All Chapters of Slaving the Lady Billionaire: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Arrow has spent his life learning how lies move.They don’t travel in straight lines. They bend. They refract. They multiply when repeated by the right mouths, at the right speed, with just enough truth braided through them to feel real.By noon, he can map the damage like a battlefield.He stands in the conference room of De La Vega Holdings, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, eyes flicking between half a dozen screens. Each one shows a different outlet, a different headline, a different version of the same moment.None of them are accurate.All of them are effective.“That photo was edited,” Arrow says for the third time. His voice is calm, but the tension beneath it is unmistakable. “The metadata is inconsistent. The timestamp doesn’t match the event. The lighting has been manipulated.”One of the PR consultants nods politely. Another avoids his gaze.“That may be true,” the lead strategist says carefully, “but correction doesn’t neutralize impact.”Arrow turns slowly. “So we’re just… l

Celeste packs with the precision of someone trying not to feel.Each movement is careful. Deliberate. Fold, stack, align. She chooses neutral colors first—black, cream, gray—as if loudness might betray her. The suitcase lies open on the bed like a quiet accusation, its emptiness filling faster than she expects.She doesn’t cry.She doesn’t want to give the moment that satisfaction.The penthouse is too large without sound. No music. No staff. Just the low hum of the city far below and the occasional buzz of her phone, which she has turned face-down on the dresser.She hears Arrow before she sees him.His footsteps hesitate in the doorway, like he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to cross the threshold into this version of her.“Celeste,” he says softly.She keeps folding.“I can explain.”Her hands still for half a second. Then resume.“I’ve read the explanations,” she replies. Her voice is even. Too even. “There are many.”He steps closer. She can feel his presence behind her—warm, fami

Arrow does not ask for permission.That alone sends his advisors into panic.“This is not scheduled,” his chief of staff says sharply, pacing the conference room. “There’s no approved statement. No legal framing.”“That’s the point,” Arrow replies.“You can’t just walk into a live broadcast and improvise during a scandal of this magnitude.”Arrow buttons his jacket with calm, deliberate precision. “I’m not improvising. I’m ending something.”The room goes silent.His legal counsel exhales slowly. “If you speak emotionally, you validate Clause Five. You admit attachment.”Arrow finally looks at them. His gaze is steady, unflinching. “I already have.”No one stops him after that.The studio is freezing.Lights glare down like judgment, bleaching the color from everything they touch. Arrow stands alone at the center of the stage—no desk, no moderator, no buffer.Just him.The red light blinks on.Across the country, millions tune in expecting denial, spin, corporate smoothness.They don’

The invitation is disguised as nostalgia.A late-night talk show. Soft lighting. A velvet couch. The promise of context.Arrow learns about it the same way he’s learned about everything else lately—through a push notification that feels like a punch.FORMER FLAME OF ARROW DE LA VEGA SPEAKS OUT TONIGHTHe closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightening. Of course she would surface now. The timing is surgical.“Kill it,” he tells his team. “Threaten litigation.”PR shakes their heads. “She hasn’t accused you of anything yet. Not legally.”“Yet,” Arrow mutters.Across the city, Celeste watches the promo clip in a hotel room that smells faintly of bleach and unfamiliar soap. She’s learned to keep the television volume low, as if the damage will be quieter that way.The woman on screen is beautiful in an effortless, practiced way. Hair glossy. Smile warm. The kind of ease that suggests she has never doubted her place in a room.“I wouldn’t call it cheating,” the woman says lightly in the preview.

The country does not move on.It fractures.By the fifth day after Arrow’s speech, there is no longer a single narrative—only factions. Commentators stop pretending neutrality. Influencers pick sides. News panels turn into battlegrounds where Celeste’s name is dissected like a theory instead of a person.Supporters call Arrow brave.Detractors call him manipulative.And Celeste—Celeste is the absence around which everything spins.She watches it all from a hotel room that smells faintly of citrus cleaner and unfamiliar linen. She chose it because it isn’t hers. Because nothing in it reminds her of who she used to be.The television hums softly, muted captions scrolling beneath a panel of talking heads.“…emotional overreaction—”“…symbol of modern female fragility—”“…Arrow De La Vega’s declaration was unprecedented—”Celeste clicks the television off.Silence rushes in, heavy and absolute.She sits on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, phone in her hands. It’s open to Arrow’s speec