watched the man handling the camera struggle to coil his cables. I stood glued to the ground paying a deaf ear to Mel's words. My focus was on the stranger who was dismantling his equipment.After they finished clearing up their equipment, the penthouse suddenly felt a little too big and too quiet without the low hum of their equipment. But the white couch where Killian and I had sat twenty minutes ago was still, holding our impression. They hadn't returned it back to its position.“Hello to you too, Mel.” I said. I didn't turn around, instead, I turned to one of the lighting technicians at my right who was struggling with a particularly stubborn tripod, and I found myself focused on his awareness hands instead of facing whatever information she'd brought me.“The early reactions are already live.” She dropped her tablet on the marble counter with a sh