Chapter 5

OPHELIA

By morning, the tabloids were on fire and the moment I opened my phone, I was greeted by headlines screaming in all caps:

"ICE QUEEN MELTS IN HER EX'S ARMS—STUNNING FALL OR STAGED REUNION?"

"THE PHOENIX & THE FALLEN KING: IS LOVE BACK ON THE TABLE?"

"FROM SCANDAL TO SIZZLE? BILLIONAIRE ALESSANDRE MARCELLO RE-ENTERS OPHELIA WREN'S WORLD."

I scrolled clip after clip on social media and I saw the moment I tripped on the stairs, the frozen second when I crashed into him, the way in which his arms encircled my waist as if we were still something. 

Over and over it played. It was sickening.

One feed even went as far as pairing it with a tacky love song in the background. Another one slowed it down and titled it: "When fate steps in."

“Eww,” I muttered, putting the phone at a distance away from me.

I nearly threw my phone at the mirror.

"Charlotte!" I shouted, already pacing the length of my living room.

She burst in a moment later, her hair disheveled, phone buzzing in one hand, and a tablet clutched tightly in the other.

"Okay, okay, breathe," she said before I could yell again. "I know. I've checked and it's all on fire. Socials, press, blogs, investor lines—heck, even TikTok has a slow-mo video of your fall from the stairs. And the worse, they put Taylor Swift in the background.”

Oh my God! Not her!

"This is a disaster, a fucking disaster," I spat. "Do you have any idea how long I've worked to build this brand and image? My fucking reputation is at stake, Charlotte."

"I'm fixing it." Was all she said.

"You're not fixing it fast enough!" My voice cracked like a whip and echoed through the apartment.

Charlotte flinched and I immediately regretted shouting at her but didn't take it back. Not when headlines were pairing my propriety with his shame.

“Investors are pulling out," she whispered, after a while, her gaze on my face. "They're afraid of a scandal by association. They think it's a rekindling and that by extension, your judgment's compromised."

"My judgment?" I spat, letting out a sharp and bitter laugh. "Because I tripped and he happened to be there?"

"You didn't just trip, Lia," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You fell into him. And the whole world saw you do it."

“Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand down my face.

Silence hung between us and I could practically feel my heartbeat in my throat.

For the first time in six years, I wasn't in control.

And I absolutely fucking hated it.

I knocked the tablet from her hand and strode into my room to get ready. "Call an emergency meeting. Now. Everyone—the board, legal, PR, branding. I want everyone seated at that damn table within the hour."

Charlotte nodded and moved, already dialing.

As I got ready to go to the company, my blood boiled. 

After all these years, and yet, he wasn’t satisfied with how he ruined me.

“Fuck,” I screamed in the shower. I ignored the pain in my chest and focused on the rage instead. Afterward, I came out of the bathroom and got ready.

Forty-five minutes later, Charlote and I had arrived at the office and the conference room was full. My entire board of directors was seated at the long glass table, talking in low, concerned voices. Charlotte stood off to the side with our legal counsel, while a branding expert I didn’t even know we had, was clicking through slides on the large screen.

Pictures of Alessandre and me—reels from the viral video, photos from the ball, and even a blurry picture of him crossing the ballroom—were displayed before me like a scary slideshow.

"As you can see," the expert began, "the public narrative is slipping out of our control. We ran sentiment scans on key platforms an there's a fifty-two percent spike in emotional resonance. People think it's a love story."

"It's not," I cut in, my voice cold.

"No one cares," my CFO, Adrian said. I turned to face him. "What matters is perception. We're losing market confidence. Two contracts halted negotiations this morning because of this."

I could feel the pressure mounting, like invisible fingers choking me.

"We need to pivot," Charlotte said. "And fast."

"To what?" I asked already fed up with the whole thing. "Another press release? A public apology? We all know that isn’t going to work."

The lawyer cleared his throat. "There is… a preferred solution. One that has a higher chance of getting us out of this and redeeming the company’s name."

They all looked at me. 

"Don't look at me like that,” I said. “Out with it already."

"A public engagement," he said. "With Mr. Marcello."

The room came to a standstill. I must have heard him wrongly. He must be joking with me.

"What?" I whispered.

"You want me to marry him?" I said, my voice skyrocketing like a bullet.

"Not marry," Charlotte said hastily trying to calm the atmosphere. "Just... a relationship. A united front. Something to placate the press and—and stabilize the narrative. You'd both decide on the terms, of course."

"This isn't a damn marketing strategy!" I shouted, slamming my fist onto the table. The board flinched but at this point I didn’t care what they all thought of me. They could all rot for all I care. "That man ruined my life and made me this city's running joke. And now you want me to play house with him?"

"I know, Lia," Charlotte said, edging closer warily. "But you're bleeding in public for that matter. This could be the coup de grâce we desperately need. We can finally spin this whole thing into something we can control."

"No," I spat. "Absolutely not."

“A contract has already been drafted," Nolan, the lawyer said. "If it's any consolation, it's ironclad. There’ll be no legal marriage, just public appearances and a few exclusives here and there. You will be in control of the timeline, the narrative—hell, you can even control the breakup story too."

I was shaking with bottled up anger.

"You want me to sell my soul to do damage control for him?" I asked through clenched teeth.

“This isn't about him," Charlotte said. "This is about you, your empire and your control, Ophelia. Don’t you get it? Right now, you've lost the upper hand and this,” she continued, pointing to the folders on the table, “gives it back."

I looked down at the shiny glass table. I could see my reflection—frosty eyes, jaw clenched, and my mask slipping.

They were right and I hated them for it. Most especially him right now.

I lifted my head slowly. "Fine," I said. "You want a show? You'll get one."

Charlotte looked at me cautiously optimistic. "You're… agreeing?”

“I'll grant them their damned fairy tale," I spat. "But he's going to pay for it. He doesn't get to walk back into my life and ruin it again."

I stood, the chair screaming behind me.

"If this is war," I whispered, "then he just handed me the perfect weapon."