Untitled Episode6
1533 Words
The room erupted—not with noise, but with the energy of stunned admiration. The power of her words landed like thunder. A moment passed before applause broke out.
Sophie didn’t smile. She didn’t bow. She simply nodded, stepped down, and walked away.
“Wow,” Freya whispered as Sophie stepped into the green room. She immediately wrapped her arms around her daughter. “You were... breathtaking.”
Richard didn’t offer a hug—but he did step forward and say, “Well done.” And from him, that was more than enough.
Xander gave a quiet nod. No warmth, but no criticism either.
Sophie didn’t look for Alexander.
She didn’t need to.
*****
By the time Sophie reached her room, the video had gone viral.
“Sophie Burnett, you’re a warrior!”
“That press conference should be taught in schools.”
“From housewife to heroine—Burnett’s comeback is fire”
“She said what needed to be said. PERIOD.”
“Ethan Crawford, you're finished.”
She scrolled through hundreds of comments. Thousands. Twit threads. i********: stories. Podcasts were already booking guest speakers to analyze her speech.
Then came the phone calls. Media. Brand managers. Women’s rights organizations.
Her story was the moment. But Sophie… didn’t feel triumphant.
She felt empty. Exhausted. And above all, angry.
This wasn’t a win. Not yet.
Meanwhile***
Ethan hurled his iPad across the room. “She's weaponizing the media,” he growled. “That little”
Belinda raised an eyebrow, sipping wine. “You're surprised?”
“She was supposed to be weak,” he hissed. “She was supposed to disappear quietly.”
“Well, she didn’t,” Belinda said coolly. “And now she’s coming for you.”
“She won’t win,” Ethan muttered.
Belinda stood, crossing the room to him. “She already won the sympathy vote. You? You’re a meme now.”
“I will bury her.”
“No,” Belinda corrected. “You’ll shut up and lie low. If she digs into the accounts—Switzerland, Panama, all of it—you and I are both screwed.”
Ethan paced, fingers pulling through his hair. “Then we get ahead of it.”
“Or,” Belinda said with a smirk, “we find a new distraction.”
At Burnett Garden, Sophie sat on a stone bench beneath the moonlight. The garden was quiet, a soft breeze playing with her hair. She needed silence. Footsteps approached. She didn’t look.
“I figured I’d find you here,” Alexander said gently.
She said nothing.
“You were incredible today,” he added, sitting beside her. “You made everyone remember why the name Burnett used to mean something.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Is that all I’m good for to you? Symbolism?”
Alexander turned to her, his voice low. “No. You’re good for more than that. You’ve always been more than that.”
A tense pause followed.
“You leaked that footage on purpose,” she said. “You forced me into the spotlight.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you were hiding in the dark. I couldn’t stand to see you shrink.”
Sophie looked away. Alexander reached into his jacket and handed her a small envelope.
“What’s this?”
“A copy of the footage Ethan’s team has—security footage of you signing the 'embezzlement papers' on your anniversary night.” Sophie opened the envelope. Her blood ran cold.
“It was edited,” he said. “Cut. Cropped. Tampered with. I had my team compare timestamps from the hotel’s footage.”
Sophie’s hands shook.
“We can prove it,” Alexander said. “We can prove you were framed.”
Sophie stared at the footage Alexander had given her. She played it again. And again. It wasn’t just about clearing her name anymore. This was war.
The applause still rang in her ears long after Sophie stepped off the stage.
She walked down the dim corridor of the Burnett media wing like a woman floating between worlds—one foot in the past she had just laid to rest, the other in a future she hadn’t yet dared to imagine. Her pulse was steady now, but a strange weight settled in her chest. Was this what rebirth felt like? A hollow kind of fire?
The double doors at the end of the hall opened without a knock. Alexander Beaumont stood there, leaned casually against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, his tie loose.
“You’re still making the internet cry,” he said, his voice low and laced with something like awe. “And clap. And go to war for you. That’s power.”
“I didn’t do it for them,” Sophie replied. “I did it for me.”
A beat passed. Then she walked past him, but he turned and followed her.
“You’re not done,” he said, falling into step beside her. “This was the first strike, not the last.”
Sophie paused. “I’m well aware.”
“Then let’s talk about the next one,” he said, tone suddenly sharp. “Because while the world is busy calling you brave, Ethan is calling someone to clean up the mess.”
She looked at him fully now, studying him. “You seem unusually invested in this.”
Alexander shrugged. “You’re not the only one he’s burned.”
That wasn’t the whole truth, but Sophie didn’t press him. Not yet.
******
The glass table was surrounded by analysts, legal aides, and two private investigators. Screens lined the walls, each displaying a different set of financial data, video footage, or active search protocols. A Burnett-level crisis called for Burnett-level tools.
Sophie and Alexander entered side by side.
“Let’s go over it again,” she said, walking to the head of the table.
The lead investigator, Yara, tapped a remote. Footage of the night Sophie was arrested began to play—this time, slowed and synchronized with surveillance records and timestamps.
“At 10:29 p.m.,” Yara narrated, “Mrs. Burnett checked into the Silver Crest Hotel. The lobby camera confirms this.”
The screen showed Sophie entering the hotel, emotionally drained, suitcase in hand. A time stamp glowed in the corner of the video: 10:29:38 PM.
“Meanwhile,” Yara continued, switching to another screen, “this financial transaction was executed at 10:45 p.m. from Ethan Crawford’s private network, using his administrative credentials.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
“That’s after I was in the hotel.”
“Exactly,” Yara said. “And this”—she tapped again—“is your door access log from the hotel. From 10:30 to 11:15 p.m., you were in your suite. No devices accessed. No outgoing signals. You were under surveillance the entire time.”
“So I physically couldn’t have executed the transaction,” Sophie said.
Yara nodded. “Correct. And even more important—your digital signature on the document doesn’t match your keystroke rhythm. Our biometric scan shows it was likely cloned or forged using mimicry software.”
“And who has access to that kind of software?” Alexander asked.
Yara didn’t miss a beat. “Ethan Crawford.”
Silence fell.
Sophie slowly sat down, her chest heavy. “He didn’t just ruin me. He planned it. Timed it. While I was still reeling from what I saw upstairs, he was already pulling the trigger.”
Alexander looked at her, voice low but firm. “And now we have proof.”
Later that evening, Sophie stood in the same marble-walled room where her father had once told her she was naive.
Now, she was leading the discussion.
“We go public with the forgery,” she said firmly. “On my terms. We release a statement, file formal charges, and push for a criminal investigation.”
Richard looked up from his tablet. “And turn this into a legal circus?”
“It already is,” she snapped. “I’m just taking back the microphone.”
Xander, seated near the window, folded his arms. “You think this is going to make you look stronger?”
“I don’t care how I look,” she said, voice rising. “I care about justice.”
“That’s rich,” he muttered. “Coming from someone who spent three years playing wife to a snake.”
Sophie froze.
her aunt gasped softly. Richard looked toward Xander, but said nothing.
Sophie straightened, her eyes cold. “I spent three years surviving, Xander. I swallowed my pride for love. But I will not swallow it again to appease men who think silence equals strength.”
The room went still.
Richard finally spoke. “Let her speak. She earned it.”
Sophie looked to her father. “I don’t need permission anymore. But thank you.”
And with that, she left the room—Alexander trailing just behind her, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
“You have teeth now,” he murmured.
“I always did,” she replied. “I just used to hide them.”
- Writer
