Chapter 12: The PR Crisis

​[ DAVID'S POV ]

​My head was spinning, but it was not just the whiskey. For hours, I had been staring at the dark walls of my study, trying to drown out the image of Samantha’s face. The expensive glass in my hand felt heavy, but the drink inside tasted like nothing but bitter anger. I had all the wealth in the world around me, gold frames, rare books, and imported rugs but tonight, none of it could stop the cold irritation gnawing at my chest. She was just a girl locked in a dark room. I had all the power. So why couldn't I get her out of my mind?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. I saw her sitting perfectly straight on that thin mattress under the harsh light. I had kept her locked up for two days without food or water, waiting for her to break. I wanted her to scream, to cry, to beg for mercy. Instead, she had sat there with a quiet, stubborn pride. It made my stomach twist. I was Kingsley. I did not feel guilty. But the sheer frustration of not being able to control her mind kept me awake.

​Eventually, my body simply gave out. The bottle of whiskey sat half-empty on the desk as my eyes grew heavy. I slumped back into my large leather chair, my mind slipping into a dark, uncomfortable sleep just before the first light of morning began to peek through the heavy curtains.

Ring!

The sudden, violent vibration of my phone on the desk made my head explode with pain.

My eyes snapped open. The bright morning light was pouring through the windows, hurting my eyes. My neck was stiff, and a heavy, dull hangover throbbed behind my temples. The alcohol had left my mouth dry and my brain foggy. I groaned, rubbing my face with both hands as the phone continued to buzz relentlessly against the mahogany wood.

I reached out and grabbed it. Marcus's name was flashing on the screen.

"This better be urgent, Marcus," I muttered, my voice incredibly rough, deep, and cracked from sleep.

"David, open your computer right now," Marcus said. His voice was frantic. There was none of his usual smooth, polished public relations tone. He was breathing fast, his words spilling out in a rush. "It is about your secret courthouse marriage. The rumors are spreading, and they are getting incredibly nasty."

The fog in my brain vanished instantly. My blood ran cold. I sat up straight, ignoring the sharp pain in my head, and pulled my laptop toward me. My fingers hit the keys quickly, typing in my private security password and opening the financial news networks.

There it was. Right at the very top of the page, in bold, aggressive black letters:

Kingsley Corporation CEO enters secret courthouse marriage. Stock drops three percent in early trading.

"Why is the stock dropping over a marriage?" I demanded, my anger instantly flaring up to cover the sudden spike of panic in my chest. My hand gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. "People in my position get married every day. There should be no problem

"Not when the blogs are writing what they are writing," Marcus snapped back through the line. "The financial forums are going crazy, David. They are claiming that your new wife is the daughter of a business rival you secretly ruined last month. They are reporting that you used blackmail and forced her into a sham marriage to legally seize her family's remaining shares and block a major market merger. The institutional investors are panicking because it looks like hostile, illegal coercion. They think you used your wealth to bully a helpless girl to steal her assets."

I stood up from my desk so fast my chair rolled backward and hit the bookshelf. I walked over to the massive glass window, looking out at the perfectly manicured lawns and the high stone walls of my estate. My family had spent three generations building the Kingsley name. I had sacrificed my youth, my personal life, and every ounce of my energy to keep this company at the very top of the financial world. I was the king of this empire. I could not let a single rumor tear down my throne.

"Kill the story, Marcus," I ordered, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "Call the editors. Buy off whoever you need to. I don't care how much it costs."

"We cannot just buy our way out of this one, David," Marcus said, letting out a heavy, stressed sigh. "The board of directors already called me this morning. They are terrified of a public relations nightmare. They do not want excuses, and they do not want quiet payouts. They want absolute proof that this is a real, legitimate, happy marriage. They need the public to see that she married you willingly, not because you forced her. They want to see stability to protect the company's valuation."

"What do they expect me to do?"

"The Annual Charity Gala is tomorrow night," Marcus said clearly. "Every major investor, camera crew, and board member in the city will be in that ballroom. The board demands that you publicly debut your new bride. You need to walk her down that red carpet. You need to smile, hold her hand, and act like you both are deeply in love to clear the air. You have to prove to the world that she is happy to be Mrs. Kingsley."

My throat tightened. The phone felt like a block of lead in my hand.

"She cannot do that, Marcus," I said, my jaw clenching.

"She has to," Marcus said coldly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "If she does not show up on your arm tomorrow night, the investors will assume the rumors are true. They will dump their shares, the stock will crash, and the board will call an emergency meeting to strip you of your CEO title by Friday. You have twenty-four hours to fix your image, David. Do not mess this up."

The line went off.

I slowly lowered the phone, dropping it onto the desk. The silence of the study crashed back over me, but it did not feel peaceful anymore. It felt like a ticking bomb.

I did not feel pure guilt. I was a businessman, and my company came first. But a wave of intense irritation and cold reality hit me. To protect my seat at the top of this empire, I had to parade Samantha in front of the world. I had to make her smile, look beautiful, and act madly in love with me. My mind immediately went to the logistical nightmare of fixing the mess.

How was I going to make a starved, bruised, and broken girl play the part of a happy, loving wife?

I turned away from the window, my face hardening into a mask of pure determination. I was not going to lose my company. Not to a rumor, and certainly not to a girl.

I walked out of the study. My feet moved with absolute authority down the long, bright hallway of the main house. I left the luxury of the marble entrance behind and walked straight toward the dark, isolated hallway of the East Wing. Every step I took felt heavy, but my mind was sharp, calculating the exact moves I needed to make.

I reached the heavy wooden door of the storage room. I pulled the brass key from my pocket, slid it into the lock, and turned it. The loud, metallic Click echoed sharply in the quiet hallway.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was still flooded with the bright, harsh overhead light. Samantha was still sitting there on the edge of the mattress. She was wrapped tightly in a thick, high-quality luxury blanket. My eyes narrowed instantly as I looked at the fabric. I recognized that blanket. It did not belong in this dusty storage room. It was from the staff quarters.

Sophia.

A cold, dark smirk touched my lips as my anger found a perfect point of leverage. Samantha slowly turned her head, her tired, blank eyes locking onto mine. She did not flinch. She did not scream or beg. She just stared at me with that same quiet, frustrating look of resistance.

I stood tall in the doorway, crossing my arms over my chest, completely in control of the room.

"I see you have friends among my staff," I said, my voice smooth, hard, and dripping with threat.

Samantha did not say a word, but her body went slightly stiff under the blanket.

"Sophia has a very comfortable job here," I continued coldly, taking a slow step toward her. "She has been with my family for a long time. But it would be a shame if she was fired today. In fact, it would be a shame if I blacklisted her from every wealthy estate in the country, leaving her with absolutely nothing, unable to pay her rent or feed her family."

Samantha's eyes widened slightly. A sudden flicker of real panic finally broke through her blank, dead stare. She gripped the blanket tighter, her knuckles turning white.

"Tomorrow night, there is a gala," I said, looking down at her like a predator looking at its prey. "You are going to walk on my arm. You are going to wear an expensive dress, you are going to smile for the cameras, and you are going to play the part of a perfectly happy, devoted wife. You will cooperate exactly as I tell you to."

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a low, terrifying whisper.

"If you fail, if you look unhappy, or if you try to make a scene in front of the reporters... Sophia pays the price. I will ruin her life, Samantha, and I will make sure she knows it was because of you. Do we understand each other?"