The Statement

The ballroom of the Hale Tower had been transformed into a press chamber overnight.

Rows of cameras lined the back wall, their red lights blinking like a thousand eyes waiting to pounce. Reporters whispered and scribbled, the air buzzing with anticipation.

Lucian strode in, immaculate in a dark tailored suit, his expression unreadable.

The room stilled instantly. He didn’t pause, didn’t falter. He took his place at the podium, fingers brushing the edge of the microphone.

“Thank you for coming,” he began, his voice deep, controlled, carrying easily over the room.

“I won’t waste your time. You’re here because of rumors. Lies. Whispers dressed as facts.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Lucian’s gaze swept the room, sharp enough to slice through the tension.

“My marriage to Amara Hale is not a business transaction.

It is not a contract for convenience, nor a spectacle for tabloids to dissect.

My wife is not a pawn in anyone’s game.”

Flashes erupted, reporters shouting questions. He silenced them with a single raised hand.

“Speculate about me, if you must,” he continued coldly.

“I’ve lived my life under scrutiny, and I can weather it. But the moment you turn your pens and cameras toward my wife, you cross a line.

And I promise you this—” His voice dropped, steady, lethal. “—anyone who drags her name through the mud will answer to me.”

The room buzzed, but no one dared interrupt.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on the sea of lenses.

“Amara is not your scandal.

She is my wife. And she will be treated with the respect she deserves.”

With that, he stepped back, ignoring the barrage of shouted questions.

His security moved in instantly, parting the crowd as he strode out, unbothered by the chaos left in his wake.

In the limousine waiting outside, Harris glanced at him cautiously. “Sir… that was more personal than I expected.”

Lucian’s eyes fixed on the skyline beyond the tinted window. His jaw tightened. “It had to be.”

For a moment, silence lingered. Then, almost to himself, Lucian muttered, “They’ll learn quickly—she’s untouchable.”

And though Harris didn’t respond, he noticed the faintest change in his employer’s tone.

Not cold. Not detached. But protective. Almost possessive.

Almost tender.

The hospital corridors were quieter than usual that evening, though whispers still trailed in Lucian’s wake as he strode past nurses and visitors.

His appearance on every news outlet had reached even here—clips of his sharp, uncompromising words played on televisions in the waiting rooms.

But he ignored them all.

His jaw was set, his steps unyielding, every line of his body still carrying the weight of the battle he had waged hours earlier.

When he reached her mother’s room, he paused only briefly before pushing the door open.

Amara sat at the bedside, her fingers curled around her mother’s hand, reading softly from a worn paperback. Her voice faltered the moment she saw him.

“Lucian…”

He shut the door behind him, the sound heavy in the small space.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, only looked at her—at the way her hair had slipped loose from its pins, at the exhaustion shadowing her eyes, at the cold distance she had carefully built between them.

But even with that wall, she was still the center of the storm. His storm.

“I dealt with it,” he said finally, his voice low, gravelly.

Amara frowned. “Dealt with what?”

“The vultures.” His gaze darkened. “The press. The whispers.

The ones who dared to write your name like you were a bargaining chip.”

Her chest tightened.

She had seen a clip earlier in the nurses’ lounge—the cold power of his voice, the way he had silenced a room full of sharks with a single sentence.

Hearing him now, standing before her, made it real.

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I should have,” he cut in, his tone sharp. “And I did.”

Her breath caught at the force in his eyes, the unspoken truth burning behind them.

“Lucian…” she whispered, shaking her head. “Why?”

He exhaled roughly, dragging a hand through his hair. For a moment, the mask slipped—just enough to reveal the turmoil underneath.

“Because they don’t get to have you. Not them. Not him. No one.”

The words hung heavy in the air, raw and unguarded.

Her lips parted, her throat tight. “You can’t keep saying things like that—like I belong to you—if you’re not willing to mean it.”

His gaze locked on hers, the fire in his eyes dangerous and unyielding.

For a heartbeat, she thought he might finally say it, might finally cross the line between possession and truth.

But then his jaw tightened, his mask sliding back into place. “I mean that you’re under my protection. That’s enough.”

Her chest ached.

She wanted to scream at him, to demand more, but her mother stirred in her sleep, a fragile sound that forced her to swallow the words.