The Scandal

Elena's POV

I shoved a spoon of soup into my mouth, the warm liquid soothing my frayed nerves. As the broth slid down my throat, my head which had been a mess of confusion and fragmented memories—began to clear up.

Everything came flooding back. I had met him at an event. He was the CEO of the Blackwoods Conglomerate. Adrian Blackwood. The man who had been so charming, so magnetic, so dangerously intoxicating.

The man who had led me to my current predicament.

While lost in my thoughts, a call came in from Maggie, my best friend. I watched as the phone rang on the table, slowly vibrating against the wood. I was hesitant at first, but at the third ring, I picked up.

"Where have you been?!" Maggie yelled. I could feel the anger and urgency radiating through the speaker. Something was off.

"I told you I was off to cover an event among the elites last night," I said, rubbing my temples. "I had a really bad night and an awful morning, so I'm not in the mood for your early morning rants today."

"This isn't about how your night went or how your day is going," Maggie said, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Have you seen the news? What have you been up to? Were you only covering the event, or covering the CEO of the Blackwoods Conglomerate?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting upright, my spoon clattering against the bowl. "What news are you talking about?"

"How are you even a reporter and you're asking me this!" Maggie exclaimed. "I'll send you a link to the post. You better clean up this mess, Elena. You better do something about this."

Before I could respond, she hung up. My phone buzzed almost immediately.

Ding! Ding!

A notification popped up on my screen. It was a message from Maggie. I was hesitant about opening it, my fingers hovering over the screen. What could be so bad that it had her this worked up?

I tapped on the message, and it revealed a blog with headlines blaring at me like accusations.

"The Desperate Bride: Elena Carter's Shameless Pursuit of Wealth!"

"Billionaire's New Obsession: Elena Carter's Hidden Scandal Revealed!"

"Rags to Riches: Elena Carter's Rise to Opulence"

My jaw dropped.

I scrolled through the series of demeaning articles that had my name splashed across them. Beneath the headlines were different pictures of Adrian and me—at the bar after the event, entering the car going to the hotel, walking into the hotel, and in compromising positions. I stared at the pictures, wondering who could be responsible for this.

I read through the lines of one of the articles, and I was seething with anger.

How dare these blog writers formulate lies about me? Do they even know me? It was more annoying that these blogs were getting a lot of attention, garnering over three million reads and thousands of comments.

The comments!

I wouldn't even dare go there. I could already imagine the vitriol, the accusations, the cruelty of strangers who knew nothing about me but felt entitled to judge.

As I was scrolling through the article, a call came in. It was from work.

My boss had never called me before—he always dropped any information he wanted me to know about in my email. I was scared of picking it up, allowing it to ring for a while. He called the second time, and I reluctantly answered.

"Elena Carter!" Lucian yelled, his voice vibrating through my eardrums. "What have you done? Are you trying to bring down our publishing firm or what?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but all of this is a misunderstanding," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "None of this was meant to happen. It was all under the influence of alcohol."

"Don't blame it on alcohol!" Lucian thundered. "Why were you drinking in the first place? You were sent to cover an event, and you went about flirting with the CEO. I might even start to think you're a gold digger."

"Please, I'll solve this, I promise," I begged, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Enough of your pleading," Lucian said, his voice cold and final. "The board of directors had suggested that you be fired, but instead, a six-month suspension has been put in place. You better use that time to reflect on yourself."

"I'm sorry—"

Beep! Beep! He hung up on me.

I stared at my phone, anger brewing inside of me as my grip on the device tightened, my knuckles whitening.

Six months.

Six months of my career on hold because of one night of poor judgment. Because of him. Because of Adrian Blackwood.

Ding! Ding!

I received another notification.

It seemed the trolls from the blog post had found my account. They kept dropping malicious comments on my posts, their words sharp and cruel. I had to private my account and limit who could comment, my fingers moving frantically across the screen.

My eyes darted to the comment section beneath the post. It had thousands of comments from people who knew nothing about me but had a lot to say because of the privilege of owning a smartphone. My grip tightened on my phone as I read through the venomous words, each one cutting deeper than the last.

While reading through the comments, a call came in. It was from an unknown number. I was hesitant about picking it up, letting it lie there for the first two rings. But on the third, I answered, staying quiet as I waited for the caller to speak first.

"Hello," the voice at the other end of the phone said. It was a man, his tone measured and deliberate.

"Hello," I responded cautiously.

"I believe I'm speaking with Elena Carter, journalist and New York Times?" the mysterious man asked.

How did he know my full name and where I worked? My heart began to race. "Who are you, and how do you know my name and where I work?" I demanded.

"It's good to know it's you, Elena. Let's meet up," the man said.

Meet up? With a stranger? Who was dumb enough to meet up with someone they didn't know just because they asked them to come? Definitely not me.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you, so I can't see you," I said, my voice firm.

"You need to come right now. It's very important—"

I hung up on him, not letting him finish whatever he had to say.

I packed up my purse and paid for the hangover soup, walking out of the restaurant with quick, purposeful strides. My phone kept buzzing as the mysterious man kept calling and calling, hell-bent on meeting with me.

But who the hell was this man? I had no idea who he was—even his voice seemed masked, deliberately altered.

I was lost in my thoughts, my mind a whirlwind of questions and fears, that I was unaware of the incoming vehicle. The next thing I heard was a loud honking, piercing through the noise of the city, followed by the screams of the people by the roadside.

And then, everything went black.