The First Scandal
779 Words
Elara’s phone felt like it was on fire.
Every time she glanced down, new notifications swarmed the screen like angry bees. Headlines screamed from every app:
“Billionaire Cassian Vale’s Fiancée Sparks Controversy!”
“Who Is Elara Quinn? The Woman Behind Vale’s Sudden Engagement?”
“Is Cassian Vale Finally Softening His Image, or Is This All a PR Stunt?”
Her stomach clenched tighter with each swipe.
The carefully crafted image she was supposed to embody; the vulnerable, tragic fiancée swept off her feet by a billionaire, was already fracturing under the weight of relentless public scrutiny.
Some articles were kind enough to call her a “strong, independent woman,” but most were merciless. They dredged up her family’s bankruptcy, the auction, her father’s arrest, and her own fragile financial state.
Comments were vicious:
“Looks like Vale finally gave in to charity cases.”
“She’s barely a footnote in his world.”
“Fake fiancée? More like a desperate attention-seeker.”
Elara clenched her jaw, her fingers trembling as she scrolled.
This wasn’t the plan.
Her phone buzzed again. An incoming text from Cassian:
“Meet me at 2 PM. Office.”
Her breath hitched. She stared at the message, willing herself to feel something other than fear.
She typed back, hands unsteady, “On my way.”
The Vale International skyscraper towered imposingly against the afternoon sky, its glass walls reflecting the city’s pulse.
Inside, the lobby was a study in cold elegance; marble floors, chrome fixtures, and the faint hum of a security scanner that seemed to guard secrets as much as the building itself.
Elara’s footsteps echoed hollowly as she was led to Cassian’s office on the 57th floor.
He was already waiting, seated behind his vast desk like a king surveying his kingdom.
"Sit," he commanded, nodding toward the chair opposite.
She obeyed, clutching the strap of her purse like her life depended on it.
Cassian folded his hands and fixed her with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
“You’ve read the headlines.”
“I have.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“They’re brutal.” His tone was neutral, but there was an edge of something—was it amusement?—beneath the surface.
Elara swallowed hard. “It’s overwhelming. I thought the contract would protect me.”
He leaned back, steepling his fingers thoughtfully.
“Protection is relative. Public opinion is a beast, and it’s hungry.”
Cassian slid a thick folder across the desk.
“Here’s the media strategy. Carefully crafted statements, staged appearances, and controlled interviews. This narrative will be our weapon.”
Elara flipped through the pages, dense with talking points and image guidelines.
“If I don’t want to play along?” she asked cautiously.
His gaze darkened.
“Then the contract ends. And so does my protection.”
The weight of his words crushed her pride.
She nodded slowly. “I’ll cooperate.”
The next days were a whirlwind of orchestrated appearances.
Paparazzi trailed her relentlessly. Every smile, every misstep was magnified under a microscope.
During a press conference, a sharp reporter jabbed at her.
“Ms. Quinn, do you feel this engagement is genuine, or is it a business arrangement?”
Elara’s hands trembled visibly.
Cassian stepped forward smoothly.
“Ms. Quinn’s strength is an asset. This partnership is about mutual respect and shared vision.”
His gaze landed on her, an unspoken command to hold steady.
Her heart hammered wildly.
Back at the penthouse, the polished world peeled away.
Elara paced, her thoughts spiraling.
Suddenly, her phone lit up with a message from an unknown number:
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
Before she could respond, the door clicked open.
Cassian entered, holding two glasses of wine.
He handed one to her, watching her like a hawk.
“Who sent that?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Someone who thinks I’m dangerous.”
She studied him carefully. “Why are you helping me survive this?”
His eyes flickered.
“Because I need you to trust me.”
The next day, Geneva appeared.
She was the epitome of cold elegance—platinum hair slicked back, ruby lips curved in a smirk.
“Poor Elara,” Geneva cooed. “You really think you’re special? You’re just a pawn in Cassian’s game.”
Elara’s glare was fierce.
“I’m no one’s pawn.”
Cassian watched silently, unreadable.
The battlefield was set.
As the scandal escalated, Elara realized this wasn’t just a contract.
It was a war.
And she needed to learn the rules fast if she wanted to win.
- Writer
