The lie he put a ring on

Hell no. “Tell me you didn’t accept it, ma’am.” Margaret Collins looked up from the folder in her hands. “Good morning to you, too, Avilianna.” “Ma’am, I’m serious.” “So am I.” She placed the folder on her desk. “Blackwell Holdings requested our services, and I accepted the contract.” I stared at her. “You accepted a contract with Blackwell Holdings without consulting me?” “Your name was specifically requested. I wanted you to hear the details before deciding whether to take the assignment.” A humorless laugh escaped me. “You know exactly why I don’t want that assignment.” “I know you have history with the company. I also know you’re one of the best consultants on my team.” I frowned. “Those two things have nothing to do with each other, ma’am.” “They do when the client specifically asks for you.” She held my gaze. “And before you ask, yes, I tried to get an explanation.” I pressed my lips together. “Who requested me?” Margaret gave me a look that suggested she already knew I wouldn’t like the answer. “Adrian Blackwell.” Fuck. Of all the clients in the world, it had to be him haha. I rubbed a hand over my face. “Did you ask him why?” “Of course. His answer was that you’re the right person for the job.” I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. “That’s it?” I asked. “That’s it.” “He has an entire industry of consultants to choose from, and he specifically asks for me without giving you a proper explanation?” “Apparently.” I let out a disbelieving sigh. “Unbelievable.” “Avilianna, sit down.” “I am sitting down.” “You’re halfway out of your chair.” I glanced at my hands and realized I was gripping the armrests hard enough to turn my knuckles white. I released them and settled back. Margaret slid the folder toward me. “Blackwell Holdings is facing renewed media scrutiny over an old financial investigation. Several outlets are revisiting the case, and the board wants a communications strategy before things escalate.” I opened the folder. Missing company funds. Questions about executive accountability. Renewed scrutiny. Three years, and the story still hadn’t died. My father, Daniel Reyes, had been the company's chief financial officer before millions went missing and his name became attached to the investigation. His reputation crumbled before he had a fair chance to defend himself. He had always maintained his innocence. And I had never stopped believing him because I know my father. “What exactly do they expect me to do?” I asked. “Handle communications strategy, coordinate media responses, and work with their legal and executive teams on approved messaging. An independent team is reviewing the evidence. You won’t be investigating the missing funds yourself.” “Good. Because I won’t make unverified claims or help them bury information.” “They haven’t asked you to do either.” “Not yet.” Margaret sighed. “You can decline. I’ll assign someone else if you decide you can’t work with them.” For a moment, I considered it. I could walk away and protect the peace I’d spent three years rebuilding. I could let someone else deal with Adrian Blackwell and whatever game he thought he was playing. But walking away wouldn’t answer the questions that had followed me for three years. Why had he chosen me? And what did he know that I didn’t? Maybe this was another chance to uncover the truth. Or maybe I was foolish to think there was still something left to find. Either way, I couldn’t ignore the opportunity. “I’ll take the assignment.” Margaret studied me. “Are you sure?” “This is a professional decision. I’m not going to let personal feelings interfere with my work.” She nodded. “Good.” “But if he thinks requesting me gives him some kind of advantage, he’s mistaken.” “I’ll leave you to make that clear.” I tucked the folder beneath my arm and stood. “Before I go, could I get his direct business number?” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have it?” “Ma’am, we’re not friends.” She opened the company directory and wrote a number on a note. “This is his direct business line. For meetings and official matters, you can also contact Natalie Hart, his executive assistant.” “Thank you.” “And, Lianna?” I paused at the door. “Keep your head clear. Whatever happened before, remember that this is work.” I folded the note and slipped it into my folder. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan.” ———————～⁠♡ By Monday morning, I’d reviewed the initial brief, prepared a list of questions, and reminded myself that Adrian Blackwell was a client. A difficult client, perhaps. An infuriating one, definitely. But a client nonetheless. His executive assistant, Natalie Hart, greeted me outside his office. “Ms. Reyes? Mr. Blackwell is expecting you.” I nodded with a polite smile. “Okay, thank you.” I straightened my blazer and stepped inside. Adrian stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, reviewing a document. He wore a charcoal suit, his sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrists. Everything about him was controlled, from his posture to the unreadable expression on his face. He looked exactly like the kind of man people trusted to make difficult decisions. I wondered whether they’d still trust him if they knew how easily he could turn his back on someone who needed him. He looked up. “Avilianna.” “Mr. Blackwell.” I offered him a polite smile. “Thank you for making time for this meeting.” He gestured toward the chairs opposite his desk. “Please, sit.” I settled into the chair and placed my folder on the table. He took his seat across from me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Three years ago, I would have searched his face for some sign that he cared. Now, I searched it for the smallest indication of what he wanted from me. “I assume Margaret has briefed you,” he said. “She has. I’ve reviewed the initial documents as well.” I opened my folder. “But before we proceed, I’d like to clarify the scope of my role, sir. My team will handle communications strategy and media coordination. We won’t speculate about the investigation or release unverified claims. Any public statement will require approval from the appropriate legal and executive teams.” “Agreed.” “I’ll also need access to previous company statements and the current legal guidance. Once we’ve reviewed everything, we can prepare a response framework.” He nodded. “You’ll have access to what you need.” “Then I believe we understand each other.” His eyebrow lifted. “Already?” “Would you prefer that we make this more difficult than necessary, sir?” The corner of his mouth curved. “I was beginning to wonder whether you’d say anything beyond what was written in your notes.” “I prefer to come prepared and professional, sir.” He gave a small nod. “I know.” “There’s one more thing I’d like to clarify.” “Go ahead.” “Why did you specifically request me?” His expression remained composed. “Because you’re good at your job.” “I’m aware of my qualifications, sir. I’m asking why you chose someone with a personal connection to the company when you could have hired any other competent consultant.” He held my gaze. “Because I need someone who understands the sensitivity of the situation.” “Someone familiar with the case?” “Someone who knows how to ask difficult questions.” I studied him. “You could have said that in the first place.” “You wouldn’t have believed me.” “Would you have believed yourself?” He leaned back, studying me in return. “You haven’t changed much.” “And you’ve learned to avoid answering direct questions.” “That sounds like an observation, not a question.” “Then consider it professional feedback.” For a moment, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he glanced at the folder between us. “You won’t be expected to agree with everything I say. If you think something is wrong with the strategy, tell me.” “I intend to, sir.” “Even if I disagree?” “Especially if you disagree.” His eyes returned to mine. “Good.” I nodded, though every instinct in me wanted to ask whether he’d been so willing to listen three years ago. Back then, I hadn't walked into his office with a folder of talking points. I'd arrived with trembling hands and the desperate hope that the one person who could help my father would give him a chance. Just a chance to be heard. “Adrian, please. Just hear me out.” He’d remained behind his desk, his expression unreadable. “My father didn't do this. Please, just look at these documents. Talk to him before you make up your mind.” I’d placed the papers in front of him with shaking hands. “I’m not asking you to lie for us or risk your position. I just need you to help me find out what really happened.” My voice trembled, and I hated how desperate I sounded. “Please.” I hated that he’d seen me like that. Hated that I’d stood there fighting tears, begging for help. He’d looked at the documents, then at me. For one fragile second, I’d thought he might reconsider. Instead, he’d said, “Your father made his choices, Lianna. You need to make peace with that.” I stared at him, unable to understand how he could say it so easily. “My father—” “I’m sorry, Avilianna.” That was all. I left his office with the documents clutched against my chest, trying to hold myself together until I was out of sight. How foolish I looked begging him. “Avilianna?” His voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked. “I’m sorry. What was that?” “I asked whether you had any other concerns.” Several, actually. I wanted to know if he remembered that day. If he'd ever questioned his decision. If he understood what his refusal had cost my family. Instead, I closed my folder. “No additional concerns regarding the assignment.” His gaze lingered on me, as if he knew I’d deliberately chosen those words. “Very well.” “I’ll send you a list of the materials we need by the end of the day. Any further requests can go through your assistant so everything stays documented.” “Of course.” I stood and gathered my things. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Blackwell.” “Avilianna.” I stopped beside the door. “I’m glad you accepted.” I turned back, offering him a smile polite enough for a corporate meeting and cold enough to keep him at a distance. “I hope you will be once I start asking difficult questions.” He nodded. “I expect nothing less.” “Then we’re in agreement.” I left without giving him another chance to speak. Only when the elevator doors closed did I allow myself to exhale. Three years ago, I’d begged Adrian Blackwell to help my family. Today, I’d sat across from him and discussed media strategy as if we were strangers. Perhaps, in every way that mattered, we were.