The notification had been a whisper at first. By breakfast, it had become a roar. Ivy sat frozen on the edge of the bed, her phone trembling in her hands.
The photos were everywhere: online news portals, social media feeds, and even private blogs.
In them, she was captured leaving the luncheon—smiling, yes, but looking nervous, vulnerable. In some, the flash of cameras had caught her hair slightly disheveled, her expression uncertain. Comments exploded:
"Is this really the new Mrs. Cross?"
"A nervous girl trying to play at high society."
"Lucian's wife doesn't belong."
"Or maybe she's fake—someone using him."
The words stabbed. Every notification ping felt like another judgment, another accusation. Ivy's chest tightened.
She had survived yesterday. She had faced the press with a semblance of control. But now, the storm had grown beyond anything she had anticipated.
--
Clara appeared at the doorway, clipboard in hand, her expression unreadable. "You have a meeting with Mr. Cross immediately. The board is aware of the leak. He expects you to be prepared to defend yourself—both online and in front of them."
Ivy's stomach sank. Prepared? How does one prepare for the world tearing you apart?
By the time she descended to the office, Lucian was already there, arms crossed, gaze sharp. He didn't greet her. Instead, he held up the tablet in his hand.
"See this?" he asked, voice calm but edged with ice. Screens scrolled with screenshots of the leaked images, social media reactions, and snarky commentary from every major outlet.
Ivy's fingers clenched around her own tablet. "It's… bad," she admitted softly.
"Bad?" Lucian's eyes narrowed, the first crack of anger she'd seen since their contract began. "I would call this catastrophic. Do you understand what this does to my image?"
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I understand, but—"
"No buts," he cut in sharply. "This is your responsibility. You are my wife in public, my shield, my weapon. You cannot let the world see weakness."
"I'm not a weapon!" she shot back, frustration and fear colliding. "I'm a person! You can't expect me to—"
"You agreed," Lucian interrupted, his tone dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "And that agreement is still in effect. You signed a contract. Every day, every moment, the world will scrutinize you. You survive, or you fail. That simple."
Ivy's throat burned. She wanted to scream, to tell him she wouldn't be caged. But even as her anger rose, fear tightened around her like iron chains.
---
The boardroom was cold, sterile, and full of judgment. Ivy entered with Lucian, the press waiting just outside for statements. The directors' eyes flicked over her, sharp and calculating.
A man with silver hair and a pinched expression spoke first. "Lucian, we've reviewed the images circulating online. There's concern… about your choice of partner. Is she capable of managing the responsibilities expected of her?"
Ivy's chest tightened. She knew this question wasn't really about her—it was about power. About testing Lucian.
Lucian didn't answer immediately. His dark eyes swept the room, freezing each person under his gaze. Then, his hand brushed lightly against Ivy's back, almost imperceptible.
"Mrs. Cross will handle it," he said smoothly, his voice a blade. "And she will do it well."
The room went silent. Murmurs tried to form, but the weight of his authority crushed them before they could speak.
Lucian's eyes met Ivy's, sharp and assessing. Now, Ivy. Show them.
Her throat was dry. Her pulse raced. But she lifted her chin and spoke, voice trembling at first, then firm:
"I am aware of the photos circulating online. They capture a moment of vulnerability, yes, but they do not define me. I am committed to this role, to supporting Mr. Cross and his vision. And I will not allow petty speculation to undermine our work."
The room froze. Some board members exchanged glances—surprised, impressed, wary.
Lucian's gaze softened slightly, almost imperceptibly. She had survived her first real test.
---
Later, outside the boardroom, the press surged forward, cameras flashing and microphones thrust toward her.
Ivy's hands shook, but she squared her shoulders. This time, she would control the narrative—or at least try.
"Yes," a reporter said, aggressive. "There are rumors online questioning your legitimacy as Mrs. Cross. How do you respond?"
Ivy inhaled deeply, recalling Lucian's words. Appearances are everything. Every word is a weapon.
"I'm aware of the speculation," she said clearly, voice strong despite the pounding of her heart. "And I welcome scrutiny. But I am not defined by opinion—I am defined by action. And my actions will reflect my commitment, my integrity, and my support for Mr. Cross's work."
Flashes went off. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some reporters frowned, others nodded. A few whispered to each other: She's… competent.
Lucian's hand found hers, gripping lightly, grounding her. "Good," he murmured.
Ivy realized, for the first time, that she could stand in his world without being crushed—if she chose to.
---
That evening, back at the penthouse, Ivy sank into the sofa, exhausted but exhilarated. The storm outside had not ended, but she had survived it.
Lucian appeared quietly, a glass of scotch in hand. He handed it to her, his gaze assessing.
"You did well today," he said, voice soft but still edged with control. "Better than I expected."
"I… I managed," she admitted, feeling a spark of pride.
"You learned to survive," he said. "That's the first step. But remember, Ivy… the world will test you again. And I will test you too."
Her pulse quickened. She wanted to argue, to push back, but she simply nodded. Survival had a cost. And she intended to pay it on her own terms.
Lucian stepped closer, dark eyes holding hers. "Your fire… it's dangerous. Don't let it consume you—or me."
She swallowed, heart racing, realizing just how close she was to being caught between control and defiance.
---
The city below glittered, unaware of the tension unfolding in the penthouse. Ivy's phone buzzed again:
Breaking: Insider claims Mrs. Cross is more than just a wife—she's rumored to have influence over Mr. Cross's decisions. Public frenzy escalates.
Ivy's fingers tightened around the phone. She was no longer just surviving. The world was starting to watch, expect, and judge every move.
And Lucian? He would not let her falter.
But Ivy was beginning to understand something vital: maybe she didn't have to be entirely at his mercy.
The game had begun. And this time, she intended to play.