CHAPTER FIFTEEN — Public
865 Words
LENA'S POV
Axel saw it first.
He came into the kitchen where I was eating lunch, put his phone screen in front of my face without saying anything, and waited.
I looked at the screen.
My face looked back at me.
It was a news article. The photograph was from outside the church on the wedding day, taken by someone I had not noticed in the chaos of running. I was mid stride, wedding dress lifted in both hands, mouth open, eyes wild. The headline above it said BILLIONAIRE'S RUNAWAY BRIDE HIDING WITH NOTORIOUS MOTORCYCLE GANG.
I put down my fork.
"When did this go up," I said.
"An hour ago," Axel said. "It is already everywhere."
I read the article while Axel stood beside me and Ghost appeared in the doorway and Rook came in from the corridor and suddenly all four of us were crowded around a phone screen in the kitchen reading about me.
The article was not subtle. It called the Iron Grave MC a known criminal organization. It called Ghost an unidentified dangerous associate. It called me emotionally unstable and suggested I had been manipulated by the club into hiding from a concerned and loving partner who only wanted to ensure the safety of his unborn children.
Edmund's unborn children.
I put the phone down on the table.
"He wrote this," I said.
"His people did," Ghost said from the doorway. "He would not put his name near it directly. Too smart for that."
"He is controlling the story," I said.
"Yes."
I looked at the phone. At my own face on the screen looking terrified and wild and exactly like someone who had lost her mind and run from a perfectly reasonable situation. Edmund had taken the truest moment of my life, the moment I finally chose myself, and turned it into evidence that I was unstable.
"I want to respond," I said.
"No," Ghost said.
I looked at him. "Ghost."
"Not yet," he said. "Responding now looks reactive. We wait until we have something worth saying."
"He is out there right now telling everyone I am unstable and you want me to stay quiet."
"I want you to stay strategic," he said. "There is a difference."
I pushed back from the table and stood up. "I have been quiet my whole life," I said. "I was quiet when my parents sold me. I was quiet when Edmund looked at me like I was something he had purchased. I was quiet all the way down the aisle and the only moment I stopped being quiet was the moment everything changed." I looked at him directly. "Silence has never once protected me Ghost. Not once."
The kitchen was very still.
Ghost looked at me for a long moment. Something working behind his eyes.
Axel said nothing which was how I knew he agreed with me.
Rook was looking at the wall which was how he thought.
"Give me until tomorrow morning," Ghost said finally. "Let me make some calls. If you still want to respond after that we do it properly. Not reactive. Not defensive. On your terms."
I looked at him. "Tomorrow morning."
"Yes."
"And if I still want to respond."
"Then we find you the right platform and you say exactly what you want to say," he said. "On your terms. In your words. With nobody telling you what to say or how to say it."
I held his gaze for a moment.
"Tomorrow morning," I agreed.
That evening the article had been shared forty thousand times.
I knew because Axel kept checking and I kept telling him to stop checking and he kept doing it anyway because Axel processed anxiety through information the way Rook processed it through stillness and Ghost processed it through action.
I sat in the common room and did not check my phone.
Rook came and sat across from me around eight. He did not bring his notepad. He just sat.
"Say something," I said.
"Edmund is scared," he said. "Scared men make noise. Noise is not the same as power."
"It feels like power when it is your face on a news website," I said.
"I know," he said. "But feeling like power and being power are different things." He looked at me steadily. "You have been through worse than a bad article."
"I know that."
"Then remember it," he said simply.
I looked at him. At the green eyes and the quiet and the way he sat with me through hard things without trying to make them smaller than they were. "Rook."
"Yes."
"Thank you for always just saying the true thing," I said. "Even when it is not comfortable."
He held my gaze. "The comfortable thing is not usually useful," he said.
"No," I agreed. "It is not."
We sat together in the quiet common room while outside the compound the article circulated and Edmund's version of my story spread across the internet like something that could not be stopped.
Tomorrow I would stop it.
On my terms. In my words.
Ghost had promised her that and Ghost did not break promises.
She was going to hold him to it.
- Writer
