Chapter Four

The walk from Carrie’s office to corporate communications stretched out like some slow march toward judgment. Sofia kept her gaze glued to the polished floor tiles, watching her own reflection rippling across the faint shine. Every step felt heavier than the last. Conversations hushed as she passed, the kind where people pretend they are whispering about quarterly targets but their eyes give them away. She felt each glance like tiny pricks along her spine. If she could sink into the marble and vanish into the building’s architecture, she would have done it gladly.

The comms department was tucked at the end of the hall, a smaller office with dimmer lights, as if the place itself understood the importance of subtlety. Two staffers sat inside, both bent over glowing screens. Each monitor displayed the same nightmare: her name stamped across X threads, TikTok edits looping her face beside someone else’s, F******k posts that twisted half-truths into something monstrous.

One of the officers looked up, expression soft. “Sit,” she said, nodding at the chair across from them. “We’ve been monitoring since last night.”

Sofia sat carefully, her tote held tight on her lap. “I swear,” she murmured, heat rising to her cheeks, “it is not me. I was not even there.”

“We believe you,” the other comms officer said, voice calm and steady, like someone who’d handled enough crises to stay unfazed. “But the internet does not care about what’s real. It cares about what spreads. Our job is to manage the fire, not argue with it.”

Sofia swallowed hard.

“First,” the officer continued, “you need to stay silent online. No posts, no clarifications, no late-night emotional replies. Silence gives us room to work. If you engage, even politely, the algorithm will chew you alive.”

Sofia nodded so fast her ponytail nearly slipped.

“We will release a short statement under Echelon’s name,” the first officer added. “It won’t erase everything, but it places our version on record. And that matters.”

A small breath escaped her. Not quite relief, but something close.

“Next,” the second officer said, “you need to coordinate with legal. This is bigger than comms alone. They’ll advise you on possible defamation action, depending on how far this spreads.”

Legal was on the twelfth floor, and by the time she arrived, her palms were damp. The lawyer assigned to her, a woman with clipped vowels and a gaze sharp enough to cut paper, listened as Sofia stumbled through the details.

“This is classic defamation,” the lawyer said, tapping her pen steadily against her notebook. “But lawsuits take time. The internet does not. What you need right now is reinforcement from all sides.”

Sofia blinked. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you cannot rely solely on Echelon’s statement,” the lawyer replied. “You need Tristan Jacinto’s team to deny the rumor too.”

Sofia’s stomach plunged. His name alone carried weight. Headlines. Scandals. Power. Influence. And she was just an assistant editor caught in the tidal wave.

“His team?” she whispered.

“Yes,” the lawyer said firmly. “This rumor harms him as much as it harms you. If his camp shuts it down, the narrative collapses. A billionaire’s denial is worth more online than any corporate memo.”

“What if they ignore me?”

The lawyer didn’t flinch. “Then you push. Politely, professionally, but firmly. Their job is to protect him, and right now that requires protecting you.”

Sofia walked out with her pulse thudding against her ribs. Reaching out to Tristan Jacinto’s people felt impossible. She barely knew them beyond formal emails and carefully typed acknowledgments. Now she had to ask them to save her name.

By the time she reached her desk, her phone buzzed again. Another call from her brother in Singapore. She couldn’t pick up. Not yet. Not like this.

The truth pressed in around her.

There was no detour, no shortcut, no vanishing act.

There was only forward.

She had to contact Tristan Jacinto.