Chapter 11: The Live Feed

The red carpet of the annual Luminary Charity Gala blazed with flashing camera strobes, television lights, and the dizzying chatter of a hundred competing reporters. Julian stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Leo, the tailored Armani tuxedo feeling less like clothing and more like a straightjacket designed specifically for high-society slaughter. The cameras zoomed in, hungry for their scripted affection.

"Smile, darling," a producer hissed from behind the camera rig, his voice dripping with venom disguised as excitement. "Halloway wants that genuine, lovesick look for the live stream. Three, two, one—and we are live to fifteen million homes."

The red tally light on the primary broadcast camera blinked aggressively to life, casting a tiny, baleful eye over them. The entertainment anchor beamed into her wireless microphone, turning her brilliant, practiced smile toward Julian and Leo with all the warmth of a great white shark.

"Welcome back to the carpet, everyone!" the anchor trilled, pitching her voice for maximum audience engagement. "Tonight, we are joined by Hollywood’s most radiant power couple. Julian, Leo, the fans have been beside themselves waiting for this night. Rumors have been swirling about an upcoming engagement announcement. Is it finally happening tonight? Are you ready to take the ultimate plunge?"

Julian’s chest seized. His mouth went completely dry, the carefully memorized script turning to ash on his tongue. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, his throat tightening as the terrifying reality of Halloway’s watching eyes—somewhere in the VIP pavilion—crushed down upon him.

Leo noticed the second Julian’s shoulder began to tremble. Without breaking his million-dollar grin for the camera, Leo shifted imperceptibly, pressing his shoulder firmly against Julian’s side to anchor him, letting his quiet, unwavering strength bleed through the heavy fabric of their suits.

"Forget the script," Leo muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Julian to catch. "Take it, Jules. It’s yours."

Julian took a sharp, desperate breath, looking past the blinding camera lens and out into the vast expanse of the streaming digital void. He didn't take the microphone from the startled anchor; instead, he reached out, his hand snapping out to snatch the reporter's wireless lapel mic right off her collar with a swift, decisive yank.

"An engagement?" Julian’s voice echoed clearly through the massive acoustic speakers lining the gala entrance, cutting through the ambient noise of the crowd like a razor. "No. There is no engagement. There never was."

The anchor blinked, her smile freezing mid-expression as she grabbed for her missing audio feed. "I—pardon me? Julian, I think you might be—"

"I’m not confused at all," Julian interrupted, his voice steadily rising in volume, every trace of his previous panic burning away into a cold, blinding fury. "For three years, the public has been fed a carefully manufactured romance. Every date, every public appearance, every manufactured scandal and heartwarming reconciliation—it was all scripted by management. We didn't choose each other. We were assigned to each other like brand assets."

Around them, the sea of photographers froze. Camera shutters stuttered to a sudden, stunned halt. The producer behind the camera shrieked in absolute terror, lunging forward with his hands outstretched to claw at the air. "Cut the feed! Cut the damn feed right now!"

"Don't you dare touch him," Leo warned, stepping smoothly into the path of the frantic producer, his posture radiating a quiet, lethal menace that made the man stumble backward. Leo turned his own gaze directly into the primary broadcast lens, his expression hard as obsidian. "You all wanted a grand finale, didn't you? Well, here it is. The agency’s forced contracts are void. The romance is a corporate fiction designed to boost stock prices and cover up executive embezzlement. We are walking away."

The broadcast engineer in the production truck panicked, desperately hitting the master kill switch, but the digital delay was too slow. Millions of live viewers across multiple streaming platforms had already caught every single word, every defiant stance, and every raw, unfiltered second of the confession.

From the shadowy periphery of the VIP entrance, half-hidden behind a towering display of white orchids, Halloway watched. Her face was completely devoid of its usual predatory amusement. Instead, her expression settled into a mask of sheer, icy, terrifying fury—the look of a woman whose entire empire had just been set on fire by her own pets.

"They're finished," Halloway whispered to the empty air, her fingers tightening around her phone until her knuckles turned bone-white. "Completely, utterly finished."