The headline broke at 6:12 a.m.
Not with scandal. Not with accusations. Just truth, cold, unembellished, and devastating in its simplicity.
DAMIAN VALE CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP AMID CORPORATE TENSIONS
I read it once.
Then again.
Then I closed my phone and stared at the ceiling, listening to Elias breathe beside me.
He was still asleep. Curled toward me, one arm draped over my waist like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. The morning light softened the sharpness of his face, turned him from something guarded into something almost painfully gentle.
This was the moment I'd been protecting him from.
And the moment I had chosen anyway.
I pressed my palm lightly against his back, grounding myself in the warmth of him, the reality of him. Outside, the city was waking up unaware that something irreversible had already happened.
When Elias stirred, it was slow. Unrushed. He blinked a few times, then focused on me.
"You're awake early," he murmured.
"So are the vultures," I replied quietly.
He frowned slightly, then reached for his phone.
I watched the realization spread across his face not shock, not panic, but something steadier. He inhaled slowly, then set the phone aside.
"So," he said. "It's out."
"Yes."
He searched my expression. "And?"
"And there's no putting it back."
He nodded once. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my jaw. Not performative. Not defiant. Just… real.
"That's okay," he said.
I swallowed.
"You're not angry?"
"No."
"Afraid?"
"Yes," he admitted. "But not of this."
"What then?"
He met my gaze. "Of how loud it's about to get."
He wasn't wrong.
By 8 a.m., the calls started. Media. Board members. Partners. People who had never cared about my personal life were suddenly desperate to have opinions on it.
By 9, Elias's name was everywhere.
Analyst. Consultant. The man beside the billionaire.
They dissected him like a concept. Reduced him to speculation. Tried to decide if he was a liability or a phase.
By 10, the silence from certain quarters was louder than any headline.
I stood in my office later that morning, watching the city through bulletproof glass, suit perfectly pressed, expression unreadable. I had given interviews before. Faced hostile takeovers. Broken companies with a sentence.
None of it compared to this.
"Sir," my assistant said carefully, "the board is requesting an emergency session."
"Schedule it," I said.
"And… Mr. Reyes?"
I turned.
"He's being contacted directly now. Reporters. Think tanks. They want statements."
"Deny them," I said flatly.
She hesitated. "They'll keep pushing."
"I know."
Because that was the point.
I found Elias that evening sitting on the floor of the living room, back against the couch, laptop open, papers scattered around him. He looked calm. Too calm.
"You should've told me to disappear," he said without looking up.
I set my keys down slowly. "That would've been a lie."
He glanced at me then. "You could've protected me."
"I am protecting you," I said. "By not pretending you're something I can hide."
He closed the laptop.
"They're questioning my credibility," he said quietly. "As if I earned everything I have by standing next to you."
The anger flared hot and sharp in my chest.
"I'll end them," I said without thinking.
He smiled faintly. "That's not what I need."
I knelt in front of him, bringing us eye to eye.
"Then tell me what you need."
He studied my face for a long moment. "I need you not to apologize for me."
"I never would."
"I need you not to soften yourself to make this easier."
"I won't."
"And," he added softly, "I need you to let me stand where I choose."
I nodded. Slowly. "Then stand with me."
He reached up, cupping my face, thumb brushing my cheek. The touch was grounding. Intimate. Steady.
"I am," he said.
The boardroom the next day was brutal.
Questions disguised as concern. Warnings framed as advice. Threats wrapped in politeness.
"This could cost us," someone said.
"This already costs us," I replied. "The difference is whether it costs us integrity or comfort."
"You're gambling with everything," another snapped.
"Yes," I said calmly. "But not recklessly."
I stood.
"You taught me to build empires," I continued. "Not to live inside cages."
Silence followed.
When I left, my phone buzzed with a single message.
Elias: I'm proud of you.
It hit harder than any criticism.
That night, we didn't talk much.
We sat together on the balcony, city lights stretching endlessly below us. Elias leaned against my shoulder, fingers laced with mine. The world felt close. Watching. Waiting.
"Do you ever regret it?" he asked quietly.
"Choosing you?" I said.
"Yes."
I turned to him fully.
"Never," I said. "Not for a second."
He exhaled, resting his head against my chest.
"They'll never stop trying to define us," he said.
"No," I agreed. "So we won't let them."
I kissed his hair, slow and deliberate.
For the first time, I understood something I'd spent my life avoiding:
Power wasn't controlled.
It was a presence.
And love real love wasn't the weakness they warned me about.
It was the reason I would never step back again.