The sun rose reluctantly over Nova Heights that morning, its light fractured by a haze of storm clouds and scandal.
Christopher's public defense had shaken the entire city — but by dawn, the narrative had mutated again.
Headlines screamed louder than reason ever could.
> "King's Mistress Manipulates CEO?"
"Inside the Affair That Rocked KingTech."
"Sources Say Amelia Jones Used Sympathy to Climb Corporate Ladder."
The same media that had painted her a victim yesterday now called her a siren, a schemer, a woman who knew how to play her cards.
---
Amelia watched it all unfold from Lydia's kitchen table.
The kettle hissed behind her, the triplets argued softly in the background, but she couldn't hear any of it — just the static in her mind.
Each article was a dagger.
Each comment section, a battlefield of strangers dissecting her life like it was gossip, not grief.
Lydia tried to take the phone from her hand. "Meli, stop reading those. They're poison."
Amelia laughed hollowly. "You can't stop poison once it's in your blood."
Lydia sighed, pacing the room. "Christopher stood up for you, okay? He did what no one else would've. You should at least—"
"I should what?" Amelia snapped, tears brimming. "Thank him for painting a bigger target on my back? For turning my life into a headline again?"
Lydia froze, guilt flashing in her eyes. "That's not what I meant."
Amelia pressed her palms to her face, her voice breaking. "He didn't think. He reacted. And now everyone thinks I used him — again."
There was a long silence, broken only by the twins' laughter drifting in from the living room — innocent, untouched by the ugliness of the world.
"I can't let them see this," she whispered. "Not my babies. Not this filth."
Lydia's tone softened. "Then what are you going to do?"
Amelia straightened slowly, resolve hardening her trembling voice.
"I'm going to end this. My way."
---
At KingTech, the atmosphere was radioactive.
Every corridor buzzed with tension, whispers snapping like electricity. Some employees looked at Christopher with awe; others with fear.
But none dared speak when he entered the room.
In the glass-walled conference hall, the investigation committee had convened. Screens glowed with data, digital evidence, and employee records. Mark sat at the far end, jaw tight, eyes locked on his laptop.
> "Sir," Mark said quietly, "the leak came from multiple sources — some internal, others tied to Moretti's offshore accounts. But she's not the only one. Someone higher is helping her."
Christopher's gaze sharpened. "Higher?"
Mark hesitated. "A board member."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through steel.
---
Meanwhile, Elena Moretti sat at her vanity, painting her lips crimson — her armor of choice.
Her phone buzzed. A message flashed from a blocked number.
> "The photo didn't break them. You'll have to hit harder."
She smiled — a slow, venomous smile.
"Then I'll go for the heart."
Her eyes drifted to the framed picture beside her — a much younger Christopher, his arm casually slung around her shoulders, both laughing under the Roman sun.
"You once told me I was your peace," she murmured to the photograph. "Let's see how peaceful you are when I take everything that gives you light."
She picked up her phone again, scrolling through her gallery until she found it — an old email draft Christopher once sent years ago during their engagement.
A single line read:
> "Sometimes I wish I'd chosen the easier path — one without love."
Elena smirked. "Oh, darling. Let's make that public."
---
Back at Lydia's apartment, Amelia stood by the window, watching the city pulse below.
Her mind was at war — between gratitude and fury, relief and fear.
Then her phone rang.
"Christopher," she answered, voice low.
> "Amelia. We need to talk."
"I don't think we do," she said quietly. "You did enough."
> "You're angry. I get that. But you're not safe—"
"I was never safe around you, Christopher."
The line went dead.
He stared at his phone for a long time, the rejection hitting harder than he expected.
---
That night, Amelia stepped out into the city for the first time in days.
She wore a plain coat, no makeup, her hair tucked under a cap. The cold air stung, but it grounded her.
Nova Heights was buzzing — her name flashing across every billboard, every café screen, every whisper that followed her shadow.
She took a deep breath and whispered, "You wanted a villain? Fine. Let's give you one."
And as the wind whipped around her, thunder cracked far in the distance — the same storm that had followed Christopher since the beginning.
---