ARIA'S POV
The limo ride to the press conference was quiet at first. The tension between us wasn’t sharp, it was more like a low hum, like static clinging to my skin. Kane sat beside me, calm as ever, scrolling through his tablet. Meanwhile, I was still caught in the echo of the almost-kiss. His breath, his closeness. The way he pulled away like it meant nothing.
Why did it sting? Why did it feel like rejection?
"I need you to stay close to me.." he said suddenly, eyes still on the screen.
I turned to him, blinking out of my spiral. "What?"
"At the conference, stay close. Let me take the lead when questions come flying. Just… trust me" he said, not unkindly just Kane-like. Flat and calculated, but there was something there… something softer beneath it all.
I nodded, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t trust my voice. My mind was a mess, a swirling storm of questions I didn’t want to ask myself.
He tapped the screen once more and finally looked up. "It’s working."
"What is?"
"The narrative... it's switching up" he said. "The public opinion is shifting, it's slow, but it’s turning."
I leaned back against the seat, my heart a little steadier. Maybe it was his voice, maybe it was the way he said we. As in—we’re winning, not just him.
By the time we arrived, the confidence radiating from him was enough to cloak both of us. Paparazzi flooded the entrance, but this time, I didn't flinch. Kane stepped out first, then reached for my hand and I gave it to him.
Together, we walked in not as the scandal Zane tried to make us, but as a united front.
And for the first time… it felt like we weren’t just pretending.
The man who invited us in looked like he hadn’t laughed since the nineties. Stiff as his grey blazer, with lips pursed so tightly I wondered if he ate his meals through a straw. His glasses sat low on his nose like he was perpetually unimpressed, and his clipboard might as well have been welded to his hand. He motioned for us to sit like he was summoning us to judgment.
We took our seats, and the blinding flashes began. Cameras, everywhere, as reporters murmured. I smiled, even though my cheeks were beginning to cramp.
The man cleared his throat, tapping his pen once before speaking into the mic. "Mr. Callahan, let’s begin simply. What exactly is your relationship with Miss Whitmore?"
Kane leaned forward a little, one ankle resting on his knee, the very picture of composed boredom. "My wife and I are very happy together as you can see.." he said smoothly. "Any suggestions otherwise are born of desperation."
The man blinked, a little flicker. It was quick, but I saw it.
He tried again. "Mr Zane Callahan claims you’ve orchestrated this marriage purely to get back at him. That it’s all calculated."
Kane offered a soft shrug. "There’s a saying about men who cry foul when they lose something they thought they owned. Let’s just say some people confuse karma with conspiracy."
I bit back a grin, keeping my expression camera-appropriate. The man was losing steam. His questions weren’t landing, and Kane, with that maddening calm, answered every jab with the confidence of three men.
Then the shift came.
The man’s eyes turned to me.
"Miss Whitmore..." he said, "how do you respond to claims that you’re emotionally unstable and incapable of moving on?"
I froze, it was like he’d spoken a code phrase that cracked my spine. My breath caught in my throat "I—well—I think that—"
"Wouldn’t you say this marriage is your way of staying relevant? Maybe even manipulative?" he cut in, sharp and cold.
Before I could even finish my sentence.
Kane’s voice came through. "That’s enough."
The man didn’t blink. "Excuse me, Mr. Callahan, but she’s the one being asked."
"She’s my wife" Kane stated coolly, "and she doesn’t have to dignify garbage with a response."
The man smiled, but it didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. "Unless, of course, Zane and Sibil were right."
There it was.
The tension in the room shifted like a snapped cable. This man wasn’t neutral, he was a fucking puppet. A puppet with a smug grin and a microphone, working for Zane.
I felt my stomach twist, the lights were hot, my dress was tighter than I remembered, and the cameras never stopped clicking. I kept smiling, even though my jaw trembled.
Kane’s hands twitched slightly...I saw it.
He was about to respond when the doors slammed open.
Zane and Sibil.
Of course.
Sibil’s crocodile smile appeared first, arm hooked in Zane’s like she was parading her favorite trophy. Zane’s smugness filled the room before he did.
I stared straight ahead, but my fingers curled into the seat cushion. This wasn’t a press conference anymore.
It was a warzone.
Everything in me recoiled the moment I saw his face, my breath stilled. Kane shot to his feet with the kind of authority that silenced even the cameras.
He strolled in like he owned the damn building, swagger in his step, a smirk playing on his lips like this was all a game to him.
"What is he doing here?" Kane questioned the man before turning back to Zane.
"You're not supposed to be here" his voice quiet but thunderous.
Zane just tilted his head. "Oh, come now, brother. I just thought the world deserved the truth."
He turned to the crowd and theatrically pulled out oversized documents, waving them for the flashing cameras like party favors.
Zane’s smirk deepened. "The truth has a way of finding the light, doesn’t it?”
Those were blown-up copies of my contracts—the ones I signed as a wife-for-hire—documents that had never seen daylight, never meant to. He tossed them on the table like evidence in court, like I was on trial.
I couldn’t breathe.
The words on the paper blurred through the buzz in my ears. My lungs locked up, chest growing tighter with every heartbeat. How did he get them? How?
I could feel it happening—my walls cracking, my heart pounding against them like it wanted to escape me. Every camera turned, every eye in the room turned on me, judging me, trying to pry me open.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." he announced, "your darling Aria Whitmore is no victim. She’s but a professional, signed and sealed wife-for-hire. This marriage?" He gestured between me and Kane. "A sham."
The room stirred with gasps, murmurs and camera shutters snapping in rapid fire.
My lungs wouldn’t fill. I clutched the fabric of my dress at the chest, trying to ground myself. The walls seemed to warp, voices muffled. My past, stripped naked and held up for judgment, I was exposed.
"She’s not who you think she is" Zane added. "She’s a paid illusion, a contract-bound con artist" He chuckled darkly.
My hands trembled in my lap. Please, stop...please stop. But I couldn’t say it out loud, my mouth wouldn’t move. My throat burned, too tight to speak.
I heard the audience laugh...laugh—and my face flushed hot with shame. The tears didn’t fall, but they stung behind my eyes, threatening to break through at any second.
Then he turned to me and pointed. "Look at her, not even denying it. Because it’s true."
Something broke in me.
It wasn’t just embarrassment—it was exposure. Humiliation that crawled into my bones and hollowed me out. I felt small and stripped bare, like a dirty secret paraded for sport.
My legs gave in as I staggered slightly, catching myself on the edge of the chair, trying to hold on to anything, my dignity, breath, anything. I pressed my hand to my chest, desperate to calm my pulse, but it only hammered harder. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole.
Zane kept going, driving the knife deeper. "She’s played both of us. Tell me, Aria, do you have a discount for family plans?'
The room laughed...they actually laughed.
My knees weakened. I swayed, and if it weren’t for the chair behind me, I’d have collapsed. My vision blurred, not from tears but sheer panic. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, too loud, too fast.
Kane stepped forward. "That’s enough. Back off"
Zane didn’t, instead he advanced again, pointing straight at me. "She’s a fraud and a manipulator. Look at her—can’t even speak."
"I said that’s enough.." he said sharply, stepping between us.
Zane didn’t flinch. "You really think you can fix her? She’s a—"
Kane struck him.
The sound of fist meeting jaw cracked through the room louder than the cameras. Zane staggered back clutching his face, and then charged. They crashed into each other, fists flying, rage spilling everywhere.
Gasps erupted with security rushing forward, flashes capturing it all.
I just sat there, stiff as a rock.
The world spun but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t react. I was drowning in silence while everything around me exploded, I was humiliated, powerless and broken again.
And yet beneath the wreckage, something darker bloomed....rage. He did this..Zane. he did it again. He took what little I had left and shattered it.
But he wouldn’t win.
Not this time.
Even if it killed me, I’d make him pay.
Security scrambled to pull them apart, the media capturing every chaotic second. I sat still in the whirlwind, numb.
This wasn’t over.