Ophelia's POV,
I left Dante's office with his words still clinging to me, sharp as burns. The elevator ride down felt longer than it should have, each floor a small mercy. By the time I reached Adrian's house, my hands were trembling with something between fury and exhaustion.
Adrian was in the living room with Bianca, voices low, the television muted but flashing my face like a curse on every channel. When he saw me, he stood immediately. No hesitation. No questions. He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms as if the world had not just tried to peel me open.
"They're rewriting it," he said into my hair, his voice tight. "They're saying I built you. Like you were a mannequin I dressed and crowned."
I pulled back just enough to see his face. He looked wounded. Not for himself, but for me.
"They're saying you used him," Bianca added softly. "That you're a controlled experiment. A liability turned spectacle."
Adrian laughed, but there was no humor in it. "As if I would hand over my life's work to someone I didn't believe in. As if you didn't outgrow this system on your own."
That did it. My throat closed.
"I earned it," I said, the words breaking through clenched teeth. "Every deal. Every loss. Every inch."
"I know," Adrian said immediately. "And I will not let them erase that."
Eden leaned against the doorframe, tablet in hand, eyes sharp. "The photo was sold. That's confirmed. We're tracking the first transaction now."
My stomach dropped. "Sold… by who?"
"That's the problem," she said. "The Vale and Pierce families are swearing on their lives they had nothing to do with it. And as much as I distrust blood oaths, the data supports them."
Bianca frowned. "Then it has to be someone else."
"No," I said quietly. "It was only them who knew."
Silence followed. Heavy.
Bianca was the first to move. "I'll arrange an interview. A controlled one. No ambushes. No gotcha questions."
Adrian nodded. "You don't apologize. You don't beg. You don't explain your body. You talk about your work. Your numbers. Your vision."
"And if they don't listen?" I asked.
He smiled then, small but unyielding. "Then I will make them. I told you before, Ophelia. I will ensure the system accepts you. Not because you need it. But because it needs to learn."
For the first time that day, I breathed.
~ ~
That night, the house felt too quiet. Heavy. Like it had been holding its breath all evening just to watch us tear each other apart.
I barely made it through the door before he spoke.
"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" Dante said flatly. Not loud. Worse. Controlled. "All that attention. All those eyes."
I turned on him, rage already clawing its way up my throat. " You! You caused all of this" I seethed. "I was living a peaceful an.peefectlid until you called me your wife in front of everyone!"
I snapped. "You didn't even ask. You just decided. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
He laughed. A short, humorless sound. "What it did to you?"
He stepped closer, towering. "You mean what you wanted it to do. Who the fuck do you think you're deceiving? You went there knowing exactly what would happen. On your twin sister's birthday, of all days."
"That's not fair," I said, voice shaking. "You know it's not."
"You're foolish," he shot back, eyes cold. "Desperate. Always reaching for the spotlight and then acting surprised when it burns you."
He tilted his head, studying me like a bad investment. "You aimed too high this time, Ophelia. And now you're caught."
Something in my chest cracked.
"You don't get to say that," I whispered.
"Oh, but I do," he said. "You've made a habit of it. Clinging to powerful men. Leeching onto billionaires like they're lifeboats." His lips curled. "First Adrian. Now me."
The words hit like slaps.
I shoved him. Then hit his chest with both fists, again and again, fury spilling over.
"You don't know me!" I screamed. "You don't know anything! I earned everything I have. I didn't crawl my way here. I bled my way here!"
He caught my wrists, not gently. "Stop lying to yourself," he said. "You sell a story well. The victim turned success. Tragic enough to be interesting. Polished enough to be believable."
Tears burned my eyes.
"Then stop pretending," I yelled, voice breaking. "Stop pretending to care. Pretending to protect me. You liked the way it made you look. The savior. The powerful man with the broken woman on his arm."
His jaw tightened. "At least I'm honest about what I am."
"And what am I to you? What do you take me for? Fake or not, I deserve a title, goddamit!" I demanded. "A project? A headline? Something you can own?"
Silence stretched. Thick. Cruel.
"You're a fraud who wanted more than she could afford," he said finally. Quiet. Precise. "And now you're angry the world has noticed."
That was it.
I ripped my hands free and struck his chest once more, harder, sobbing now.
"I hate you," I cried. "I hate that you made me think you saw me. I hate you, Dante!"
I turned and ran. Up the stairs. Past the echo of his footsteps stopping behind me. Into my room, slamming the door so hard the walls shuddered.
I collapsed against it, sliding down, gasping for air like I'd been drowning.
Downstairs, the house stayed silent.
But the damage was already done.