Chapter 8
1002 Words
The storm had a name now.
Miguel.
And he wasn’t hiding anymore.
Elena sat in the back of a tinted SUV as it cruised through midtown Manhattan, her phone vibrating non-stop in her lap. Notifications from tabloids, social media mentions, anonymous texts. Each one a needle, pricking what was left of her calm.
The photo of her and Jaxon—intimate, beautiful, dangerously honest—was everywhere. What should’ve been private was now public spectacle.
They turned my truth into ammunition.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number.
> If you don’t tell the world what you did… I will.
Tick tock, angel.
The clock’s running out.
She clenched her jaw and threw the phone to the seat beside her.
“I won’t let him win,” she whispered.
---
At Vale Tower, Jaxon was already three steps ahead.
He paced his private office like a caged lion, every muscle tight with fury. The photo leak wasn’t just a tabloid stunt—it was an attack. And Jaxon knew exactly who was behind it.
Miguel had underestimated him.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
His phone lit up.
“Talk to me,” he said sharply.
One of his private investigators responded on the other end. “We traced the IP of the photo’s source. The upload came from a burner phone near SoHo. We checked surrounding buildings. There’s one name that popped on the lease records—an alias Miguel used in Barcelona.”
“Is he still there?”
“Unclear. But he’s moving.”
Jaxon’s eyes darkened. “Keep eyes on him. Full surveillance. Don’t let him vanish again.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up and looked out over the city. Somewhere out there, a man was playing god with Elena’s life. Threatening her. Toying with her.
Not anymore.
---
That afternoon, Jaxon found Elena in the studio’s private lounge. She sat curled on the sofa, hair tied back, dark circles beneath her eyes. She didn’t look like a model. She looked like a woman unraveling.
She looked beautiful anyway.
He sat beside her.
“They know,” she said without looking at him. “Not the whole truth, but enough.”
“We’ll manage it,” Jaxon said. “The media cycle moves fast. We stay quiet, they’ll move on.”
She shook her head. “No, they won’t. Miguel doesn’t want attention. He wants destruction. And the longer I stay silent, the more power he has.”
He studied her face. “Then speak.”
She turned to him, startled. “What?”
“Tell the truth,” Jaxon said gently. “Not to the tabloids. Not to the world. But to me. To yourself. No more hiding.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
He reached for her hand.
“But I’d rather be scared with you than pretend we’re safe apart.”
That cracked her.
She leaned into him, head against his shoulder, tears silently trailing down her cheeks.
“I pushed him,” she whispered. “He hit Lena. I saw her bleeding and I… I didn’t think. I shoved him. He fell. His head hit the sink. There was blood everywhere. I thought I killed him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I ran.”
“You protected your sister.”
She looked up at him. “Doesn’t that make me dangerous to love?”
Jaxon cupped her face. “No. It makes you impossible not to.”
---
That evening, a knock came at Elena’s door.
She opened it slowly.
Lena stood there, eyes wide, face pale. She held out her phone wordlessly.
On the screen: a video.
Security footage from Barcelona. The hallway outside Lena’s apartment. Fuzzy, but clear enough to see a figure—Elena—running out. Blood on her dress.
And Miguel, moments later, stumbling after her.
Alive.
Elena’s hand flew to her mouth.
“He never died,” she whispered.
“No,” Lena said. “But now… he wants revenge.”
Elena watched as Miguel collapsed at the edge of the screen, clutching his head. Alive, yes. But hurt.
“Where did this come from?”
“I don’t know,” Lena said. “It was emailed from a fake account. The message said: 'Soon the world will see what kind of woman you really are.'”
Elena’s skin turned cold.
“He’s going to leak it.”
“Unless we tell them first,” Lena said quietly.
Elena turned away. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll lose everything. My career. The endorsements. The image I built.”
Lena stepped closer. “You won’t lose me. And you won’t lose him,” she added, glancing toward Jaxon’s office door. “But if you keep running, you will lose yourself.”
Elena stood in silence.
Then finally, she nodded.
---
The next day, Elena walked into the press room on the thirty-second floor of Vale Tower.
Cameras flashed.
Reporters leaned forward.
She wore black. No makeup. No gloss. Just Elena.
Jaxon stood at the back. Watching. Protecting.
She stepped to the mic.
“Two years ago, I left the industry without a word. I disappeared. People speculated. Some said I had a breakdown. Others thought I was hiding a scandal.”
A deep breath.
“They were all partly right.”
Cameras clicked rapidly.
“I left because someone I love was in danger. I left because I had to protect her. And I stayed away because I was afraid no one would see the truth.”
She paused. Her eyes locked with Jaxon’s.
“I was wrong to stay silent. But not wrong to run.”
And for the first time, her voice didn’t shake.
---
In a small hotel room across town, Miguel watched the broadcast.
Alone.
Smoke curled from a half-finished cigarette.
He stared at the screen, rage flickering in his eyes.
“She thinks she can beat me with tears
- Writer
