CHAPTER TWELVE: STRANGERS WITH FAMILIAR FACES
MAYA
You know the feeling when something good finally happens, and then immediately, the universe taps you on the shoulder and says, "Now let's make this complicated"? That was Tuesday.
I'd barely stepped out of the penthouse that morning when I saw it:
BREAKING: Damian Voltaire's Mystery Woman Revealed to Have Ties With Controversial Former Employee
They'd dug into my past. Not even my past my sister's. The article plastered my full name, where I went to school, my hometown, and a rumor about my older sister's lawsuit against a former employer.
"She's from a family that knows how to stir headlines," it read.
And just like that, they rewrote me. Not as a woman, not as a worker, not even as a girlfriend.
But as a narrative.
Damian was waiting for me at the gym. I didn't need to say anything he already knew.
He handed me a smoothie, but I didn't touch it.
"I knew they'd dig," he said, voice low. "I just didn't think they'd drag your family into it."
I sat down heavily. "It's not just about me anymore. It's my parents. My niece. My old friends. My freaking high school librarian might get a press call."
"I'll call legal. I'll handle it."
"You always say that. And I appreciate it, Damian, I do. But this isn't something you fix with power. This is something I survive with identity."
He nodded, eyes dark. "Then I'll be beside you while you do."
That night, we stayed in. No rooftop restaurants. No dresses. Just ramen and reruns on a couch so soft it felt like a hug.
Midway through an old action movie, he paused it.
"I talked to my father today," he said.
I turned. "Voltaire Sr.?"
He nodded slowly. "He said what we're doing is reckless. That you're a 'PR miscalculation.'"
My breath caught. "And what did you say?"
"I told him I'm not negotiating you."
I blinked. "You what?"
"I told him you're not a problem to solve. You're not a headline to spin. You're the person who makes me want to be something other than what he raised."
I didn't speak. I couldn't. My throat burned.
He continued, "I've spent my life making decisions based on strategy. You're the first thing I've chosen with my heart."
I leaned into him. "So what do we do now?"
He looked down at me. "We stay honest. We stay grounded. And we don't flinch."
We kissed again, and this time it wasn't desperate it was steady. A promise.
But the world didn't stop turning just because we were in love.
The next morning, there was a letter on my desk at work:
Voluntary Leave Offered No Penalty to Resume Employment Later
No signature. Just a line from the board.
A warning dressed as a favor.
I walked out of the building that day not because I was weak.
But because I finally understood the difference between being tolerated and being respected.
And I refused to let love shrink me.
Even if it meant burning my own chapter just to write the next one.
Damian was waiting outside in a black car. He didn't ask. He just opened the door.
I climbed in without a word, leaned my head against his shoulder.
And together, we drove off into the unknown with nothing to prove but everything to feel.
THE PEOPLE WHO SEE US
LOLA
If you asked me who Maya was five years ago, I'd say: smart, stubborn, overly polite, allergic to risk. The kind of girl who triple-checks an email before sending and apologizes to mannequins when she bumps into them.
But now? Maya's still all that but she's grown fire. She's the kind of woman who walks into a storm with her chin up, who burns bridges only if they lead to nowhere, who dares to want love and dignity in the same lifetime.
And somehow still humble enough to do her own laundry.
When the headlines exploded, I braced for disaster. Not for Maya she's tougher than she looks but for the vultures that circled her like she owed them softness.
I saw her walk out of her job with her shoulders straight and her lips set like a cliff. Not broken. Not even bruised. Just done.
Damian Voltaire might be Maya's world right now, but I'll be damned if anyone forgets she built her own light before he ever stepped into it.
So yes, I posted the fan edit. And yes, I hashtagged it #MayaDeservesTheWorld.
Because she does.
She's been everyone's shoulder. Everyone's cheerleader. Everyone's afterthought.
Now? She's the headline. And not just for kissing a rich guy but for surviving every version of herself that tried to make her smaller.
DAMIAN
They say when you fall in love, you see the world differently.
But for me, it was the opposite.
When I fell in love with Maya, I didn't see the world differently I saw myself differently.
I've spent most of my life behind glass.
Boardrooms. Contracts. Suits. Safe distances. Everything about me was calculated how I spoke, how I smiled, how much emotion was allowed in public.
And then this woman walked into my gym.
Sweaty. Fierce. Exhausted. Unfiltered. Brilliant.
She didn't need me to teach her strength. She already had it. All I did was stand there long enough for her to stop hiding it.
She challenged everything my patience, my beliefs, my rhythm. She made me uncomfortable in the most healing way.
I started waiting for her laugh like it was music. I found myself rewriting my day just to make space for her quiet.
And somewhere between the sarcasm, the softness, and the silent bravery, I fell.
Maya doesn't complete me.
She reminds me I was whole before I forgot.
She reminds me I'm allowed to want softness without weakness. Power without cruelty. Love without condition.
She doesn't need saving. She just needs space to bloom.
And I want to be the kind of man who doesn't try to own her fire, but fans it.
So when my father called her a mistake, I didn't flinch.
Because if Maya is a mistake, then maybe I've spent my entire life avoiding the only kind of truth that actually matters.
I'd give up every cent, every title, every press release if it meant she'd still look at me the way she did when I told her I was already in love.
SARAH (Maya's co-worker)
I didn't know Maya well. She was the quiet type. Smart. Always on time. Polite to a fault. But you could tell she had this steel under her skin. Like she was holding the world together with a paperclip and hope.
When the story broke, the whispers started.
Some people said she was lucky. Others called it calculated. I stayed silent.
Because I saw her that day the way she sat at her desk, shoulders square, typing like the world wasn't burning around her. I saw the way she smiled at the intern, even after HR pulled her into another meeting. I saw her kindness in the middle of chaos.
And when she handed in her badge, I didn't see defeat. I saw a woman choosing peace over permission.
People like Maya don't climb ladders.
They build their own stairs.
And someday, when the noise dies down, we'll realize she wasn't the distraction.
She was the blueprint.
MAYA
I didn't ask to be anyone's symbol.
I didn't wake up and think, "Today, I'll become a headline."
But when the noise came loud and brutal I didn't run. I didn't shrink.
I walked through the fire. Not because I'm fearless. But because I'm finally, painfully, beautifully tired of living small.
I want big love. Big honesty. Big stillness.
And if that means being misunderstood by the world, then so be it.
Because the people who see me? They never needed an explanation to love me.
And that includes me.