Episode Twelve: The Statement
1204 Words
“I’m saying no.”
The words came out immediately.
Sharp.
Certain.
Because this had gone too far.
Way too far.
Damian stood near the bedroom doorway watching me carefully while Mom looked exhausted between us.
“The board doesn’t decide my life,” I continued. “And they definitely don’t get to use my mother’s illness for public sympathy.”
“No one’s arguing that.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I’m explaining the situation.”
“That’s worse.”
Frustration flashed briefly across his face.
Not anger exactly.
More like exhaustion from trying to hold together too many disasters at once.
Good.
He deserved at least some stress.
Mom sat back down slowly on the bed.
“You two argue like you’ve been married for years already.”
“Mom.”
“What?” she asked innocently.
Absolutely unbelievable.
Damian looked away suspiciously fast.
Coward.
I crossed my arms tightly.
“There’s no statement.”
“Elena—”
“No.”
He went quiet after that.
And somehow the silence felt heavier than arguing.
Because Damian didn’t look irritated anymore.
He looked cornered.
Which made this harder.
Unfortunately.
A soft vibration buzzed from my phone.
Then another.
Then another.
I frowned and checked the screen.
Messages flooded nonstop.
Unknown numbers.
Social media notifications.
Missed calls.
One message preview caught my eye immediately.
WE KNOW WHERE YOUR BROTHER GOES TO SCHOOL
My blood went cold.
“What happened?” Mom asked instantly.
I couldn’t answer.
My hands suddenly felt numb.
Damian noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
I showed him the phone silently.
The second he read the message, something terrifying settled over his expression.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Not billionaire arrogance.
Protective fury.
“Who sent this?” Mateo demanded from the hallway.
Wonderful timing.
He entered the room holding his own phone.
And judging by his expression—
He’d seen things too.
“They found my social media,” he said tightly. “People are messaging me.”
Mom looked horrified.
I suddenly wanted to throw every phone in existence into the ocean.
Damian held his hand out calmly.
“Give me both phones.”
“No,” Mateo snapped immediately.
“Mateo.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“That makes two of us,” I muttered.
Damian ignored that completely.
Again.
Annoyingly.
“These messages need tracing,” he said evenly. “Security can identify where they’re coming from.”
Mateo hesitated.
I hated that this situation was forcing us to rely on him.
But I hated those messages more.
Slowly, Mateo handed over the phone.
Damian typed something quickly before making a call.
His voice turned clipped and professional immediately.
“I need digital security now.”
A pause.
“No, not later. Immediately.”
Another pause.
Then colder—
“And find whoever leaked the Reyes family information before I do.”
The room went silent.
Because somehow—
That last part sounded like a threat.
Even through the phone.
Damian ended the call and looked toward us again.
“Your accounts will be locked temporarily.”
Mateo frowned.
“You can do that?”
“Yes.”
Rich people were terrifying.
I sat slowly beside Mom on the bed.
My exhaustion was becoming something deeper now.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not for me.
For them.
Because online cruelty was one thing.
But threats?
That changed everything.
Mom touched my hand carefully.
“This isn’t your burden alone.”
But it felt like it was.
Every decision now affected them too.
Damian stood near the doorway still holding both phones.
Watching.
Thinking.
Then finally—
“The statement might actually help.”
I looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Excuse me?”
“It changes the narrative.”
“Oh my God.”
“Elena, listen to me.”
“No, you listen to me.”
I stood so quickly the room spun slightly.
“This fake relationship thing was already insane before people started threatening my family.”
“And now they’ll escalate further.”
“That’s exactly why I’m refusing!”
His jaw tightened.
“Public sympathy reduces aggression.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You really do think like a corporation.”
Something flickered across his face then.
A hit.
Not dramatic.
But real.
Good.
Because I was tired of being the only one hurting.
“I think like someone who’s dealt with media crises before,” he corrected quietly.
“And I think like someone whose life is being destroyed in real time.”
Silence.
Mom looked stressed now.
Mateo looked ready to physically remove Damian from existence.
The tension in the room tightened again.
Then unexpectedly—
Damian walked toward the window instead of arguing.
He stood there for several seconds with his back to us.
Hands in his pockets.
Shoulders tense.
When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded lower.
“My father died because of public pressure.”
The room stilled instantly.
I blinked.
“What?”
Damian kept staring out the window.
“The media called him corrupt for months during a merger investigation.” His voice stayed calm. “Turned him into a villain before the case was even reviewed.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
Not rehearsed.
Not performative.
Personal.
“He had a heart attack during a press conference.”
Oh.
Nobody spoke after that.
Even Mateo went quiet.
“I was twenty-two,” Damian continued. “And by the next morning, reporters were asking if I’d replace him as CEO.”
There it was again.
That exhaustion living permanently beneath his skin.
I suddenly understood something uncomfortable.
Damian didn’t just hate media chaos.
He feared what it did to people.
To families.
To grief.
Slowly, he turned back toward us.
“They don’t stop once they choose a target,” he said quietly. “They keep pushing until something breaks.”
The room felt smaller after that.
He wasn’t trying to manipulate me.
That was the worst part.
He genuinely believed this was the safest option.
For us.
And somehow that terrified me more.
Mom looked at Damian carefully.
“You’ve been carrying that alone a long time.”
His expression closed instantly.
Too late.
She’d already seen it.
Mothers really were terrifying.
Damian straightened slightly.
“The statement goes out in three hours.”
I frowned immediately.
“You’re still doing it?”
“No.”
He held my gaze steadily.
“But the board will if we don’t stop them first.”
A chill crawled slowly through me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re preparing to announce a relationship with or without your consent.”
My stomach dropped.
“They can’t do that.”
“They absolutely can.”
Corporate billionaires were genuinely evil.
I started pacing immediately.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“I hate your family.”
“Reasonable.”
“I hate your board.”
“Also reasonable.”
“I might hate you too.”
That one made him pause.
Only briefly.
“Also reasonable,” he said quietly.
And somehow—
That answer hurt a little.
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