Chapter Twenty-Six: Past in the Spotlight
Two days after the press conference, Amara thought she might finally breathe again. The paparazzi still lingered outside the gates, but the chaos inside the villa had eased into something resembling routine.
That illusion shattered the moment Cassandra stormed in, a folded newspaper clenched in her hand.
"We have a problem," she said without preamble, tossing the paper onto the table.
Amara froze when she saw the headline:
"Who Really Is Amara Blake? Shady Past, Broken Engagement, and a Trail of Secrets."
Her heart plummeted.
She snatched the paper, scanning the words. Old photos of her from years ago splashed across the page—her waitressing job at a small diner, blurry shots of her leaving a courthouse with her ex-fiancé, headlines twisting the story into something scandalous.
"They dug up everything," Cassandra said sharply. "The broken engagement, the lawsuit your ex filed, the financial troubles—none of it looks good. They're spinning you as a social climber who latched onto Ethan for a way out."
Amara's hands shook as she clutched the paper. "That's not who I am. They don't know the truth."
Cassandra crossed her arms, unimpressed. "The truth doesn't sell, Amara. Stories do."
Ethan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was low, but dangerous. "Who leaked this?"
"We don't know yet," Cassandra admitted, though her eyes darted toward Amara, suspicion barely masked. "But the damage is already spreading. This is going viral."
Amara's stomach twisted. "You think I did this to myself?"
"No one survives this industry without skeletons, sweetheart," Cassandra replied coolly. "But most of us know how to bury them."
Ethan slammed his hand down on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. "Enough." His eyes cut to Cassandra, sharp as steel. "Get ahead of this. I want every publication threatened with lawsuits by the end of the hour. Find the leak, and bury it."
Cassandra pressed her lips together, then nodded briskly. "Fine. But you need to understand something, Ethan—if this doesn't go away, your wife will drag you down with her."
When she left, the silence was suffocating.
Amara couldn't bring herself to look at Ethan. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. "She's right. This is going to ruin you."
Ethan stepped closer, his gaze locked on her. "Don't say that."
Her chest ached. "It's the truth. Maybe we should—" She swallowed hard. "Maybe we should end the contract before it destroys you."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—fear, anger, or maybe something deeper. He caught her chin, tilting her face up to his.
"Don't you dare think of walking away," he said fiercely. "I don't care about their stories. I care about us controlling what they see, not letting them define it."
Her breath caught at the way he said us.
But doubt gnawed at her. If he didn't care about the headlines, what about the whispers of her heart? Did those matter to him—or was this still just survival?
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