CHAPTER 3 — The First Leak
1396 Words
Sebastian Devereux — POV
The first sign that the lie had left his office came in the form of silence.
Not the calm kind.
The delayed kind.
Sebastian noticed it the moment he entered the executive corridor.
Conversations stopped a fraction too late. Heads turned a fraction too quickly. Phones were angled away instead of toward him.
People weren’t reacting to him.
They were reacting around him.
He didn’t slow his pace.
He never did.
But his attention sharpened.
By the time he reached his office, his chief communications officer was already waiting.
That alone confirmed it.
“This better be about something real,” Sebastian said as he walked past her.
“It is,” she replied, following immediately.
Inside the office, Anastasia was already there.
Of course she was.
She stood beside his desk, tablet in hand, posture unchanged from yesterday—but her eyes were slightly more focused than usual. Not alarmed.
Alert.
Sebastian closed the door.
“Report,” he said.
The communications officer hesitated. “There’s a… rumor circulating internally.”
Sebastian didn’t sit.
He didn’t need to.
“What rumor.”
Anastasia glanced up briefly, then back to her screen. She already knew this wasn’t going to stay theoretical.
“The board assistants have been sharing messages,” the officer continued. “It started in the marketing division, then moved to investor relations.”
Sebastian’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“And?”
The officer exhaled. “It’s about you.”
Anastasia’s fingers paused for half a beat on her tablet.
Sebastian noticed.
“Continue,” he said.
“They’re saying you’re engaged,” the officer finished.
Silence.
Not shock.
Not confusion.
Calculation.
Sebastian slowly turned his head toward Anastasia.
She didn’t react outwardly, but her stillness changed quality.
“That was fast,” she said quietly.
“It wasn’t supposed to be public,” Sebastian replied.
“It wasn’t supposed to exist,” she corrected.
That earned a faint glance from him.
Then he turned back to the officer. “Who started it.”
“We can’t trace it to a single source,” she said. “It looks like it began as informal gossip in the executive dining floor. Someone overheard a call—your call.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened slightly.
The call with his mother.
Of course.
“And then it spread,” the officer continued, “because someone confirmed you didn’t deny it when asked.”
A pause.
Sebastian didn’t respond immediately.
Because that part mattered.
Not the rumor.
The reaction.
He had not denied it.
Which, in corporate language, was confirmation.
Anastasia spoke without looking up. “So now it’s real enough to circulate.”
The officer nodded. “At least internally.”
Sebastian finally sat.
Slowly.
Controlled.
“Contain it,” he said.
“We’re trying,” she replied. “But there’s more.”
That got his attention.
He looked up sharply.
The officer hesitated again, just slightly longer than before.
“Investor relations received a call,” she said.
“From who.”
A pause.
“Media inquiries are starting.”
Silence.
The room shifted.
Not physically.
Structurally.
Sebastian leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze now distant in the way it became when he was no longer reacting but modeling outcomes.
Anastasia closed her tablet.
For the first time since she had entered his office, she looked fully engaged in the situation rather than observing it.
“This is what I meant,” she said quietly.
Sebastian didn’t look at her yet.
“How far?” he asked.
The officer hesitated. “Not public press yet. But it will be if this continues.”
Sebastian nodded once.
“Stop it before it reaches press.”
“We’re attempting to suppress it internally—”
“Not attempting,” he said. “Do it.”
The officer straightened. “Yes, sir.”
She left quickly.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
But it was no longer neutral.
It had weight.
Sebastian finally looked at Anastasia.
“They moved faster than expected,” she said.
“Yes.”
“That means someone accelerated it.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Her gaze lifted fully now.
“Or they were waiting for confirmation,” she said.
Sebastian’s expression didn’t change.
But something behind his eyes did.
“Yes,” he repeated.
That was the problem with lies in his world.
They didn’t stay private.
They became assets.
Or weapons.
Anastasia Laurent — POV
Anastasia had expected risk.
She had not expected velocity.
Rumors didn’t usually move this fast inside Devereux Cosmetics unless someone wanted them to.
She walked to the window in Sebastian’s office without asking permission. He didn’t stop her.
That was its own kind of acknowledgment.
Below, the city moved in layers of indifference—traffic, pedestrians, distant construction.
Normality.
It always looked fragile from above.
“This is board-level curiosity,” she said.
Sebastian’s voice came from behind her. “Or internal leverage.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
That was the more dangerous option.
She turned slightly.
“You understand what this means,” she said.
“Yes.”
“If this reaches press before Sunday, your family dinner becomes irrelevant.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother will not forgive you for controlling narrative without her.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
He was already ahead of her.
That was both reassuring and unsettling.
Anastasia crossed her arms lightly.
“So now we have a second timeline problem,” she said.
Sebastian’s gaze shifted slightly toward her.
“Explain.”
She turned back to him.
“Originally, we only needed to survive Sunday,” she said. “Now we need to ensure the engagement appears stable before Sunday.”
A beat.
“Or it collapses publicly before we even enter the villa.”
Sebastian didn’t respond immediately.
Then: “You think it will collapse.”
“I think it will be tested,” she corrected.
A silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just precise.
Sebastian stood and walked to his desk again, placing one hand on the edge.
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
Anastasia hesitated briefly—not because she lacked an answer, but because she was aware of the implication of offering one.
Then she said, “We stabilize the narrative.”
“By?”
“We confirm it.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“Confirm the engagement.”
“Yes.”
“To the company.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“And control the tone before someone else defines it,” she added.
That was the key.
Sebastian understood it instantly.
He always did.
But he didn’t answer immediately.
Because confirmation meant anchoring the lie.
Making it heavier.
More real in the eyes of everyone watching.
He walked past her slightly, thinking.
Then stopped.
“Draft the statement,” he said.
Anastasia blinked once. “You’re approving it.”
“I’m correcting course,” he said.
She studied him.
“That escalates visibility.”
“Yes.”
“And increases scrutiny.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“You’re accelerating the risk,” she said.
Sebastian’s gaze was steady.
“I’m controlling the direction of it,” he replied.
That distinction mattered in his world.
And hers.
Anastasia nodded slowly.
“Then we move before the leak becomes a narrative we can’t shape.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“And you?” he asked.
She didn’t need clarification.
“You’re asking if I’m ready to be publicly acknowledged as your fiancée.”
“Yes.”
Anastasia held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she said, “I agreed to Sunday.”
A pause.
“That includes the preconditions that make Sunday believable,” she added.
Sebastian studied her carefully.
“You’re adjusting quickly,” he said.
“I prefer stable systems,” she replied.
A faint silence.
Then he nodded once.
“Do it.”
Sebastian watched her return to her tablet immediately, already drafting wording, already restructuring tone, already turning chaos into something presentable.
He should have felt relief.
Instead, he felt something else.
Not doubt.
Not fear.
Something closer to awareness.
Because the lie had just left his control in one direction—
And Anastasia Laurent had just pulled it back in another.
And that meant one thing, more than anything else:
This was no longer just about Sunday.
It was about what came after.
- Writer
