Rain drummed against the windows of the penthouse, a steady rhythm that filled the silence hanging between Leonardo "Leo" Maddox Cross and Ariana Blake.
Ariana, 29, interior designer, stood barefoot in the living room with a towel still wrapped around her damp hair. Her frame—slender and lithe at 5'6"—was draped in one of Leo's oversized shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hazel eyes were fixed on the muted television, where her past had been ripped wide open for the world to feast on.
On screen, a popular entertainment anchor wore a smug smile as she read the headline: "TRILLIONAIRE'S 'FIANCÉE' EXPOSED: Shocking Texts Reveal Her Real Motives."
Leo, 34, billionaire tech mogul with cold steel-gray eyes and a sharp jawline that looked carved from stone, was still dressed in his charcoal Armani suit, the tie loose, hair tousled as if he'd run his hand through it too many times. At 6'3", he normally occupied every room with an intimidating presence—but right now, the air had been taken from him.
Ariana's voice broke the silence. "Those messages… they were taken out of context."
"I know," Leo said, jaw clenched.
"And those photos—they were from before. From years ago." Her voice cracked. "Before any of this."
He didn't answer right away. He was staring at the tablet in his hands, skimming the full story. Her name was plastered everywhere. Every image was carefully chosen to make her look like a manipulative social climber—her laughing with a male client, a filtered selfie from years ago, a caption twisted to seem like she had ambitions of marrying rich.
Ariana walked slowly to the edge of the couch, perching as if unsure if she still belonged in the room. "Was it her?"
Leo met her gaze, his voice a low growl. "Yes. Veronica."
Veronica West—his ex-fiancée, model-turned-entrepreneur, socialite, and a woman who didn't lose gracefully.
"I thought she backed off after the gala," Ariana muttered, curling her arms around herself.
Leo stood, restless. "She didn't. She's been planning this. Planting stories. Working with tabloids. And these texts—they were on your old phone. Someone leaked them. Probably paid your ex."
Ariana's stomach turned. "Nathan?"
Leo nodded grimly. "He gave her access. Likely sold your messages and pictures for a payout."
"God." Ariana covered her face, letting out a broken breath. "This is—this is a nightmare. My past, my worst moments, twisted and served like I'm the villain in your world."
"You're not," Leo said fiercely. "I know you're not."
"But the world thinks I am."
Leo looked at her, and for once, the walls weren't entirely up. There was frustration, yes, but also regret. He'd promised to protect her. This? This wasn't protection. This was public crucifixion.
She stood, moving to the window. The skyline of New York stretched endlessly, but tonight it felt like a cage. "I left that life behind for a reason. I rebuilt from nothing. And now… I'm reduced to a headline."
Behind her, Leo paced. "We'll shut it down."
"How? With money? A cease and desist?" She turned sharply. "They've already eaten the story alive. People believe what they want to believe."
"Then we give them a better story," he said simply.
Ariana blinked. "What?"
He walked closer. "A distraction. A new narrative. We double down."
Her brows furrowed. "You mean… pretend to be more in love?"
"Yes. An exclusive interview. Controlled coverage. A show of unity. I'll release a statement."
Ariana shook her head slowly. "So your solution is more pretending?"
He looked down. "It's all I can do—for now."
Ariana's lips tightened. "You don't get it, Leo. I'm not just embarrassed. I'm… ashamed. Those texts were private. That girl—I was trying to be someone, survive after Nathan drained my accounts, ghosted me, and left me drowning in debt. I took any client I could. I played nice. And yeah, I joked about 'dating up' once because I was tired and pissed and didn't know someone like you would ever see it."
He was silent.
She let out a shaky laugh. "And now? Now the world thinks I planned this. Like I scammed a trillionaire."
Leo stepped closer, voice low. "Look at me."
She hesitated, but met his eyes.
"You didn't scam me. If anything, I walked into your life and demanded you change everything."
Her chest ached.
He exhaled. "But you're right. This isn't fair to you. None of this is."
Ariana sat back on the edge of the couch, resting her head in her hands. "I don't know how to fight this."
Leo crouched in front of her. His suit creased, expensive fabric folding beneath his knees. He placed his hands on hers, gently prying them away from her face.
"We fight it together," he said.
She stared at him. And in that moment, she didn't see the ruthless billionaire. She saw the man who'd sat beside her during the flu, the one who made soup, who left her sketchbooks, who stared at her like she was a puzzle he wanted to understand.
"I'm tired," she whispered.
"Then rest. I'll handle the press."
She hesitated. "You don't have to."
"I want to."
She didn't respond. Just leaned her forehead against his for a moment—quiet, still, and full of something neither of them had the courage to name yet.
---
By the next morning, the internet was on fire.
Veronica West's "exclusive" interview aired on a morning talk show, her crocodile tears falling as she spoke about being "concerned for Leo's well-being" and how Ariana was "opportunistic" and "dangerous."
The media ate it up.
But Leo didn't stay silent.
Ariana sat in the penthouse library, curled in an armchair, as Leo's live press conference streamed across every major network.
He wore a dark navy suit. Classic. Sharp. His jaw was clean-shaven, his hair combed back. His tone? Controlled fire.
"I've stayed silent long enough," he began. "But the time has come to clarify."
Ariana leaned forward, breath held.
"My fiancée, Ariana Blake, is not a gold-digger. She's not a scammer. She's not interested in fame or headlines. She is an award-winning designer, an independent woman who rebuilt her life after being financially and emotionally manipulated by people who promised to love her."
A ripple went through the room of reporters.
"She's the strongest person I've ever met. And I trust her—completely."
The reporters fired questions. Leo didn't waver.
When asked about the messages, he said calmly, "We all have pasts. But Ariana's past doesn't define her present—or her worth."
And finally, when someone asked, "Are you still marrying her, Mr. Cross?"—he smiled faintly and replied, "That was never in question."
Ariana's heart stuttered.
---
But later that night, when she walked into the master bedroom, she found Leo staring at a file on his laptop, the glow of the screen casting shadows on his face.
She approached quietly. "Thank you… for what you said."
He looked up, tone neutral. "It was the truth."
She crossed her arms, unsure. "You could've left me out to dry. Saved the merger. Found someone new."
"I didn't want to."
She sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?"
He stood, shutting the laptop. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice was quiet.
"Because when I saw you on that screen… hurting, humiliated… I realized something."
She waited.
"I've spent years pretending emotions don't matter. That feelings are liabilities. But this?" He gestured between them. "This is real. And if I lose you, I lose the only honest thing I've had in a long time."
Her chest squeezed painfully. "So what now?"
"We protect each other. No more pretending."
Ariana searched his face. "Do you mean that?"
He nodded. "I'll burn the contract, Ariana. Today, tomorrow—whenever you're ready. Stay because you want to. Not because of business."
She stood, walked toward him slowly. "Then stop hiding behind your suit. Your strategy. Your silence."
He stared at her.
"Tell me how you feel."
He opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
And walked out of the room.
---