Ophelia's POV,
I didn't wait to hear Dante's response. My heels clicked down the hallway as I made for my room, still boiling from today's activities.
I nearly collided with someone halfway down the corridor.
"Watch it," I muttered, then looked up.
Alistair Vaughn. The younger son. The infamous playboy of the family. He smirked, brushing back a lock of dark hair.
"You're in a hurry, I see," he said, voice teasing.
I rolled my eyes mentally. This is the first time I'm seeing him and his first impression of me is seeing his mother insult me like I'm a mistress or something. I want to maneuver past him it he blocks my path with a grin. His smile is damn contagious.
"You are so damn beautiful. Where did you pick my brother from?"
Where I picked Dante from. Not where he picked me from.
"You're impossible," I said, laughing shortly.
He shrugged, mock-offended, brushing a hand through his dark hair. "I prefer charmingly impossible," he said.
Then, leaning closer, voice low and teasing, he murmured, "You know, my brother's never done anything this impressive. Signing the contract? A miracle. But you…" His grin softened just enough to make my heart lurch. "…you're a light. You brought something into our world that no one else could."
I blinked, startled by how sincere he sounded under the playfulness. Heat crept up my neck, and for one fleeting second, I almost believed it. Almost.
Then he straightened, giving me one last crooked smile before he turned to leave. "Don't worry," he called over his shoulder, voice teasing but warm. "I'll keep making the world forget their troubles… or at least help you forget yours for a little while."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving a ripple of laughter in his wake but the weight returned immediately, the room pressing back in, cold and accusing.
I swallowed hard, trembling slightly though not from fear exactly, but from the raw intensity of it. I realized then that even if the world hated effort from women like me, I wasn't alone anymore.
~ ~
The next day, my office was a war zone. Lydia and Adrian were present, calm amid the storm, while Freya read aloud every bit of damage inflicted by the media frenzy. Investors panicked. Stocks dipped. Clients demanded reassurances, some quietly pulled out.
My head had blurred everything out because I had started to blame myself. If I hadn't gone to that party, if only…
Lydia's voice was sharp, Adrian's measured, but when a board member suggested I take a "temporary leave," Adrian's glare froze the room. He leaned in, voice low, lethal.
"Remove her now, and you validate the scandal. Either you trust her leadership or admit you never did."
No vote happened, but the questions came anyway. One board member asked if I'd lied about my background. Another asked if my image was a liability. A third implied I'd manipulated Dante.
Lydia called them fools and Adrian was already calling reporters for damage control.
And then someone stupid commented I'd used Dante just to gain respect.
That's when I snapped.
"I was powerful long before I became his 'wife,'" I spat, standing from my chair. "Do not mistake my name for my success!"
They all stared at me, confused at my outburst. I glared at the dickhead. "You're fired. Pack your things immediately."
I didn't wait. I dismissed the board, slamming my laptop closed.
I called Calista. "What's the public damage?"
She sounded tired, almost helpless. "Worse," she said bluntly.
Before I could dwell on it, Rhea arrived, energy bright and fashionably calm, the kind of presence that made chaos feel almost manageable. She didn't waste a second. After hugging me, she spread out the media briefs, press releases, and interview requests across my desk like a general marshaling troops.
"We need to hit every major outlet," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "They already have a narrative. If we don't spin it, they'll define you. Not the truth."
I sank into my chair, shoulders heavy. "Spin it? Rhea, the world doesn't care about truth anymore," I muttered. "They don't care that I survived betrayal, that I built an empire from nothing. All they see is an ugly girl who changed her face and trapped a billionaire. Lies are easier than reality."
Rhea gave me a pointed look. "Then make them care about reality. We tell your story your way. Hard facts. Hard wins."
I shook my head, bitterness creeping in. "And what if Adrian changes his mind? He supported me today, yes, but investors panic, clients pull out… The board might start whispering about me stepping aside. And he… he could cave. He could remove me entirely."
Rhea's eyes softened, but she didn't patronize. "He won't. You've earned his respect, more than anyone else in that room. But fear is natural. Look at me. Every woman who rises this high feels it. You're scared, and that's fine."
I clenched my fists under the desk. "Fine? I'm furious, Rhea. Furious that people think effort from a woman is manipulation. Furious that two years of building, scraping, fighting, and bleeding means nothing. That my intelligence, my decisions, my work… are invisible because they want a scandal instead."
Rhea leaned forward, placing her hand lightly over mine. "Then make them see you. Not the rumor, not the gossip, not the lies. Show them what you're capable of. You're not invisible, Ophelia. You never were. They just need to be reminded."
I let out a shaky breath, anger and fear tangled in my chest. "I know… but I feel cornered. Every move I make will be dissected. Every decision questioned. And if Adrian doubts me… if he ever doubts me…"
My voice faltered for a second, uncharacteristically small. "I don't know if I could survive losing this empire after finally claiming it."
Rhea's grip on my hand tightened. "Then we make sure that doesn't happen. Together. You don't survive this alone. We control the narrative, we own it, and the world bends or breaks trying to rewrite it. That's your strength. That's what they can't take from you."
I stared at her, feeling some of the tension in my chest ease, though a storm still raged inside.
"You make it sound simple," I said, voice low, almost bitterly.
She smiled, mischievous but resolute. "It's never simple, Ophelia. But you're not a simple woman. And neither is this fight."
I nodded, finally feeling a flicker of clarity. I wasn't helpless. I wasn't a pawn. And if the world wanted a spectacle, I'd give them one they'd never forget—on my terms.
By mid-afternoon, I found myself at Dante's company. The receptionist, smiling but firm, stopped me.
"Mr. Vaughn is in a meeting."
I clenched my jaw, the insult burning me. Of course he'd asked them to block me. I turned to leave and almost ran into a tall man with a presence that made me pause.
"Hey, hey, you don't keep my sister-in-law out," he said sharply, reprimanding the receptionists.
"Your… sister-in-law?" I asked.
He grinned and shook my head, enthusiastically. "Victor Blackthorne, your husband's best friend."
I frown and mutter, "I didn't know he had friends."
He laughs loudly and leads me into the elevator. I'm suddenly self-conscious. What if he convinces Dante that he should let me go? That would destroy the little image I have. I try not to care.
When I stepped into Dante's boardroom, every seat occupied by sharp suits and colder eyes, Dante froze mid-sentence. He stood, voice commanding, dismissing the board immediately.
"You're dismissed," he said. "We'll continue in a moment."
My eyes met his. No words passed, but I could feel the tension simmer.
"Hi." I say, breathlessly and he takes one step forward.
"Hi."
"And I'm chopped liver." We ignore Victor who scoffs and dips his hand into the candy jar.
Dante briefed me quickly, efficiently, as though this were a quarterly loss and not my life being pulled apart in public.
"The press believes the marriage was a manipulation," he said, hands folded behind his back. "They think you engineered it. That I was cornered."
He paused, watching my face, likely searching for cracks. I gave him none.
"On my side, it's noise. Speculation. Nothing catastrophic," he continued. "But noise becomes rot if you let it fester."
I nodded once, silent. My pulse stayed steady even as my chest burned.
"They're questioning my judgment," Dante went on. "And by extension, yours. I won't allow that."
Still, I said nothing.
He turned toward the door and spoke into the intercom. "Send him in."
The door opened and a man walked in like he owned the air. Marcello. Broad shoulders, predatory calm, eyes that had seen things the law never touched. He didn't look like an executive or an advisor. He looked… well, scary.
"This is Marcello," Dante said, voice smooth, almost reverent. "He handles problems in a way that…doesn't respond to civility."
Marcello inclined his head slightly in my direction, his gaze assessing, unbothered.
"He's family," Dante added. "And he's loyal."
I stayed quiet, though something cold settled at the base of my spine.
"The plan is simple," Dante continued. "We identify the loudest voices. The ones pushing the narrative. Editors. Bloggers. Financiers funding the smear."
Marcello smiled faintly.
"They'll be reminded," Dante said, calmly, "that there are lines you don't cross. Careers will end. Doors will close. Some people will learn fear the hard way."
I finally looked at him then.
"This won't be legal," I said, my voice steady despite the tension crawling up my throat.
Dante met my gaze without flinching. "It will be effective."
I stared at Marcello again. At the ease in his stance. At how comfortable he was with violence dressed as strategy.
"So this is how you handle things," I said quietly. "By force."
Dante stepped closer. "By certainty. By dominance. By ending threats before they become wars."
Something sharp rose in my chest. Anger. Disbelief. A deep, visceral refusal.
"You want to protect me by turning me into a reason someone disappears?" I asked. "You want my name tied to blood and fear?"
"This world respects power," Dante replied. "And power isn't always polite."
I shook my head slowly. "Well, that's your world. Not mine."
The room tightened.
Marcello and Victor glanced between us, amused, as if watching a familiar fracture form.
"I won't be saved like this," I said, louder now. "Not by brute force. Not by men who think terror equals loyalty."
Yes, that's the problem. If this goes as Dane as planned, the world will see it as me hiding behind the manipulated billionaire. It wouldn't help shit.
Dante's jaw flexed. "Silence will destroy you."
I stepped back. "Then let it try. But I won't let you burn the world down in my name."
Dante's eyes narrowed, and he leaned close till our faces were inches apart. "I am your husband, Ophelia. That's what husbands do."
I let out a sharp laugh and looked him dead in the eye.
"Fake husband," I corrected, and turned on my heel, leaving the room and leaving him there, jaw tight, watching me go.