NATALIA
The next morning, headlines were still coming in from every screen - “Tech Heiress and Rival CEO’s Steamy Affair: Sabotage or Surrender?” One tabloid had gone so far as to photoshop an image of Wesley and me in an intimate embrace. The narrative was vicious: Wesley was using me, bedding me to dismantle my father’s legacy from the inside.
I stood motionless, my arms crossed over my chest, staring at the chaos I had helped create. The night in France replayed - his hands on my skin, the way he had whispered my name. Now it had been weaponized. My phone buzzed incessantly with messages from everyone
I refused to let it break my stride. The campaign for our joint project that had brought us together in the first place could not die because of one reckless, beautiful mistake.
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