Safe With You

Damage Control (and coffee)

~ Greyson ~

It’s too early for this level of stupidity.

I’m not even halfway through my first coffee when Winston storms into my office like the building’s on fire, waving his phone above his head.

“You’ve seen it, right?” he demands, out of breath.

“Seen what?” I ask, already knowing I’m going to regret the question.

He slams himself into the chair opposite me. “Mark’s latest stunt. He’s back in the headlines. Congratulations, brother — apparently your girlfriend’s been living a double life.”

I blink. “Come again?”

He grins like a man who’s found chaos and intends to share it.

“Look for yourself.”

He tosses me the phone, and there it is — a headline so absurd it borders on comedy.

“Alyssa Rose’s Secret Lover? Designer’s Hidden Scandal Rocks the Fashion World!”

Underneath it, a blurry photo of Alyssa in what looks like a hotel lobby, apparently holding hands with a man who—if you squint really hard and abandon logic—might possibly resemble someone who isn’t me.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, scrolling. “They didn’t even try to make it believable.”

“Wait, wait—” Winston zooms in. “Look at that reflection. They literally cloned your jawline onto some stranger’s head.”

I rub my temple. “Brilliant. He’s officially lost it.”

That’s when Markus walks in, coffee in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone about to see nonsense unfold.

“What’s all this?”

Winston spins the phone around. Markus takes one look and bursts into laughter. “He didn’t even Photoshop the hands right. That bloke’s got six fingers!”

I lean back, shaking my head. “I’d love to know where she’d find the time for an affair. We’ve been together every bloody day since we met.”

“Exactly,” Winston says. “Unless she’s secretly cloned herself, this guy’s lost touch with reality.”

Before either of us can add more fuel to the fire, a voice comes from the doorway — lower, rougher, and laced with irritation.

“Who’s lost touch with reality now?”

Tray steps inside, arms folded, wearing that look that says someone’s about to regret their choices.

“Your favourite punching bag,” Winston says dryly. “Mark’s back in the headlines.”

Tray’s jaw tightens as he walks over. “I saw it on the drive here. My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing. Couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or find the man myself.”

“Stick to laughing,” Markus advises, sipping his coffee. “It’s cheaper than bail.”

Tray doesn’t laugh. “What’s his angle this time?”

“Apparently,” Winston says, scrolling, “Alyssa’s been running a secret love affair while running her empire.”

Tray scoffs. “He’s reaching.”

“Past reaching,” I say. “He’s falling.”

The four of us sit there for a moment — the silence filled with that electric sort of disbelief that borders on rage.

Then Winston starts laughing again.

“Oh my God,” he says, pointing at the screen. “He’s backed it up with a ‘source close to Mark.’”

Markus chokes on his coffee. “A source close to Mark? What is that, his mirror?”

“Probably his parole officer,” Tray mutters darkly.

Winston wheezes. “You know what? The world deserves to hear that line.”

For the first time in hours, I actually laugh.

Because this — this pathetic, desperate attempt to destroy her — is proof of how weak he’s become.

The man who once had control over her life can’t even control a Photoshop app.

I scroll down and spot the comments — a flood of support that drowns out every ounce of poison he tried to spread.

“This is pathetic.”

“That photo’s faker than his career.”

“We stan Alyssa and Greyson, nice try loser.”

Her fanbase has gone feral — in the best way.

“They’re tearing him apart,” I say, showing Tray the screen. “Someone made a meme comparing him to a rejected extra from EastEnders.”

Markus wheezes again. “Glorious. I needed this.”

Tray, though, just leans back and crosses his arms. “Good. Let him become a joke. Because I swear, if he so much as looks in her direction again, I’ll handle it personally.”

The edge in his voice makes the air go still.

Winston gives a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Don’t hurt my sister,” Tray replies, deadpan.

Markus chuckles. “Point taken.”

“Relax,” I tell him, though my tone is softer than my words. “I won’t let him near her. He’s already destroyed himself — all we’re doing now is watching the fallout.”

Tray nods, though his jaw still ticks. “She doesn’t deserve any of this. After everything…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

The door bursts open again.

Lillian’s voice cuts through the tension like sunlight.

“Have you seen what they’re doing online?” she practically squeals, waving her own phone.

Winston groans. “Oh, here we go.”

She shows us the screen.

There’s a meme — Alyssa in the fake photo, captioned:

“When you’re so booked and busy you cheat on your man and design your own alibi.”

Markus snorts. “Genius. Pure, caffeinated genius.”

Lillian scrolls again, laughing. “And this one! Someone deepfaked the ‘other man’s’ head onto a mannequin in one of Alyssa’s dresses. The caption says: Her true love: haute couture.”

Even I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, that one stays.”

Tray just shakes his head, chuckling despite himself. “You people are insane.”

“Correct,” Winston says proudly.

When Lillian finally leaves, the room settles again — laughter fading into quiet focus.

“She’s stronger than people realise,” Tray says after a moment. “She’s been through hell and still walks into a room like she owns it.”

Winston nods. “She’s unbreakable.”

Markus glances at me. “You’re lucky, Grey. You both are.”

I look down at the ridiculous photo again, then back at my brothers and Tray — the three men who, in their own chaotic ways, have kept me grounded.

“She’s not the lucky one,” I say softly. “I am.”

Tray leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then keep her that way. Don’t let him drag her back into his mess.”

I meet his eyes. “I won’t.”

Later, after they’ve all gone, I scroll through my messages.

Alyssa: “He really thought the world would believe him. It’s over, isn’t it?”

Me: “It’s been over since the day you walked away.”

Alyssa: “You always know what to say.”

Me: “I try. Mostly fail. Occasionally succeed spectacularly.”

Alyssa: “This counts as spectacular.”

I smile faintly, setting my phone down on the desk.

Outside, London hums — busy, bright, alive.

Inside, for the first time in months, it’s quiet.

Mark’s lies are collapsing under their own weight.

Alyssa’s name is trending again — not in scandal, but in strength.

#WeStandWithAlyssaRose

#FabricatedFabrications

#AlyssaAndGreysonForever

And beneath the humour and noise, there’s peace.

Because the man who once terrorised her is now the world’s punchline.

Because she’s no longer fighting alone.

Because this — the laughter, the loyalty, the love — is what survival looks like when you finally stop running from the past.