The Turning Tide
1175 Words
Chapter Five – The Turning Tide
Naomi Cole had never felt smaller.
She sat on the edge of the bed in her shortlet apartment, hair still pinned neatly from the board meeting, but her soul felt ripped apart. The papers she’d signed hours ago lay crumpled on the nightstand, the ink bleeding faintly where her trembling hand had pressed too hard.
They took everything from me.
The company she had poured her blood into. The shares she had fought for. Even her dignity. All ripped from her hands with cold signatures and sharper words.
Her phone buzzed on the duvet. She ignored it once. Twice. By the third vibration, she picked it up, thinking it was an empty sympathy text from someone on the board.
Instead, her heart stopped.
#NaomiColeScandal was trending.
She clicked. Her face filled the screen — her in the Riverton Club, lips crushed under a stranger’s kiss, her blouse gaping open, hair wild. Another photo of her stumbling into a car. And worse, a grainy shot of her with Damian in the hotel lobby, his hand gripping her waist like possession.
> “Cole heiress caught drunk with billionaire playboy Damian Scott.”
“Orphan Naomi Cole disgraces family, loses company shares.”
“The unwanted daughter becomes the scandal daughter.”
Naomi’s chest constricted. Her hands shook as she scrolled, hundreds of comments spitting venom.
Slut. Homewrecker. w***e. No wonder Marcus left her.
Imagine biting the hand that fed you. The Coles gave her a life and this is how she repays them?
Typical gold-digger, latching onto Damian Scott. She’ll never survive in his world.
Her vision blurred. She dropped the phone as if it had burned her.
She barely slept.
---
Across town, Franklin Cole slammed his fist on his glass desk.
“This is sabotage!” he roared, glaring at the plunging numbers on the projector screen. “Our shares have dropped fifteen percent in two hours. Investors are calling nonstop. If this continues, we’ll lose our position in the market.”
Dorothy stood nearby, arms crossed protectively over her barely-there bump, tears sliding down her cheeks. “It’s her fault,” she whispered. “Naomi ruined everything. She did this to spite us.”
Marcus leaned against the wall, jaw tight. “You’re all blind. She’s been planning this. Running to Damian Scott like some—”
“Enough,” Franklin snapped, though his hands trembled as he straightened his tie. His fury was laced with something else—fear. Whoever was pulling these strings wasn’t Naomi. She didn’t have the power to orchestrate a financial bloodbath.
But the world didn’t need to know that. As far as the press was concerned, Naomi Cole was the perfect scapegoat.
“Prepare a press statement,” Franklin ordered, voice cold. “By morning, she will be nothing but a disgraced orphan, and we’ll clean our name from her filth.”
Dorothy sniffled. “But Father, if the stocks keep falling—”
“I said I’ll handle it,” Franklin snapped. His face hardened, but deep down, he was rattled. Something far bigger was in motion.
---
On the top floor of Scott Tower, Damian sat like a king on a throne, glass of whiskey in his hand, the city lights sprawling beneath him.
Derek, his chief of staff, stood across the room, tablet in hand. “Cole Foods is bleeding. They’ve lost nearly two billion in valuation since the scandal broke. Franklin’s enemies are circling like vultures. If we press harder, they won’t recover.”
Damian swirled his drink slowly, his expression unreadable. “Good.”
Derek hesitated. “Forgive me for asking, but why her? Of all people… Naomi Cole?”
Damian’s lips curved, but it wasn’t amusement—it was possession. “Because she’s mine.”
Derek frowned. “She doesn’t even know you.”
“She will.” Damian’s gaze slid to the window, sharp as a blade. “The Coles threw her away like garbage. I’ll turn their trash into my treasure. And when the dust settles, she won’t just survive—she’ll carry my name.”
His voice dropped, lethal. “Schedule the announcement.”
---
The next morning, Naomi finally gathered the courage to step outside. She wore sunglasses and a cap, praying anonymity would shield her.
It didn’t.
The moment she reached the street, cameras flashed like lightning. Paparazzi surged forward, microphones shoved in her face.
“Naomi, are you Damian Scott’s mistress?”
“Did you sell your shares for his protection?”
“Are you the reason Cole Foods is collapsing?”
“Were you drunk when you seduced him?”
Naomi froze, her stomach twisting violently. She tried to push through, but their questions cut sharper than knives.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted, but her voice cracked.
Then the crowd shifted. A convoy of sleek black cars pulled up, engines purring like predators. Men in black suits stepped out, muscled and precise, parting the crowd with ease.
And then he appeared.
Damian Scott.
Tailored suit, tie loosened just enough, eyes as cold as midnight steel. The world seemed to tilt as he walked toward her, every step radiating control. The cameras went into a frenzy.
Naomi’s breath hitched. “What are you—”
Before she could finish, his arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him. His cologne enveloped her, sharp, intoxicating. He looked at the cameras, voice low but carrying like thunder.
“This woman is not a mistress.” His words were deliberate, dangerous. “She is my wife.”
The world exploded.
Shouts, flashes, gasps. Naomi went rigid, stunned. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Wife? What the hell was he saying?
Reporters screamed over each other. “Is it true?” “When did you marry?” “Why hide it until now?”
Damian ignored them all. He tucked her firmly against his side, shielding her as the bodyguards ushered them into the car.
Inside the tinted silence, Naomi jerked her arm free. “What the hell was that?”
Damian leaned back casually, crossing one leg over the other, his gaze steady on her. “A solution.”
Her pulse raced. “A lie! You can’t just—”
“Naomi.” He said her name like a command, like it belonged to him already. His thumb brushed over her trembling hand, possessive, unyielding. “You wanted to escape them. Now you belong to me. Whether you like it or not.”
Naomi’s throat tightened. Fury warred with confusion, with the strange, terrifying pull of him.
Outside, her phone buzzed nonstop. The headlines were already live:
“Damian Scott’s Secret Wife Revealed: Naomi Cole.”
“Corporate War or Love Story? The Marriage Shocking Riverton.”
Naomi closed her eyes, breath trembling. She thought she’d lost everything. She thought she’d reached her end.
But the truth settled like a storm in her chest.
This wasn’t the end.
This was the beginning.
This was the turning tide.
- Writer
