Chapter 26: The Journalist’s Gambit

They returned from the glass house three days later to find chaos waiting.

Caelum’s phone started buzzing the moment they hit the city limits, call after call from his PR team, his mother, his lawyers.

“What’s happening?” Arwen asked, watching his expression darken as he read message after message.

“Evelyn Crowe.” His jaw tightened. “She published something.”

“About what?”

“The merger and your family’s financial situation.” He pulled the car over to read the full article. “She’s implying the marriage was arranged to save the Valeharts from bankruptcy.”

Arwen’s stomach dropped. “Can I see?”

He handed her his phone and she read the headline:

The Vanishing Heiress: Convenience or Conspiracy?

The article was carefully worded, avoiding direct accusations but raising pointed questions about the timing of the merger, the rushed wedding, and the significant financial transfers from Ravencroft Industries to Valehart Holdings.

“This is bad,” she whispered.

“It’s a speculative journalism with no real evidence, just questions designed to make people suspicious.” He took the phone back. “But we need to get ahead of it before she publishes more.”

By the time they reached the estate, Marcelline had already assembled a crisis team in the main conference room.

“There you are.” Marcelline’s voice was cold. “We have a situation.”

“I saw the article,” Caelum said, his hand finding Arwen’s back in that familiar protective gesture. “What’s our response?”

“Simone is drafting a statement painting this as an invasion of privacy during a delicate family matter.” Marcelline gestured to the PR director who was typing furiously on her laptop. “We’re positioning Isolde as someone who values her privacy and is being unfairly targeted by a journalist with an agenda.”

“What agenda?” Arwen asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Simone looked up from her laptop. “Evelyn Crowe has been digging into the Ravencroft family for years, but she’s never had enough to publish anything substantial. This feels more personal.”

“This has Viktor written all over it.” Caelum’s voice was flat. “He’s feeding her information.”

“We can’t prove that,” Marcelline said. “But yes, the timing is suspicious given his recent inquiries about the charity signature.”

Arwen’s phone buzzed. A message from Thorne: Call me. NOW.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I need to take this.”

She stepped into the hallway and braced herself to call her father.

“Have you seen it?” Thorne’s voice was furious. “Have you seen what that journalist wrote?”

“Yes, I just...”

“She’s implying we sold you to save ourselves from bankruptcy. Do you know what this does to our reputation?”

“The Ravencrofts are handling it.”

“The Ravencrofts are protecting themselves. They’re painting you as some fragile flower who needs privacy while making us look like opportunists.” He was breathing hard. “This is exactly what I was afraid of—public scrutiny.”

“Dad, calm down. It’s just one article.”

“It’s the first article. Evelyn Crowe doesn’t publish speculation unless she’s building toward something bigger.” His voice dropped. “Did you talk to her?”

“No. I haven’t spoken to her since...” She stopped, remembering the café meeting. “Since before the wedding.”

“Then where is she getting her information? Someone is talking to her, feeding her details about the merger terms.”

“I don’t know.”

“Figure it out. And for god’s sake, don’t do anything to make this worse.” He hung up.

Arwen leaned against the wall, trying to steady her breathing.

“Hey.” Caelum’s voice, soft behind her. “You okay?”

“My father is panicking. He thinks Evelyn Crowe is building toward something bigger.”

“She probably is. Journalists like her don’t publish part one unless they have parts two and three ready to go.” He pulled her into his arms. “But we’re ready for her. Whatever she throws at us, we’ll handle it together.”

She wanted to believe him, lean into his certainty and let him protect her from everything.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Evelyn knew more than any of them realized.

The gallery opening that night was torture.

Everyone stared at them and whispered. Arwen could feel their eyes following her as Caelum guided her through the crowded space, his hand possessive on her waist.

“Ignore them,” he murmured against her ear. “They’re just curious vultures hoping for drama.”

“They’re getting plenty of drama from Evelyn Crowe’s article.”

“Which is why we’re here looking perfectly unbothered.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let them see that we’re not affected by baseless speculation.”

They made their way through the gallery, stopping to admire paintings and make small talk with other guests who were clearly fishing for information about the article.

“Mrs. Ravencroft, how are you handling all the press attention?” one woman asked, pretending to care.

“I’m managing just fine, thank you,” Arwen replied with Isolde’s practiced smile. “Though I do wish journalists would focus on actual news instead of inventing drama.”

“So the article is inaccurate?”

“The article is speculation designed to sell subscriptions.” Caelum’s voice was cold. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

He guided her away before the woman could ask more questions.

“You handled that well,” he said quietly.

“I’m getting good at performing.”

“That wasn’t performing. That was you defending yourself.” His hand tightened on her waist. “I’m proud of you.”

They were examining a sculpture when someone brushed past Arwen, pressing something into her hand.

She looked up to see Evelyn Crowe disappearing into the crowd with a small smile on her face.

“What was that?” Caelum asked.

“Nothing. Someone just bumped into me.” She closed her fist around whatever Evelyn had given her. “I need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Caelum, I can walk to the bathroom alone.”

“Fine, but be quick. I don’t trust anyone here tonight.”

In the bathroom, Arwen unfolded the note with shaking hands.

I know about the signature. The charity document. The timeline discrepancy. Meet me tomorrow at noon, same café, or my next piece asks why the new Mrs. Ravencroft is forging the old one’s name. ~ EC

The note dropped from her fingers into the sink.

Evelyn knew. Somehow, she’d figured out what Silas had figured out.

And if Evelyn connected those dots publicly, everything would unravel.

Caelum would find out she’d been forging legal documents. The board would question every signature on every paper she’d touched. Viktor would have ammunition to destroy the merger.

Arwen stared at herself in the mirror, Isolde’s face reflected back at her.

She had to meet with Evelyn.

But how could she do that without Caelum finding outand raising more suspicions?

A knock on the bathroom door made her jump.

“Isolde?” Caelum’s voice. “You okay in there?”

She grabbed the note and shoved it in her clutch. “I'm fine, just needed a minute.”

When she opened the door, he was leaning against the wall looking concerned.

“You were in there a while.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

He studied her face. “You’re pale. Do you want to leave?”

“No, we should show everyone we’re not bothered, remember?”

“I’d rather you be comfortable than prove a point to vultures.” He cupped her face. “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing. I know you.”

“Seeing Evelyn Crowe here made me nervous.”

“Whatever it is,” he kissed her forehead. “I promise you, we’ll handle it... together.”

She nodded, letting him pull her close, and tried not to think about the note burning a hole in her clutch.

Tomorrow at noon she’d meet Evelyn Crowe.

And she’d find out exactly how much the journalist knew about the lies she’d been living.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​