**Eden Kai’s Streaming Studio** Riley’s POVThe walls were matte black. Bare of logos, and digital backdrop.Just a single light over the chair where I sat, with my spine straight, palms flat on the desk. I showed up without makeup, stylist or cue cards.Just me, and the truth.Eden stood behind the camera. She gave me a single nod.I smooth my palms against my pants to keep steady.I took a deep breath and hit the button to go live.The red dot blinked. My heartbeat syncs with the blinking of the livestream “LIVE” indicator.And the world turned its eyes.I leaned in, the desk cold under my palms. I didn't start with any small talks, or fake smiles.Just went straight to the point.“They told you I was sleeping my way to power.They told you I was a nobody who got lucky.They told you I was trouble.They told you I asked for it.”Paused for a bit.“Let me tell you what they didn’t tell yu.”I opened the folder beside me.One by one, I pulled out receipts, hard copies. Not just wo
Michael’s POV “Midnight drop confirmed,” Miss Leighton said.I didn’t turn. I stood facing the panoramic windows, hands in pockets, the city blinking back at me like a thousand watching eyes. Judging. Waiting.“Open the file,” I said.She laid the hardcopy folder on the steel table. I flipped it open.Page after page of fire and pure heat.Clarisse and her father, captured on surveillance, standing in the private VIP booth at Velvet Room, holding a drink they never sipped from. A camera across the bar caught the moment Richard Langford slipped something into the glass, the same one later handed to me.Timestamped and enhanced.Their faces were clear.Next: employment abuse files from Langford Media. Dozens of reports. Underpaid contractors. Labor law violations. Two suicide notes. One lawsuit buried with hush money.Then Celeste.The first folder was financial. Wire transfers to Riley’s ex. A private investigator’s report confirming the affair. A signed nondisclosure with his name s
Michael’s POV The room pulsed with screens and tension. Gray Enterprises' surveillance hub wasn’t designed for war, but tonight, it felt like a battlefield.I stood at the center of it all, arms folded, jaw locked tight.My assistant entered quietly, a black folder in hand. She laid it on the table without a word.“Collateral confirmed,” she said.Inside it were: names, messages, payments. Every person who had fed the storm around Riley. Every person who thought they could weaponize her reputation and vanish into shadow.“They made a mockery of her,” I murmured, tracing the edge of a timestamped photo. “Now we strike back.”Miss Leighton gave a small nod, her voice steady. “It will drop at midnight. It's already scheduled and encrypted.”“Make sure it’s analytical,” I said. “No leaks. No PR statements. No press briefings.”“Only facts,” she replied.I stared at the wall of screens, Clarisse’s smirk in one feed, Celeste shaking hands in another, Clarisse Langford sipping champagne at
Riley's POVI woke before the sun.Not because of nightmares, but because silence had finally settled like a stone in my chest. The kind that comes when you stop hoping for peace and start planning war.I padded barefoot across the cool marble floor, opened my inbox without thinking. I expected press junk. Backlash. Maybe an apology or two.But what I didn’t expect is an anonymous email. With no subject or signature. Just a single line: "This is where it started."Below it? An audio file was attached to it.I plugged in my headphones. Pressed play.The voices were distant, but the tone was unmistakable. They didn’t know they were being recorded.It was the same unknown voice filled with contempt.But she wasn’t alone. Another voice answered with a sharp feminine voice which was too familiar.I felt a cold shill down my spine.Celeste West. My former boss and mentor.The woman who once called me "the most promising voice in corporate PR."Her voice on the recording chilled me more than
Clarisse's POVThe video call connected with a soft chime.Clarisse leaned forward in the shadows of her father's study, wine glass untouched for once. Her laptop screen remained dark on her end, but the other side flickered to life, a blank silhouette, no face, only a voice.Feminine. Smooth. Clipped."Did you receive the file?"Clarisse smirked. "Yes. Just finished watching it."The clip replayed in her head: Riley in Michael's office, voice low with her hand brushing his as she stepped close. The scene, cut and trimmed, looked... intimate. Fabricated intimacy. Designed chaos."Who edited it?" Clarisse asked, more curious than concerned."Does it matter?" the voice replied coolly. "It's enough to spark doubt. Especially with the board."Clarisse crossed her legs. "You're banking on them panicking.""I'm counting on it. These men don't fear scandal. They fear instability. If they think Michael's judgment is compromised by a woman with emotional leverage,""They will pressure him," Cl
Riley's POV The post went live at exactly 9:02 AM. I posted it on all social platforms. No fanfare. No dramatic hashtags. No clickbait title. Just my name, a clean white background, and the headline I typed with steady fingers the night before: "The Truth Behind the Headlines_By Riley Jordan" I didn't watch it go viral. I didn't need to. Because I'd already let it go, every ounce of hurt, every accusation that clung to my name like smoke. I gave it back to the world and let them deal with the truth however they wanted. Inside the Gray Enterprises building, everything slowed. I could feel it in the way people stared as I passed. Their silence wasn't thick with judgment anymore. It was something else. Uncertainty, curiosity or Maybe even respect. Michael hadn't called. Not yet. But when I stepped into the elevator, the building buzzed with a sudden ripple, phones vibrating, screens lighting up, whispers rising again. Only this time, they were whispering my word