Engaged to my Billionaire Rival

Chapter 9

The room detonated.

Questions erupted instantly, voice overlapping in a chaotic surge as reporters pushed forward. Cameras flashed so rapidly the light became almost constant. The energy shifted from anticipation to frenzy, the kind that only came from something unexpected enough to feel like a story that would dominate headlines for weeks.

Alex felt the impact of it like a wave, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into it.

“This partnership extends beyond business,” she added, her voice steady. Her gaze was unwavering as she addressed the room. “We’ve chosen to formalize that in a way that reflects both our personal and professional alignment.”

The words felt almost surreal as they left her mouth, but they landed exactly the way they needed to: controlled, intentional, giving nothing away while appearing to give everything.

“Miss Adkins!” someone called out. “When did this relationship begin?”

“How long have you been involved?” another voice pushed.

“Was the merger planned before the engagement?”

“Mr. Ashford, is this a strategic move or a personal decision?”

The questions came faster now, sharp as they probed for cracks in their story.

Callan didn’t release Alex’s hand. “We understand the interest,” he said, his tone calm despite the chaos. “But there are aspects of our relationship that will remain private.”

That didn’t stop them. “If this isn’t strategic, why announce both at once?”

Alex answered before he could. “Because we don’t separate the two,” she said smoothly, her gaze cutting toward the source of the question. “We never have.”

There was a beat where she could sense the shift, then Callan turned his head, looking at her fully this time. She could tell it wasn’t for the cameras or a show for the room. It was like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t expected.

For a moment, what they had signed a contract for felt almost real.

As soon as they stepped off the stage, everything shifted again. The noise didn’t disappear. It followed them, a persistent echo of shouted question and camera shutters snapping from behind the barrier. But it dulled just enough to make space for something else. Something more dangerous.

A handler intercepted them immediately, speaking quickly about follow-up interviews, scheduling adjustments, media requests that had already begun stacking faster than anyone could reasonably process. Assistants hovered nearby. Their voices were low, but urgent, phones pressed to their ears as the news spread in real time beyond the room.

Alex barely heard any of it. She was acutely aware of one thing: Callan’s hand was still holding hers. Not because anyone was watching closely enough to require it, but because he simply had not let go.

She glanced down briefly, then back up at him, her expression sharpening. “You can release me now,” she said under her breath.

Callan’s thumb shifted once against her skin before he slowly loosened his grip, enough that she noticed the absence the moment it was gone. “I thought we were maintaining appearances,” he replied, his tone smooth.

“There are no cameras here.”

His gaze flicked toward the hallway where a few lingered, long lenses still angled in their direction, hopeful for something unscripted. “There are always cameras,” he said.

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though it hovered dangerously close. “Of course, there are.”

They moved forward together, guided through a quieter corridor toward a private conference room reserved for speakers. The chaos of the main press area started fading behind them as the door closed with a soft, but definitive click.

Silence settled. Real silence, this time. It pressed in around them, thick with everything neither of them had acknowledged while standing in front of a hundred flashing cameras.

Alex let out a slow breath. The tension she had been holding rigidly in place was beginning to loosen in increments she didn’t fully trust.

“Well,” she said after a moment, crossing her arms as she turned toward him, “that was a disaster waiting to happen.”

Callan leaned back against the edge of the table, studying her with an unreadable expression. “It didn’t look like a disaster.”

“That’s because I’m good at my job,” she snapped.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “So am I.”

Alex held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “You went off-script,” she said finally.

He tilted his head. “So did you.”

Her brows lifted. “I was responding to watch you changed.”

“Yet, you were convincing,” Callan countered.

Something in his tone made her pause. “Careful,” she said lightly, though there was an edge beneath it. “You almost sound impressed.”

“I am.” The words landed between them without hesitation, without deflection, and for once, without any trace of mockery.

Alex blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what she had expected him to say.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said, trying to recover herself quickly.

Callan scoffs. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The air changes again, subtle but unmistakable. There was something softer threading through the tension now, and it didn’t quite belong to the rivalry they had spent years perfecting.

Alex pushed off from where she stood, moving toward the table as she reached for a bottle of water. She needed something to ground herself before she threw one at Callan’s head.

“Next time,” she said, twisting the cap open, “warn me before you decide to announce life-altering decisions with no preamble.”

Callan hummed, amusement flashing in his eyes. “I assumed you preferred spontaneity.”

“I prefer control,” Alex said.

“I’ve noticed.”

Alex took a long sip of water, then set the bottle down with more force than necessary. “And for the record, the hand-holding was excessive.”

The amusement in his expression deepened before he shrugged dismissively. “You didn’t pull away.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because that would have looked suspicious.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

It came too easily, too smoothly. And that irritated her more than it should have.