"What a coincidence," she said smoothly, approaching the table. Her eyes, cold and triumphant, slid from Kaelen to me. "I hope I'm not interrupting your… commercial discussion."
Kaelen's chair scraped softly against the floor as he stood. "Bella."
Her laugh was quiet, practiced. "Please, don't sound so surprised. You know what the press conference entails." She looked backwards, "I told you he's here. Come in."
A camera crew with the Vancourt Holdings logo printed neatly on the lapel of their passes came through the entrance, and stood by Bella.
Kaelen went still. "What is the meaning of this, Bella?"
She smiled — that small, press-perfect smile that could sell sincerity and venom in the same breath."Well dear," she said lightly. "PR insisted we take some photos before the afternoon briefing. They're doing a 'Miss Island Residence' campaign to formally introduce me to the general public as the face of your project."Her gaze slid to me. "I didn't realize you'd be here too, Ms. Sterling. What a lovely surprise."
My fork touched porcelain with a sound sharper than it should have been.I placed it down slowly. "Ms. Smith, this is a private lunch."
"I know," she said, in a tone that meant she didn't care. "But the schedule's tight. The post has to go up before the next press cycle."She turned to the cameraman. "Let's just take a few quick ones here — lighting's perfect."
Kaelen's voice was controlled. "Bella, this isn't the time or place—"
"Oh, nonsense." She laughed softly, stepping closer. "It's not our first run. You know what the investors love don't you? Originality, authenticity, and people being right where they should be. It'll come naturally."And before he could react, she angled herself beside him — close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.The cameraman adjusted his lens.
"Mr. Vancourt, just turn slightly toward Ms. Smith— yes, perfect."
A flash. Then another.The room seemed to pulse with light and silence.
Kaelen's jaw tightened; his hand twitched at his side. But he didn't move.
She leaned in, voice sweet enough for only us to hear."Smile, Kaelen. You don't want the internet thinking we're tense."
The next flash went off just as her hand settled lightly against his chest.
Something in me fractured — quietly, invisibly, like glass under too much weight.I didn't like what I saw, but I knew this was Bella trying to get at me, to get into my head.
The cameraman lowered his equipment."Beautiful," Bella said, checking the screen. "You look wonderful, Kaelen. The public will love this."Then, as if the performance needed one last touch, she turned to me."Ms. Sterling," she said with a faint, almost admiring tilt of her head, "thank you for being so understanding. Not many would be."
I stared at her for one heartbeat too long, until she looked away first.
Kaelen muttered something low — I didn't catch it. The PR team packed up, laughter echoing faintly as they left, their footsteps fading into the hallway.
Only then did I look at him.
"She shouldn't have—" he began.
I smiled, "I know. But she did."
"Elara-"
"Don't worry Kaelen, I trust you."
He exhaled, shoulders sinking as if the argument had already exhausted itself before it began. The waiter arrived to refill the wine, hesitated at the sight of our untouched plates, then quietly withdrew.
We said nothing.
The food had gone cold. But somehow, the restaurant felt colder.
The soft jazz that had once seemed elegant now sounded distant — a soundtrack from a different afternoon. Kaelen's fork scraped faintly against porcelain, a small, nervous rhythm that grated against the stillness between us.
I watched the condensation slide down the side of my glass. The red wine inside caught the light — dark, heavy, beautiful. Like something pretending not to stain.
He broke the silence first. "You know that wasn't planned."
"I know," I said simply.
His eyes searched mine, as though the calmness unsettled him more than anger would. "You believe me."
I smiled faintly. "I said I trust you, didn't I?"
It should have sounded reassuring. It didn't.It sounded like something final — an echo at the end of a hall.
He reached across the table, fingers brushing mine. "Elara…"
I didn't pull away. But I didn't move closer either.There was a quietness in his touch that almost felt like apology. Almost.
"Bella's crossing a line," he said quietly. "I'll deal with her."
"She's not the problem," I said. My voice was softer than I expected. "The problem is that she knows how to get under our skins. And she just did."
He looked at me — really looked — and for a second, I saw something raw flicker through his composure. But it was gone before it could become anything real.
"Are you angry?" he asked finally.
I shook my head. "No. Just tired."
The words hung there, fragile and heavy.
He leaned back, the space between us widening with the motion. "You shouldn't have to tolerate this. I'll fix it."
I smiled again — polite, precise, empty. "Of course you will."
He's the CEO. He can't be rash. She's now the face of the project. There's no fixing it — not yet.
I sighed lightly. "I guess we'll just have to put up with it for now. Not easy being the wife of a CEO."
He managed a faint smile — a weak glimmer of warmth against the chill.
By the time I got back to my office in the afternoon, the photo was everywhere.
It started as a single post on Vancourt Holdings' official page — "Miss Island Residence — a new face for a new era."Within an hour, it spread like wildfire. Business forums dissected it; lifestyle magazines reposted it with captions like "Old money poise meets next-generation leadership."And there they were — Bella, glowing with manufactured charm, leaning on Kaelen's chest - a perfect illusion of chemistry.
I didn't need to read the comments to know how they sounded.The story had written itself.
I took a deep breath. Kaelen must feel terrible. To be set up like this.
By the time dusk slid through my office windows, the city lights had started to blink awake — one tower at a time. I had closed my laptop hours ago, but the image still lingered in my mind, like an aftertaste.
A quiet knock broke the stillness.
When the door opened, Kaelen stepped in — the lines around his mouth tight, the anger restrained but unmistakable. His tie was half-loosened, his sleeves rolled up like he had come straight from an argument.
"David knew exactly what he was doing," he said. His voice was low, even — but there was heat underneath. "He staged that entire thing. The campaign, the caption — all of it."
I leaned back in my chair, watching him pace. "Of course he did."
"I should've—"
"You couldn't have stopped it, Kaelen," I said gently. "This wasn't about you. It was about what they could make you look like."
He stopped pacing, looking at me. "You're not upset?"
"I'm not surprised," I said simply. "David and Bella are testing limits. Yours, mine. They want to see how much noise it takes to shake us."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "They'll fail."
"I know."
He looked at me then, something raw softening in his gaze — the kind of quiet that only comes when someone feels both guilty and grateful.
He came closer, bracing a hand on the edge of my desk. "You don't deserve to be dragged into this circus."
I smiled faintly. "It's part of the deal, isn't it? Being engaged to the CEO."
That drew the smallest flicker of a smile from him — the kind that started slow, reluctant, but reached his eyes.
He moved around the desk, standing beside me. "You're taking this better than I am."
"I can't afford not to," I said. "You need to be the one who stays angry. I'll be the one who stays clear."
He stared at me for a long moment, his fingers brushed on my cheeks lightly. "Sometimes I forget how dangerous you are when you're calm."
I looked up at him, the corners of my mouth softening. "It's the only way to survive people like David."
Silence settled between us — not empty, but heavy with unspoken understanding.
Then he reached out again, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. "Elara…"
There was something in his tone — regret, affection, the kind of quiet intimacy that doesn't need explanation.
I rose from my chair. "Don't look like that," I murmured. "You didn't do anything wrong."
He met my gaze. "Still feels like I did."
I took a slow breath. "Then make it right by staying steady. That's what he wants — to see you lose control."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, he reached for me — tentative, then sure — his hands sliding around my waist as I leaned into him, his thumb brushed the base of my spine, drawing slow, grounding circles that felt like a quiet apology he didn't know how to voice.
He smelled like rain and late meetings, and something softer underneath — something that felt like home.
"I hate that they get to touch what's ours," he said quietly.
"They can't," I whispered. "They can only try."
I tilted my head up, our eyes met — that half-second of hesitation before the inevitable. The space between us was nothing, and everything.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't rushed — no hunger, no public performance. Just warmth. A slow, steady claiming that unfolded in layers — the press of his lips against mine, the small inhale we shared between breaths, the slide of his hand up to the back of my neck. His fingers threaded through my hair, gentle, deliberate, as though he was memorizing the shape of calm after too much noise.
The world outside ceased to exist — no David, no Bella, no flashing headlines. Only the sound of rain starting against the window and the soft, uneven rhythm of our breathing.
I felt the heat of him, solid and close, but beneath it — something tender. Fragile, even. A man who wanted to fix everything he couldn't control.
I kissed him back — slow, certain, my palms resting against his chest where his heartbeat was a steady drum. It was the kind of kiss that didn't ask for more. It simply was — a quiet defiance against everything trying to pull us apart.
When we finally drew apart, our foreheads rested together. He exhaled, his breath brushing my skin.
"We'll get through this," he said softly.
"I know," I murmured. "Because we're not playing their game. We're playing ours."
His thumb traced the corner of my mouth — a last, lingering touch — before he smiled, faint and tired but real.
"That's my Elara."
And when he left later that night, I sat there a little longer, the ghost of his warmth still clinging to my skin.
The city outside shimmered — beautiful, distant, unbothered.
For now, everything felt solid.For now, it felt like love could hold.
But somewhere deep down, beneath all that calm, something trembled — like the first shift in the ground before an earthquake.