Chapter 4: Media War
1436 Words
Carrington Group was under siege.
Celeste didn’t need a headline to tell her that. She felt it in every email alert, every stiff-lipped phone call, every flashbulb that exploded when she stepped outside her building. The scandal hadn’t died with their denial it had mutated.
Now the narrative wasn’t “Are they lovers?”
It was: “What are they hiding?”
Carrington Tower – Executive Level
She strode into the boardroom like she still ruled it. Ronan was already there, sitting on the edge of the table, tie loose, eyes scanning his phone.
“You’ve seen it?” she asked.
He didn’t look up. “Depends which one.”
She tossed a printed headline onto the table.
“Adopted Heiress Manipulated Billionaire Bastard Into Bed?”
He arched a brow. “Charming.”
“They’re spinning the truth into poison.”
“They’re not spinning it. Someone is feeding them.”
Celeste’s eyes narrowed. “Vivian.”
“She benefits the most. Board pressure mounts, she presents herself as the ‘safe’ option.”
Celeste paced, heels striking marble. “She’s turning the public against us.”
“She’s trying to push us out without getting her hands dirty.”
He stood. “We need to get ahead of this.”
Celeste turned to him. “How?”
A pause.
Then Ronan held up a tablet.
“By leaking something of our own.”
PR War Room – One Hour Later
A new file was released anonymously to select journalists.
An internal Carrington memo. Dated. Verified. Real.
Subject: CEO Legacy Transition Plan – Contingency Options
In it: a contingency drafted by Victor Carrington himself naming Ronan as “a protected successor” in the event of bloodline verification.
The implication?
Victor didn’t just acknowledge his son.
He planned for him to take over.
The press went wild.
Suddenly, Ronan wasn’t the intruder. He was the intended heir.
Vivian’s Apartment – That Night
The television blared as analysts dissected the leaked memo.
Vivian stood with a crystal glass in hand, lips pressed into a thin line.
“You said that file was destroyed,” she hissed to the man across from her an older exec, once loyal to Victor.
“I I thought it was. I paid the tech to wipe the servers ”
Vivian threw the glass against the wall.
“Then find me something worse,” she snapped. “Something that buries them both.”
Later – Celeste’s Penthouse
The leak gave them a breath of space. Barely.
But it was a win.
Ronan leaned against the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled, tie gone, that ever-present storm behind his eyes.
Celeste poured herself wine she wouldn’t taste.
“You didn’t tell me about the memo,” she said.
“Didn’t know it survived,” he admitted. “Until I started digging.”
She turned to him. “You’re good at this. The games. The manipulation.”
“Funny. So are you.”
She studied him for a moment.
“You really think Vivian had something to do with Victor’s death?”
Ronan nodded. “If she knew he was legitimizing me, she would’ve panicked. He was the one thing she couldn’t control.”
Celeste looked away. “He didn’t control me, either. But I still let him shape me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then she said, quietly, “Do you think I ever really belonged here?”
Ronan’s voice was low. “You survived here. That makes you dangerous.”
Their eyes met. Something hot. Honest. Unspoken.
Then
A boom shook the penthouse.
Glass shattered somewhere down the hall.
They both hit the floor.
Alarms screamed.
Celeste grabbed the security panel.
“East window. Office side.”
Ronan was already moving.
They reached the office glass broken inward. A brick on the floor. Wrapped in paper.
He picked it up. Unrolled it.
Bold red letters scrawled across it:
“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.”
A small symbol in the corner.
Ronan’s jaw clenched. “That’s not press. That’s a message.”
Celeste’s voice was ice. “Someone just brought this war into my home.”
The Next Day – Carrington Legal Department
Vivian stood in the shadows of the legal conference room, watching as a team reviewed security footage.
The incident had made the news.
But not the way she wanted.
Celeste had turned it into a PR pivot painted herself as a victim of corporate terrorism. Sympathy surged. Public favor was turning back toward her.
Vivian sipped her espresso.
“You should’ve stayed quiet, girl,” she murmured. “Now I have to break you the hard way.”
Ronan’s Apartment – That Night
He replayed the surveillance footage of Victor’s poisoning again. Over and over.
The mystery woman’s voice from the park echoed in his head: “Locker 37A. Grand Terminal.”
He hadn’t gone yet.
But tomorrow, he would.
And something told him whatever was inside that locker?
Would change everything.
Carrington Penthouse – Minutes After the Attack
Celeste stood in the wreckage of her office, glass crunching beneath her bare feet. Her chest rose and fell like she’d run a marathon but she hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Not yet.
Ronan stood at the broken window, phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” he said into the line. “Penthouse. East window. Physical threat delivered. No injuries. Get here fast.”
He hung up, then turned to her.
“You okay?”
Celeste didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the message on the blood-red ink still seeping into the paper like it hadn’t finished bleeding.
THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.
“It’s not just about the company anymore,” she said quietly. “It’s about us.”
Ronan nodded. “Which means we’re closer to the truth than they want us to be.”
She turned to him. “You’ve been saying ‘they’ like there’s more than one enemy.”
He stepped closer, voice low. “Vivian didn’t kill Victor alone. I’m sure of it now. Someone else had to help her cover it up. Plant the story. Hide the documents.”
Celeste crossed her arms, fighting the chill that had nothing to do with the wind howling through the broken window. “And the woman you met at the park. She gave you a key.”
“To something Victor left behind,” he confirmed. “Something important enough for her to die over.”
The door buzzed.
Ronan moved like lightning, checking the hallway monitor.
Security.
Two officers. One lawyer from internal counsel.
They let them in.
The legal rep a graying man named Holt looked grim. “I need statements from both of you. And we’ll be increasing security on-site. Carrington protocol requires a full internal threat assessment.”
Celeste nodded stiffly. “Fine. Start with surveillance review. Every camera, every floor.”
Ronan cut in. “No leaks. This doesn’t go public.”
Holt hesitated. “We may not have that choice. Someone wanted you scared and seen.”
Two Hours Later – Ronan’s Apartment
She didn’t ask to come with him.
He didn’t offer.
But here they were inside the concrete silence of his private world.
No press. No board. No legacy.
Just two people with targets on their backs.
Celeste stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself. Ronan poured a drink and handed it to her without asking.
She took it. Sipped.
“Why do you live like this?” she asked, her voice quiet. “It’s like a bunker.”
He looked at her. “Because it is.”
“Who were you before all this?”
Ronan didn’t answer for a long time. Then
“Someone who learned early that people only protect what they can use.”
Celeste turned to him. “That’s what you think I am? A Carrington weapon?”
“No,” he said, voice softer than she expected. “You’re what they never expected.”
She swallowed hard.
The silence between them stretched, tense and intimate. Something fragile and dangerous hovered there, neither of them ready to name it.
Then his phone lit up.
A message.
“Locker 37A. Noon. Don’t be late.”
Ronan stared at it.
Tomorrow, the game changed.
Elsewhere – Unknown Location
A man sat in the dark, watching footage from the penthouse breach. A slow smile crept across his face.
“She’s afraid now,” he said.
Vivian’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Good. Keep the pressure on.”
The man lit a cigarette. “What about the boy?”
Pause.
Then: “We take him out next.”
- Writer
