The pressure mounted, like a vice closing around Vanessa's empire. Brand partnerships were withdrawn. Stock dipped. Even her trusted board members whispered behind her back.
But she didn't flinch. Not in public.
Ethan watched her work with the same intensity she gave him in bed—focused, demanding, brilliant. She hosted meetings, crafted press responses, and filed lawsuits against tabloids. She controlled everything… except the storm inside her.
"You're burning yourself out," Ethan said one evening as she stood by her office window, heels still on after twelve hours.
"I'm containing the damage."
"You can't fix the world's perception of us."
"I'm not fixing us, Ethan," she said, eyes flashing. "I'm protecting you."
He walked to her, took her face in his hands.
"You don't have to protect me. You don't have to fight alone."
Something shifted in her gaze. A flicker of surrender.
She dropped her phone and kissed him—hard, needy, almost desperate. They made love right there in her office, against the cold marble desk, between floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a city that didn't care about their sins.
It was messy.
Beautiful.
Honest.
---
Later, as they lay tangled on the leather couch, Vanessa whispered:
"I've spent years hiding in power. In wealth. In image. You… see me."
Ethan stroked her back gently. "I don't just see you. I want you. Not the billionaire. Not the myth. Just Vanessa."
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in years, she felt something like peace.
---
But the world wouldn't let them rest.
The next morning, she received an anonymous envelope. Inside: a single photo of them kissing at the rooftop. And a note.
> "We know what you are. Resign, or we'll ruin you."
No signature. No logo.
But the message was clear.
"What is this?" Ethan asked, jaw tightening.
Vanessa looked at him, eyes colder than ever.
"Blackmail."