All Chapters of Married to my Arrogant Sponsor : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The elevator ride to the top floor of the anonymous high rise was silent too silent. Ava adjusted her blazer, her reflection in the mirrored walls calm, composed. But inside, she was on fire. The message had come in the night, encrypted, unsigned. All it said was: “You’ve been asking the wrong Wolfe. If you want answers, come alone. Level 42. Noon.” She hadn’t shown Grayson. Not yet. Not because she didn’t trust him but because something about the message felt… outside even his reach. The elevator chimed. She stepped out into a marble floored corridor that smelled faintly of jasmine and polished power. No secretary. No visible cameras. Just a single walnut door at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar. She pushed it open. Inside was a woman. Late fifties, steel gray hair in a perfect twist. Crisp blouse. Gold pen in hand, poised over a folder that looked older than both Ava’s foundations combined.

By the next morning, the press release was live.A digital statement on Wolfe & Sinclair’s website. Transparent. Unapologetic. Unfiltered.“We acknowledge the manipulation of narratives through third-party media outlets, podcast partnerships, and selective publicity. As of today, we are terminating all media gatekeeping contracts and offering our full cooperation to any regulatory body wishing to audit our communications history.”At the bottom, a single quote by Ava:“Truth without power is still truth. Power without truth is just noise.”It exploded.Within six hours, three major media networks issued statements denying involvement.Within ten, two confirmed “editorial oversights” and suspended producers.By evening, #ReclaimYourNarrative was trending worldwide.But with every wave of praise came whispers of danger.Grayson was the first to sense it. After a tense board call, he walked into A

The following morning, the Wolfe & Sinclair office felt different: lighter, sharper, alert. Ava noticed it the moment she stepped off the elevator. Olivia’s face carried cautious optimism. Naomi’s presence, along with her sudden return to visibility, had stirred something hope fanning embers of purpose.She passed Naomi’s desk on her way to her office. Naomi worked quietly, phone pressed to one ear, typing on her laptop. Her brow was furrowed, but each tap sounded like progress. Ava offered a brief nod. Naomi returned it determined, poised, already in warrior mode.This meeting with Grayson and Luisa was not planned. She’d called it after Naomi’s departure, wanting all of them in one room before the day went too far off mission.Around the conference table, their team filed in. Grayson took his usual seat beside Ava, while Naomi sat across from her. Maps, documents, and laptops were spread across the table.Luisa, acting as unofficial moderator, b

The city had quieted into its own kind of hush one only found in the hours between dusk and midnight. And for the first time in days, Ava stood alone on the balcony of the Sinclair Wolfe tower, looking out at the skyline not as a cage, not even as a canvas but as a mirror. Below her, traffic pulsed and life moved forward. But up here, the world waited. And so did she. It had been a week since the tribunal. Since she stood under oath and let the truth cut clean through years of silence. Her words had echoed through the courtroom like dropped stones in deep water. Not angry. Not trembling. Just real. And finally, hers. No one had spoken to Grayson since the verdict. Not even her. Luisa had tried once. Knocked on the glass office door where he sat staring at old photographs and the crumbling scaffolding of a legacy built on omission. But he waved her away with a look Ava knew too well one that said: “I need to fall apart priva

The bell above the bookshop door chimed softly as Ava stepped inside. The scent of old pages and steeped tea wrapped around her like an old friend. The shelves hadn’t changed much in the years since she last came. Still crooked in places. Still filled with poetry and rebellion.It had been five years since the garden.Five years since she stepped through the glass doors of the Sinclair Wolfe Foundation and whispered to herself, This time, it’s mine.And it had been five years of real, messy, beautiful work.She still had the notebook Grayson had given her on their wedding day. It was half filled now ink bleeding from long nights, hard truths, and the stories of women who once believed they didn’t have a choice.But today wasn’t about any of that.Today was just… her.A rare, quiet moment where she wasn’t Ava Sinclair-Wolfe: CEO, advocate, or headline.She was just a woman craving a story that didn’t belong to he