Adira's POV
By the time I arrived at the office, the building felt like a war zone.
Journalists camped outside, flashing cameras in my face as I stepped out of the car. Staff scurried through the lobby whispering into phones, eyes flicking toward me with unease. The entire floor smelled of panic.
Ashley's scandal was everywhere.
News channels. Blogs. Gossip forums. Even LinkedIn posts professional men and women dissecting my "family baggage" like it was a market analysis.
And worse... the calls from investors weren't just threats now. One had already withdrawn.
My empire was cracking.
"Adira."
Jayden was already in my office, leaning against my desk like he owned it. He didn't flinch at the chaos around us. He never did. His calmness should have soothed me, but instead it made me want to scream.
"You knew this would happen," I snapped, slamming my bag on the table. "You said she'd attack me, and you were right. So tell me, Jayden how do I fight this?"
For a moment, he just looked at me. Then he straightened, sliding a folder toward me. "By telling your story before she twists it again."
I opened the folder. Inside were press strategy drafts, potential interviews, carefully curated angles that spun my background into strength. Resilience. Overcoming odds. Building from pain.
"You planned this?" I whispered.
"I prepared for it," he corrected, eyes locked on mine. "Ashley fights dirty. You can't win by staying silent."
I wanted to argue, to scream that this wasn't fair, that my life wasn't meant to be picked apart like a reality show. But Sam's voice broke in, soft but firm.
"He's right, Addy."
She stood in the doorway, coat half-on, clearly having run here straight from the hospital. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, exhaustion written under her eyes. But still, she looked at me like I was the only patient that mattered.
"If you let her control the story, you'll always be the villain. You have to show them who you really are."
Behind her, Kendrick walked in, no trace of his old arrogance, just sharp focus. "The press wants blood. So give them something else to feed on. Numbers. Proof. Success. I'll help prep financial reports that make Ashley look like a joke next to you."
I stared at the three of them. My team. My people. Somehow, after everything high school fights, betrayal, years of distance they were here. Fighting for me.
"I don't want pity," I said finally, my voice shaking with anger. "I don't want to be painted as the poor little girl with a cruel mother. I want them to know I built this. With my blood, sweat, and tears. I want them to respect me, not feel sorry for me."
Jayden's gaze softened, just for a second. "Then that's the story we'll tell."
The next day, I walked into the headquarters of one of London's biggest business media outlets. Cameras flashed, lights blinded me, and for a heartbeat I thought I'd crumble.
Then I remembered the bathroom back home in Abuja. Fifteen-year-old me crying silently, dreaming of being strong.
I sat straighter, lifted my chin, and began.
"My name is Adira Williams. And everything you've heard about me let me tell you the truth."
Ashley's POV
From her suite overlooking the Thames, Ashley watched the broadcast.
Adira's voice was steady. Poised. Charismatic.
Investors would eat it up. The public would lap it up.
Ashley's fingernails dug into the arm of her chair. "So you want war, little sister?" she whispered.
Fine.
If Adira wanted to play queen in London, Ashley would drag her secrets into the world stage.
Because Ashley still had one card left.
And it was deadly.