Three days later, Serena walked into the bakery to find a stranger waiting at one of the corner tables. He wasn't holding a coffee cup, just a leather notebook and a recorder sitting in plain sight.
"Mrs. Moreau," he greeted, standing as she approached. "Jack Harlan. City Life Magazine. I was hoping we could talk."
Serena's guard went up immediately. "About what?"
"About your marriage. Your business. The woman behind the headlines."
Her eyes flicked to the recorder. "And you thought the best way to get that was to show up here uninvited?"
Jack didn't flinch. "I thought the best way was to give you a chance to tell your side before others… shape it for you."
She hesitated. It wasn't lost on her that Isabelle's "interview" threat could easily have reached someone like him. "And if I don't?"
He shrugged. "Then the piece gets written without you. But between us, I'd rather it not be just Isabelle's voice in the final cut."
Something in her tightened. "She's already spoken to you, hasn't she?"
He didn't answer directly, which told her enough.
By the time Elias arrived to pick her up that evening, the tension in her chest had knotted tight. She told him about Jack, about the subtle way he'd dangled Isabelle's words over the conversation.
Elias's expression hardened. "You didn't talk to him, did you?"
"No. But I didn't throw him out either."
"You should have."
She bristled. "And give him more proof I have something to hide? No, Elias. I can handle a conversation without giving away our lives."
The car ride home was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt like two storms circling the same sky.
When they reached the penthouse, Elias loosened his tie but didn't sit down. "She's getting to you."
Serena crossed her arms. "And you're letting her get to you. Do you think she's going to stop just because we ignore her?"
His silence was answer enough.
Finally, he said, "Then we control the narrative. One interview. With someone we trust. Together."
The idea made her pulse jump. "You'd go on record? About us?"
"If it stops her from rewriting our story, yes."
She studied him, searching for hesitation. There was none. "Alright," she said at last. "But if we do this, it's not going to be some sanitized PR spin. They get us—all of it."
A slow smile curved his lips, the kind that was part challenge, part promise. "All of it, hm?"
Before she could reply, he was close—close enough that the tension between them shifted into something else entirely. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him, his mouth brushing hers in a kiss that deepened quickly, stealing the rest of her thoughts.
When they broke apart, slightly breathless, Elias's voice was low against her ear. "Then we make sure the truth is worth hearing."
And for the first time in days, the pressure felt like something they could use instead of something that could break them.