Chapter 12: A controlled scandal

The vacation house breathed with silence.

Outside, snow blanketed the trees in heavy white. The wind whispered against the windows like a restless ghost, but inside, there was only warmth thick, heavy, and intoxicating. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting shifting shadows across the glass floors and naked bodies still marked by sweat and friction.

Emily sat curled in a leather armchair, her bare skin glistening with the remnants of pleasure, legs pulled up lazily beneath her. Her hair was damp against her shoulders, her lips swollen from kisses not given in love but in dominance. The flickering firelight bathed her body in a gold-red hue, making her look like something forged in the heart of the blaze.

A tablet rested in her lap, casting a cooler glow. On the screen: chaos.

BREAKING: George Kings Accused of Bigamy — Shocking Revelation of Secret Second Marriage

The image was perfectly chosen George mid-step, caught off-guard by paparazzi in front of the Kings Corporation building, his tie loosened, lips parted in confusion. The headline blared in bold red letters beneath him, dripping with scandal.

Emily grinned.

It was all happening exactly as she’d planned.

Every leak, every whisper, every breadcrumb she had planted had led to this moment. The press had latched onto the story like wolves to blood, and now, they were feasting. Her name wasn’t mentioned not yet. Just enough suggestion to throw him into a pit of speculation, where the public would chew him apart, piece by piece.

From the other room, Nolan emerged, barefoot, his lean body still humming from their last round. He paused at the edge of the firelight, watching her, unsure of how close he was allowed to get when her mood shifted like this sharp and glassy.

He’d quickly learned that she wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to be touched after.

“I still don’t understand why you’re not giving them a statement,” he said cautiously, voice low.

Emily didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. She simply reached forward and paused the video stream, her finger tapping the screen with cool finality.

“I told you,” she said, tone clean as a scalpel. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

Nolan’s jaw flexed. He said nothing more. He was learning.

Emily exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drift back to the screen, back to George’s haunted expression.

Let the media run with it. Let his PR team scramble for control. Let his lawyers threaten lawsuits and his board members whisper behind closed doors. None of it would work. She’d seen to that.

She’d left just enough gaps in her digital footprint. Just enough falsified paperwork. Just enough half-truths in all the right inboxes. It didn’t need to be true—it just needed to feel true. Public perception would do the rest.

This wasn’t just revenge.

It was theatre.

Carefully cast. Beautifully orchestrated. And she was the director standing just beyond the curtain, pulling the strings.

Nolan shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to approach or retreat. He’d been compliant, willing, obedient, even eager. But Emily could see it in his eyes now. The question trembled behind his lips.

He was starting to wonder who he had signed himself over to.

But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to understand her.

He was here to serve a purpose to earn his money just like always and go over to the next contract or marriage.

Their arrangement was simple. She provided the wealth. The luxury. The access. And in return, he gave her what she wanted his body, his silence, and most of all, his loyalty.

She looked over at him finally, her voice cool as marble. “You’re not in this for the why. You’re in this for the when.”

He nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

Good boy.

She leaned back in the chair, dragging her nails gently down her thigh in idle thought. The air was starting to chill again, so she pulled a blanket loosely over herself, more for aesthetics than comfort. She liked the image raw, exposed, but still in control.

Across the room, Nolan poured her a glass of wine, then brought it over without a word. She took it from his hands without looking at him.

On the tablet, another headline rolled in.

GEORGE KINGS UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR MARRIAGE FRAUD — LEGAL ACTION LOOMING

She sipped her wine and felt the warmth spread through her chest.

“His lawyers will scramble. His board will panic. His mother will cry on cue,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Nolan stood beside her now, silent, unsure if he was allowed to laugh.

She glanced up at him and arched a brow. “Don’t mistake this for humor.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.”

For a few minutes, the only sound was the fire, the soft hum of the heater, and the occasional ping of news alerts flooding in from the outside world.

Emily’s mind began to drift not backwards, but forward. Past the headlines, past the chaos. Past even Nolan.

There was only one thing she was truly waiting for.

One person.

Hayes Edward.

The name wrapped itself around her like smoke.

Where Nolan was physically escaping, Hayes had once been mentally free. He had seen her before the dresses and the expectations. Before she was reshaped into the perfect socialite. Before the loss that hollowed her out and turned her into something sharp and strategic.

He had vanished one day without a goodbye. Some said business. Some said danger. Others said betrayal.

Emily had never believed any of it.

She believed in purpose.

And Hayes never did anything without one.

She didn’t know when he’d come back—but she knew he would. She could feel it like a shift in the wind, a change in pressure. He was the last thread in her story, and until he returned, nothing was truly finished.

Nolan reached out suddenly, gently brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. A soft, instinctual gesture. Too familiar.

She froze.

Then slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Don’t,” she said softly.

His hand dropped instantly. Shame flickered in his face.

Emily stood, letting the blanket fall away. She walked across the room, completely bare, her spine straight, her steps measured. She didn’t flinch under the cold. She didn’t hide herself. She never did.

Nolan watched her, his throat bobbing as he swallowed something he couldn’t voice.

She paused by the window, one hand resting against the cold pane.

Beyond the glass, the woods stretched out endlessly. No cameras. No questions. Just silence and waiting.

“I don’t need affection,” she said calmly. “I need precision.”

And in that sentence, she closed every door between them that might’ve ever opened.