Chapter Twelve: The Scandal Breaks
The morning after the yacht, Amara woke to the muffled sound of voices outside her door. She pushed the sheets aside, heart thudding. It wasn't the soft murmur of hotel staff—it was sharper, urgent, carrying through the villa's walls.
She slipped into a robe and padded into the living room. Ethan was standing near the glass doors, phone pressed to his ear, his jaw tight. Miranda, his ever-efficient manager, paced nearby with her tablet, her heels clicking against the marble.
"What happened?" Amara asked, her voice tentative.
Both pairs of eyes swung toward her. Miranda's lips tightened, while Ethan's gaze softened just slightly. He ended the call with a sharp click.
"It seems," Miranda said briskly, "your romantic getaway has backfired."
Amara's stomach dropped. "Backfired? How?"
Miranda shoved the tablet toward her. The headline screamed across the glossy screen in bold, merciless letters:
"STAGED LOVE? Exclusive Photos Raise Questions About Knight's Marriage."
Beneath it, a series of grainy shots filled the page—Ethan and Amara on the yacht, at the beach, on the balcony. But the captions twisted everything cruelly. "Forced smiles." "No real chemistry." One even speculated: "She looks like an actress playing a part."
Amara's hand trembled as she scrolled. The article wasn't just gossip—it was venom. Anonymous "sources" claimed Ethan had married in haste to cover up a secret scandal. Others suggested Amara had been handpicked by his team.
Her throat closed. "This… this is awful."
Ethan stepped closer, taking the tablet from her before she could read further. His expression was carved from stone. "Tabloids thrive on lies. It's noise."
But Miranda shook her head. "Not this time. It's spreading everywhere—social media, talk shows, even the networks. They're calling it the biggest Hollywood hoax of the year. Sponsors are nervous."
Amara sank into the couch, her chest tight. All the pretending, all the smiling—it hadn't been enough. Somehow, the world saw through them.
Ethan lowered himself onto the armrest beside her, his presence grounding. "Listen to me," he said quietly, his voice for her alone. "This doesn't change anything. We'll fight it. Together."
Her eyes lifted to his, searching. Together. The word should have comforted her, but fear gnawed at the edges. How much more could she take before the contract consumed her completely?
"What if they're right?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What if I look like I don't belong? Because half the time, I feel like I don't."
Something flickered in his eyes then—anger, not at her, but at the world. His hand brushed over hers, warm and steady. "You belong because I say you do. Don't ever let them decide your worth."
For a moment, her chest loosened, the words sinking deeper than she wanted them to. But Miranda cleared her throat, pulling them back to reality.
"We need damage control," she said crisply. "More public appearances, interviews, maybe even a televised segment. The world has to see you two as unbreakable."
Ethan stood, his command returning. "Then set it up. The bigger, the better."
Miranda nodded, already typing furiously on her tablet as she swept out of the villa.
Silence fell. Amara stared at her hands, wishing they'd stop shaking. Ethan lingered by the door, his silhouette framed by the sunlit glass.
"This is only the beginning," he said softly. "Are you ready for what comes next?"
Amara swallowed hard, unsure if he was warning her or himself.
Because deep down, she knew—the line between truth and lies was thinning fast. And once it snapped, there would be no turning back.
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