Post Possession Damage Control Novel Novels & Stories

I’m lоѕіng control. Bеіng аffесtеd by Cаrrіе is mаkіng mу аngеr wоrѕе. Evеrу dау I’m raging аbоut one thіng оr аnоthеr. Whеn is this going tо ѕtор? [Next POV will be 'Blake' in Chapter 26] ******** Author Says: Join Your Fellow Readers Here & Gossip:👉 bit.ly/avi22nash

Their PR team had already drafted statements, headlines, and potential social media responses. “Damage control won’t be enough,” the director said briskly. “We need a narrative. Something strong, clean, and believable.” “Like what?” Dante asked lazily. “That Miss Carver is being courted professionally,” the woman replied. “That all three men — Dusk, Cross, and Moretti — were discussing collaborations with her fashion brand. Nothing personal.” Liana blinked. “You mean lie.” “It’s not lying,” Cassian said, though his tone betrayed his discomfort. “It’s redirecting.”

It's always a show. As time goes on, people starts to mingle. More of Robert's acquaintances are made known. Even the editor-in-chief of Vogue and her husband are part of it all. Others already clutching on bottles they have purchased. A few more, “who is this, Rob?” “Where did you meet this one?” “What happened to the other one?” The last one was my favourite. I wonder too. What happened to April Anderson? “Things didn't work out. Two polar opposite, it was bound to crumble,” that is always Robert's answer.

Hope nothing bad happens to Drake 😔😔 before they get help. Actually let's find out in the next chapter. Please tell me what you think about this chapter. Let me know through your comments.

I whispered, having a strong feeling that Ashley was behind it. “What was that?” She asked, and the three of them stared at me. “Ohh, it’s nothing,” I lied, grabbing a drink from a passing server. Alpha Drax furrowed his brows when he saw the glass I was holding. What now? I truly don’t care of his opinion at this point. All I felt, was rage. Rage I couldn’t release. Before he could say a word, I gulped the whole content down my throat, it burned so bad. My chest was as though it was on fire, the taste was so strong and bitter.

My body was already a frozen shell, the cold seeping into my very bones. Hearing about Hallie's injuries had sent me rushing to her, with the warm pie I knew she loved. Never in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined walking into that scene, my own boyfriend, Camilo White, the beta I loved, painting me as the villain in public. He stood amidst the pack members, his every gesture exaggerated. It was a carefully cooked up lie. "Violet disappeared that night. Who knows how many rogues defiled her? She's impure. How could I ever consider marking her? Out of respect for her father, a beta himself, I might reluctantly allow her to be my mistress, a mere servant to Hallie."

“That might actually make things worse.” “Everything is already worse.” I snapped at Lydia as silence followed after, then she spoke up again. “Yes sir” she said. I rubbed my face, leaning back in my chair as another notification buzzed through my phone. It was another article and headline. Another version of the story, twisted in a different way. I didn't even need to open it. I already knew what it was. “Damage control is not working anymore.” Lydia said. I let out a dry laugh. “I don't actually give no shit about that.” I said.

Every blog. Every gossip channel. "The Billionaire Groom Requests an Instant Annulment." "Moretti Industries Is Rocked by a Corporate Espionage Scandal" "Insider Sources Verify Bride's Transfer of Private Documents." Insider sources. The phrase made my stomach twist. Lucian had moved fast. Of course he had. Damage control was instinct to him. Reputation was currency. And I had just been labeled the liability. The apartment belonged to my college friend, Mara. She was away on a work trip and had given me the spare key months ago “just in case.” Neither of us had imagined this scenario.

The question was quiet, but it filled the space between us like a shout. “Damage control,” he said flatly. “Damage control? You called yourself a petty, vindictive asshole on national television. You gave them a motive. You basically dared them to cancel you. That’s not control. That’s… self-immolation.” He shrugged, the movement stiff in the fine suit jacket. “It’s a version of the truth they can understand. A dumb jock seeking revenge. It’s simple. It’s salacious. It ends the ‘who-knew-what’ mystery. Now it’s just about whether people forgive a bastard, not whether they believe a victim.”