CHAPTER 19: The Performance

POV: Selene Castellano

The press conference was scheduled for two PM at Pierce Holdings’ main conference room.

By noon, the building was swarming with reporters.

Selene stood in Avalon’s office watching the circus unfold forty-five floors below. News vans lined the street. Cameras set up on the sidewalk. A reporter doing a stand-up with the building as backdrop, gesturing dramatically.

Her phone buzzed. Maya.

Saw the article. Want me to fly up?

No. Stay in treatment. I’m fine.

You’re not fine. You’re about to face a firing squad of reporters.

Then wish me luck.

Luck. Also, remember to breathe. And that half those reporters are just doing their jobs. The other half are assholes, but still.

Selene smiled despite her nerves.

The office door opened. Margaret entered with an armful of folders and a woman Selene didn’t recognize—tall, Black, impossibly put-together in a charcoal suit.

“Selene, this is Diana Ortiz, our head of PR,” Margaret said. “She’s going to prep you both.”

Diana set down her materials with efficient precision. “We have ninety minutes. Let’s make them count.”

They ran through everything. Likely questions. Approved answers. Body language. Where to stand, how to stand, when to look at each other versus the cameras.

“You’re newlyweds,” Diana said. “Act like it. Subtle touches. Eye contact. Small smiles. Nothing over the top, but enough that people believe you actually like each other.”

“We do like each other,” Selene said.

“Then show it. Because right now, the narrative is that you married for money and Avalon married to save his inheritance. We need to replace that with: two people who loved each other, lost each other, and found their way back.”

“Even if it’s more complicated than that?” Avalon asked.

“Especially if it’s more complicated than that. Nuance doesn’t translate in press conferences. Simple narratives do.”

They practiced for an hour. Questions and answers, refined and re-refined until they sounded natural instead of rehearsed.

“What about Jessica Mendoza?” Selene asked. “She wrote the article. She’ll be there.”

“She will,” Diana confirmed. “And she’ll ask the hardest questions. Don’t get defensive. Don’t attack her. Just stick to the talking points.”

“What if she asks about the medical debt payments?”

“You confirm Avalon helped with your sister’s treatment. You frame it as family supporting family. You don’t apologize for it.”

Selene nodded, trying to absorb everything.

At one-thirty, Margaret pulled Avalon aside. Selene watched them through the glass wall of the conference room—Margaret speaking intently, Avalon listening with that focused expression he got when processing strategy.

He glanced up, caught Selene watching, and something in his face softened.

He excused himself from Margaret, crossed to where Selene stood.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Terrified.”

“Good. Me too.”

“That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“Shared terror is better than solo terror.” He reached for her hand. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“Together,” she repeated.

The word felt like a lifeline.

At one fifty-five, they took their positions.

The conference room was packed. Cameras lined the back wall. Reporters filled every chair, tablets and recorders ready. The energy was electric, predatory.

Selene stood beside Avalon at the podium. She’d chosen a simple navy dress, minimal jewelry, her hair pulled back. Professional but not corporate. Approachable but not soft.

She looked the part.

She just had to sell it.

Avalon cleared his throat. The room quieted.

“Thank you all for coming. I’ll make a brief statement, then we’ll take a few questions.”

He glanced at the talking points Margaret had prepared, then set them aside.

Diana was going to kill him.

“This morning, an article was published questioning the legitimacy of my marriage to Selene Castellano. I want to address that directly.” He paused. “The facts are simple. My grandmother’s will required that I marry Selene within thirty days of her death. Yes, that’s unusual. Yes, it put us in an impossible position. But here’s what the article didn’t mention—my grandmother knew Selene and I had unfinished business. She knew we’d lost each other because of my mother’s interference ten years ago. And she believed we deserved a second chance.”

A reporter’s hand shot up.

Avalon ignored it.

“Was the timing strategic? Yes. Did we marry quickly? Absolutely. But that doesn’t make our marriage illegitimate. It makes it complicated. And anyone who’s been in a real relationship knows that complicated doesn’t mean fake.”

Another hand.

Still ignoring them.

“Selene and I are figuring out what this marriage means. We’re in therapy. We’re learning to trust each other again after a decade apart. It’s messy and imperfect and sometimes painful. But it’s real. And we’re tired of defending it to people who don’t know us.”

He turned to Selene.

“Do you want to add anything?”

Her mouth went dry.

This was it. Her moment to either save this or destroy it.

She leaned toward the microphone, found her voice.

“Just this. I didn’t marry Avalon for money. I married him because his grandmother—a woman who showed me more kindness than I deserved—asked me to. And because somewhere underneath all the hurt and history, I never stopped caring about him.”

The room erupted.

Questions flew from every direction.

“Mr. Pierce! Did you pay off your wife’s medical debts?”

“Ms. Castellano! How much money did you receive in exchange for the marriage?”

“Is it true your uncle is challenging your position?”

Avalon held up a hand. The chaos subsided slightly.

“One at a time. Jessica—” he pointed to the TechCrunch reporter, “—you first.”

Jessica Mendoza stood, all professional courtesy now that she had her moment.

“The article mentioned substantial payments made toward medical debts just before your marriage. Can you confirm the source of those payments?”

“I can confirm that I helped with my sister-in-law’s medical expenses,” Avalon said carefully. “Maya Castellano is undergoing treatment for lymphoma. Those treatments are expensive. As family, I considered it my responsibility to help.”

“But you weren’t family yet. You’d only just reconnected.”

“Family isn’t always defined by legal documents. Sometimes it’s defined by choice.”

Another reporter jumped in before Jessica could follow up. “Mr. Pierce, do you love your wife?”

The room went completely silent.

Selene felt Avalon’s hand find hers beneath the podium. His fingers laced through hers, warm and steady.

He could dodge. Could say something diplomatic. Could hide behind talking points and careful phrasing.

Instead, he turned to look at her.

Really look at her.

And Selene saw it in his eyes—the same terror she felt, the same hope, the same desperate want for this impossible thing to work.

“I’m working on it,” he said honestly, still holding her gaze. “We both are.”

It wasn’t the answer they wanted.

But it was the truth.

“Follow-up,” another reporter called. “Ms. Castellano, do you love your husband?”

Selene’s heart hammered.

She could feel every camera trained on her. Could sense the reporters leaning forward, hungry for drama.

She looked at Avalon. At this man who’d let her back into his life despite every reason not to. Who’d stood beside her through Marcus’s attacks. Who’d just admitted in front of dozens of strangers that he was trying to love her.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I do.”

The words hung in the air.

True and terrifying and utterly public.

Avalon’s hand tightened on hers.

More questions came—about Marcus, about the board, about their plans for the future. They answered what they could, deflected what they couldn’t, and somehow made it through twenty more minutes without completely falling apart.

When Diana finally called time, Selene felt like she’d run a marathon.

They retreated to Avalon’s office.

Margaret was waiting, tablet in hand.

“Well,” she said. “That was not what we discussed.”

“I know,” Avalon said.

“You went completely off-script.”

“I know.”

“And somehow—” Margaret smiled, “—it worked. Social media is already reacting. The general consensus seems to be that you’re either the most honest CEO in tech or completely insane. Either way, they’re on your side.”

Selene sank into a chair. “Really?”

“Really. Turns out people appreciate authenticity. Who knew?”

Avalon’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, showed it to Margaret.

Patricia Wong: Withdrawing my request for an emergency board meeting. Well played.

Another message appeared.

Daniel Frost: Ballsy move with the press conference. Respect.

Margaret nodded approvingly. “Crisis averted. For now.”

“What about Marcus?” Avalon asked.

“Oh, he’s not done. But you bought yourself breathing room.” She gathered her things. “Use it wisely.”

After Margaret left, Avalon turned to Selene.

“You told a room full of reporters you love me.”

“I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

Selene stood, crossed to where he stood by the windows.

“Yes,” she said. “I meant it. I know we’re figuring things out. I know you’re not there yet. But I needed to say it. Needed you to know.”

Avalon cupped her face gently.

“I’m working on it,” he said again. “Getting there. To love.”

“I know. And that’s enough.”

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her.

Instead, he pulled her into his arms, held her tight.

And somehow, that was even better.

Outside, the city continued its indifferent rhythm.

But inside, something had shifted.

They’d stood in front of the world and claimed each other.

Messy. Imperfect. But real.

And for now, that was everything.