Brandon didn't flinch, he just stood there, solid and steady, like he was braced against a storm only I could feel.
"Amelia," he said quietly, and when I finally let him take my hands, his grip was firm, grounding.
"Look at me."
I dragged my eyes up to his. His calmness infuriating and comforting all at once, like he hadn't just shown me proof that the people who could hurt me the most had reached into our lives.
"They can't touch us now," he said, voice even, measured.
"Not the way they would have before. The story's out. Everyone's watching them. Any move they make against us, if they so much as breathe in our direction, it'll confirm everything Daniel printed. They know that. Exposure is the one thing they can't fight."
I shook my head, the words fighting with the fear clawing at me. "You don't know them like I do. They won't stop. They'll find a way —"
"They won't," he cut in, gentle but unyielding. "They've lost the element of surprise. That's all they had. Now the world is staring at them, waiting for an explanation they don't have. That's their cage, not ours."
His hands tightened around mine, steady as a heartbeat. "They can't do anything without destroying themselves. And you are not alone in this. I won't let you face it by yourself."
Something in me cracked then — not in panic this time, but a release. The fight drained out of my chest, leaving only the ache of exhaustion. I let out a shaky breath and leaned into him, my forehead pressing against his shoulder.
For the first time all morning, I felt the ringing in my ears quiet. The phone could buzz a hundred more times, the world could spin out in chaos, but right there, in his arms, I wasn't drowning anymore.
Brandon's steadiness seeped into me by degrees, like warmth through chilled skin. My breathing slowed, though the knot in my stomach didn't fully let go. I leaned against him only long enough to stop shaking, then forced myself upright again.
"I can't fall apart," I said, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. My voice was rough, but it held. "That's exactly what they want — for me to be too scared to think straight."
He didn't argue, just nodded like he understood. "Then don't give them that. You're stronger than they ever believed you were. Stronger than they want you to be."
I paced the room, slower now, deliberate instead of frantic. The newspaper still lay on the coffee table, headlines sharp and black against the white. I hated the sight of it, hated the reminder of how exposed everything had become. But I didn't shove it away this time. I let it sit there, daring me to look at it.
"They'll spin it," I said finally. "They'll deny everything, call it speculation, try to paint me as careless or complicit. That's how they work."
"They can try," Brandon said, calm as ever. "But the facts are out there. The money trails. The accounts. The story's bigger than them now. They can't bury it."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the weight in my chest didn't ease. "You don't understand. My parents won't just fight back — they will scorch the earth. And they won't care who burns with it."
He held my gaze, steady and certain. "Then let them try. This time, they're the ones standing in the open. Not you."
I pressed my lips together hard, forcing myself to nod. It was the truth, or close enough to it, and I clung to that thought like a lifeline.
Still, a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that the email was only the beginning — the first ripple of a wave still building, somewhere just out of sight.
The flat had gone still again, the silence thick with everything unsaid. I sat back down on the sofa, arms folded tightly, trying to will myself into calm. Brandon watched me for a moment longer, then moved into the kitchen, busying himself with the kettle, like the simple act of making tea could keep the world at bay.
That was when my phone buzzed again — not the sharp ring of a call this time, but a flood of notifications. One after another, lighting up the screen in rapid fire.
I leaned forward, dread coiling in my stomach as I unlocked it.
The first message was from an old friend: "Are you alright? Have you seen what's outside your office?"
The second: "Reporters everywhere. They're saying you're in hiding."
The third, blunt and cruel: "Guilty much?"
My chest tightened. I scrolled further, the feed relentless. Mentions. Headlines. Photographs already circling online — grainy shots of the Stern building, of my father's car leaving the gates, of my own name threaded through captions with words like fraud and complicit.
"They're tearing me apart out there," I whispered.
Brandon returned, tea forgotten, and crouched down in front of me. "Don't look at it."
"How can I not?" I shoved the phone toward him, the screen still lighting up with new messages. "This is everywhere. Every outlet, every blog, every feed. I'm not even named in the article, and they've already decided I'm guilty."
He took the phone gently from my hand and set it face down on the table. "That's noise. It'll get louder before it dies down, but that's all it is. Noise. Daniel's article didn't accuse you of anything — and that matters. The truth matters."
I wanted to believe him. But even as he spoke, I swore I could hear the world outside shifting, closing in, hungry for someone to blame. And deep down, I knew it wouldn't be enough that my name wasn't in print.
Because when people smelled blood, they didn't care whose it was.
The television had droned on in the background all day, every channel carrying the same story with different voices. I hadn't meant to sit down and watch, but once the news started, I couldn't look away.
A reporter read the Sterns' official statement, the words so smooth they could have been lacquered.
"These allegations are baseless and defamatory. The Stern family has always conducted its affairs with integrity and in compliance with the highest legal and ethical standards. We are confident that a full investigation will clear our name."
I laughed under my breath, sharp and bitter. Integrity. Ethical standards. They'd stolen millions, orchestrated lies so carefully that even I had believed them. And still, they stood behind that curtain of polished words, daring the world to believe they were victims.
On the screen, clips of my father and mother rolled — my father striding out of a car, ignoring shouted questions, my mother's hand on his arm, her face schooled into icy calm. They didn't look cornered. They looked untouchable. For now.
The anchor's voice cut back in:
"In a separate development, Graham Lewis, a long-time legal adviser to the Stern family, issued this response: 'I categorically deny any wrongdoing or knowledge of impropriety. I acted at all times in the best interests of my clients. Any suggestion otherwise is unfounded and deeply damaging.'"
My stomach twisted. Graham's voice echoed in my memory, all those times he'd guided me through contracts. How he had painted himself as the careful, loyal adviser, dragging me under his shielded words.
Best interests of his clients. Which ones? Because it had never been mine.
I muted the TV, unable to listen any longer. The silence was worse in some ways, buzzing in my ears, filled with every thought I'd tried to push away. The world was watching my parents and Graham, but the weight of their denial — so smooth, so practiced — made me feel like I was the one on trial.
And if Brandon hadn't given Daniel the evidence, maybe I would have been.