Chapter 16: A subtle power move

The morning sun filtered in through the sheer drapes, casting soft golden light across the expansive dining room of the Knights estate. The air was still, almost sterile, and yet the silence wasn’t empty; it was thick, waiting, like the held breath of a house that had witnessed too many words left unspoken.

Luna moved with the same precision as always. There was no music, no humming, not even the rustle of the help. She had dismissed the maids earlier quietly, without emotion, just as she had begun doing over the past few mornings. She preferred the silence. It gave her space to think. And thinking, she had learned, was far more valuable than reacting.

The table was set for two, meticulously arranged, with crystal glasses filled, cutlery gleaming, and ceramic plates still steaming with breakfast. She had made everything herself: soft poached eggs, sautéed vegetables, grilled sourdough, and a fruit salad set in an elegant glass bowl. A carafe of orange juice sat between the place settings like a mediator in the cold war of their mornings.

She sat alone, already halfway through her plate, when George descended the stairs.

Her back was straight. Her legs crossed neatly beneath the table, one heel slowly tapping the marble. Her gaze was fixed on the folded newspaper beside her plate, but her mind had already calculated the rhythm of his steps.

She didn’t need to look to know he was dressed for the office tailored charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, dark blue tie, Rolex peeking beneath the cuff. He looked every inch the empire he’d built sharp, rich, untouchable.

But his silence as he approached the table told her more than any news headline could. He was unraveling, slowly. She could sense it in the way he hadn’t spoken to her in three days. In the way he no longer waited at the top of the stairs for her invitation to sit. Today, for the first time since the scandal broke, George Hayes sat without ceremony.

Luna didn’t look up. Not even as his chair scraped gently across the floor.

She sliced through her eggs with calm detachment. Each movement fluid, controlled, elegant. Her blouse, a deep navy silk, caught the light, the plunging neckline revealing a tasteful hint of skin and the soft curve of her collarbone. Long sleeves graced her arms, buttoned delicately at the cuffs, framing her slim wrists like armor. Her black pencil skirt hugged her hips, professional yet deliberately sculpted to remind anyone watching that power didn’t always come loud it often came dressed like her.

Her lips, painted in a muted plum, pressed gently against the rim of her glass. She drank quietly, wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin, and only then acknowledged his presence.

George said nothing. He didn’t have to. His eyes followed every movement she made, almost suspiciously.

A few more minutes passed. The ticking of the antique clock on the far wall grew louder. Luna stood, collected her plate, and walked toward the kitchen. The sound of her heels echoed with deliberate grace measured, commanding, not rushed.

She paused at the doorway. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just... still.

Then, without turning, she spoke.

“Host a gala, George. For charity. For image. But most importantly for control. Let them see you beside the woman who didn’t sell headlines, but quietly stayed when the cameras stopped rolling. Public loyalty is the loudest kind.”

George looked up from his plate, fork still in hand.

It wasn’t the words that surprised him. It was the tone. Calm, resolute, direct. She wasn’t asking. She was telling.

“You want me to parade you?” he asked, his voice low, skeptical.

Still, she didn’t turn. Just tilted her head slightly, exposing the graceful line of her neck and the silver chain resting against her skin.

“No,” she said softly. “I want you to remind them who your wife is.”

She walked away without waiting for a response, disappearing into the hall as though her presence were no longer needed.

George sat there for a moment, unmoving. Then leaned back in his chair, his fork abandoned on the plate. A small, cynical smile played on his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Later That Morning

George was unusually late leaving the estate. Nathan had called him twice, but he didn’t pick up. Instead, he stood by the massive glass windows in his office on the second floor, watching Luna as she walked toward the gates.

She carried a leather-bound folder, her phone in one hand, her posture effortless. She didn’t glance back at the house, didn’t even hesitate at the car waiting to drive her to her agency.

There was something about her lately—something… sharpened. Less compliant. Less invisible.

He hated how much he noticed it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d given him advice. But this was the first time she’d delivered it like a move on a chessboard. Not a suggestion. A play.

“Host a gala…”

The idea lingered in his mind long after she had gone.

Everyday with Luna has a different sense of tension but then he has better things to do at the moment so he left for Nathan to drive them to the company.

Noon – Knights & Hayes Corp.

George stared at the wall of monitors in his conference room as headlines flickered across them.

“Secret Wife Emerges: Who is the Real Mrs. Hayes?”

“Emily Ford’s Shocking Revelation: A Second Wife or Strategic Mistress?”

“PR Crisis at Knights Corp: CEO Faces Personal Scandal During Major Merger Talks.”

Nathan entered, tense, his suit jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled.

“The board wants a full damage report before Friday. Investors are spooked. Emily’s making rounds interviews, podcasts, you name it. She’s playing the betrayed lover card hard.” He paused, then added carefully, “And there’s talk that Forbes is preparing a piece on your personal affairs. Front page.”

George remained seated, unmoved.

Emily has purposely led him into this crisis, she knew how much he loved her and how he would do anything for her, then he used it against him. Forced him into signing a contract that would only damage him. George took a deep breath out. Then slowly looked toward Nathan.

“What would it take to organize a gala?” he asked.

At this point he didn't care whose idea it was all he wanted was to be over with all this because it is already draining him more than it should.

And most importantly avoid the wrath of his father which he has managed to escape from all these years.

Nathan blinked. “A… gala?”

“A charity event. High profile. Media access. Black tie. I want it executed in seventy-two hours.”

Nathan swallowed. “That’s tight. But doable. Who’s the face of it?”

George didn’t hesitate.

“Luna.”

Nathan’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

“Make sure she’s briefed,” George added. “And protected. I want full PR control. I want silence from Emily’s side the moment Luna steps on that red carpet, contacting every press media. Is time to give a new headline”