THE CEO'S OFFER

THE PRESS CONFERENCE

My phone was screaming at 6:17a.m.

Not ringing.

Screaming.

The screen was filled with notifications, missed calls, messages, and headlines. More than two hundred messages waited for me, most from numbers I didn't recognize.

One headline caught my eye.

*ADRIAN KNIGHT ADDRESSES WEDDING SCANDAL IN LIVE PRESS CONFERENCE*

My stomach dropped.

I barely had time to sit up before I noticed the television across the room.

It was already on.

Damien stood in front of it, arms folded across his chest. He was dressed in black sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, his hair slightly messy.

For the first time since I'd met him, he didn't look like Damien Carter, the untouchable billionaire CEO whose name could make an entire boardroom go silent.

He looked like a man getting ready for war.

On the television, Adrian stood behind a row of microphones in a perfectly tailored navy suit.

Natasha stood beside him.

Her hand rested protectively over her barely visible stomach.

Her eyes were red.

Tearful.

Perfect.

"I want to address yesterday's events," Adrian began, his voice unsteady.

He paused at exactly the right moment.

"I know there has been a lot of speculation. First, I want to take full responsibility for my mistakes. I am not going to pretend I handled everything perfectly."

I stared at the screen.

Then he said my name.

"Isabella."

My chest tightened.

He said it like he was mourning me.

"Isabella was vulnerable after her father's company collapsed. She was going through an incredibly difficult period, and unfortunately, someone saw that vulnerability as an opportunity."

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

Manipulated.

Opportunity.

He was rewriting everything.

Not the man who had humiliated me on my wedding day.

Not the man who had walked into the church with Natasha and left me standing in front of hundreds of people while my entire life fell apart.

No.

On television, Adrian was the wounded fiancé.

And I was the helpless woman who had been taken advantage of.

"I only want Isabella to be happy," he continued. "Even if that happiness came at the cost of my own heart."

I almost laughed.

Almost.

But nothing about it was funny.

Natasha lowered her head and wiped beneath one eye.

"We just want peace," she whispered.

The reporters practically devoured it.

Questions came from every direction.

"Do you believe Mr. Carter manipulated Isabella?"

"Is the baby yours, Mr. Knight?"

"Will you be seeking legal damages?"

"Did you know Isabella was involved with Damien Carter before the wedding?"

Damien picked up the remote.

The television went black.

Silence filled the room.

I swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

He looked at me.

"For what?"

"For this."

I gestured toward the television.

"For dragging you into all of this."

Damien's expression didn't change.

"This became my problem the moment you signed the contract, Miss Hart."

He paused.

Then his voice softened slightly.

"Now it's our problem."

Our.

The word shouldn't have affected me.

It did.

Before I could respond, the penthouse doors opened.

People began pouring in.

A PR team.

Two lawyers.

Stylists.

Assistants carrying garment bags.

Someone was already talking about media strategy. Someone else was discussing stock prices. Another person was asking whether I had approved a statement.

I felt like I'd been dropped into the middle of a machine that had been running long before I arrived.

A woman with a clipboard approached me.

"Mrs. Carter, we need to discuss tonight's appearance."

I blinked.

"Tonight?"

"Toni," Damien said, "brief her."

Toni turned toward me.

She had the calm expression of someone who had survived a thousand public relations disasters and considered mine barely an inconvenience.

"Adrian has successfully positioned himself as the sympathetic party," she said. "The public currently believes you were vulnerable and that Mr. Carter took advantage of the situation."

I stared at her.

"So I'm the villain?"

"Not exactly."

"That's what it sounds like."

Toni sighed.

"The internet doesn't need facts. It needs a story. Adrian has given them one."

"And what happens to Carter Corporation?"

"That's the bigger concern."

She glanced at her tablet.

"Knight Holdings stock is up four percent this morning."

My mouth fell open.

"Because of this?"

"Because investors believe Adrian is stable and emotionally sympathetic. Public sentiment is affecting market confidence."

I looked at Damien.

He seemed completely unfazed.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

He walked toward the windows.

The city stretched beneath us, bright and indifferent.

"We rewrite the story."

I frowned.

"How?"

He turned around.

"Tonight is the Blackwood Charity Gala."

I'd heard of it.

Everyone had.

The kind of event where billionaires donated millions, politicians shook hands with CEOs, and reporters watched every interaction like it meant something.

"Every major investor, CEO, and entertainment reporter will be there," Damien continued. "So will Adrian."

My heart began beating faster.

"You want me to go?"

"We're going."

"Together?"

His eyes held mine.

"Together."

I stared at him.

"That's tonight."

"I know."

"Damien, the entire country is talking about us."

"Exactly."

He walked closer.

"We don't disappear now. We don't hide. We don't let Adrian define what happened."

His voice dropped.

"Rule number four."

Publicly play the part.

I exhaled slowly.

"Right."

"You're my wife."

"For six months."

His expression flickered.

"Tonight, Isabella, you're my wife."

The next twelve hours disappeared in a blur.

I was measured.

Pinned.

Painted.

Photographed.

Pulled from one room to another while people discussed me as though I were a piece of expensive furniture that needed to be positioned correctly.

Then they brought out the dress.

Red.

Deep, elegant red.

It hugged my body without looking cheap, leaving my back bare and my shoulders exposed. A pair of diamond earrings followed.

Then a necklace.

I looked at the necklace for several seconds.

"How much is that?"

The stylist smiled politely.

"Enough that I wouldn't recommend losing it."

I laughed despite myself.

For the first time that day, I felt something close to normal.

Then I saw myself in the mirror.

And stopped.

I didn't look like the abandoned bride from yesterday.

I didn't look broken.

I looked like someone who had survived something.

Someone who wasn't finished yet.

When I finally walked downstairs, conversation stopped.

The PR team turned.

Toni's eyebrows lifted.

But I wasn't watching them.

I was watching Damien.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs in a black tuxedo, one hand resting casually in his pocket.

His eyes moved over me.

Once.

Slowly.

Then his gaze returned to my face.

He cleared his throat.

"That will work."

I nearly smiled.

"That's your compliment?"

"It's sufficient."

"Of course it is."

For just a second, something changed in his expression.

His jaw tightened.

His eyes lingered a fraction too long.

Then the mask returned.

The car ride to the gala was quiet.

Outside, the city blurred past the tinted windows.

I kept twisting my fingers together.

Damien noticed.

"Stop."

I looked at him.

"What?"

"Doing that."

He nodded toward my hands.

"You're nervous."

"I'm terrified."

"There's a difference."

"What's the difference?"

"Nervous people think something might go wrong."

He looked at me.

"Terrified people know it will."

I laughed softly.

"You're terrible at reassurance."

"I wasn't trying to reassure you."

Of course he wasn't.

The car slowed.

Flashes exploded outside the windows.

The Blackwood Hotel.

We had arrived.

Damien looked at me.

"Remember."

I swallowed.

"No hesitation. No fear."

He reached for my hand.

"You are Mrs. Carter."

His fingers closed around mine.

"Act like it."

The door opened.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

"Mrs. Carter! Over here!"

"Damien! Who is she?"

"Is the marriage real?"

"Did you know about Adrian and Natasha?"

"Isabella, look this way!"

The noise was overwhelming.

Then Damien's hand settled at the small of my back.

Warm.

Steady.

Protective enough to make the cameras explode again.

We walked forward.

One step.

Then another.

I kept my chin high.

For the first time since yesterday, I wasn't looking for an escape.

Inside, the atmosphere changed.

Soft music.

Crystal glasses.

Champagne.

Expensive perfume.

A string quartet played near the ballroom entrance while people in designer clothes pretended they weren't staring at us.

They were.

Everyone was.

I recognized several faces from business magazines.

And then I saw Adrian.

He was standing across the room.

His eyes found mine immediately.

Natasha was beside him.

Her hand rested over her stomach.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Damien's fingers tightened slightly around mine.

I looked at him.

He didn't look at me.

He was watching Adrian.

Cold.

Unreadable.

Then someone called my name.

"Miss Hart!"

A young reporter pushed through the crowd.

She couldn't have been much older than me.

But there was nothing nervous about her expression.

She had found her target.

The music seemed to fade.

Conversations stopped one by one.

Her microphone lifted.

"Isabella!"

Every camera turned.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Did you cheat on Adrian with Mr. Carter before the wedding?"

Silence.

Complete silence.

My mouth went dry.

I couldn't breathe.

The question hung between us like a blade.

Damien's hand tightened around mine.

Then he leaned toward me.

His mouth came close to my ear.

I caught the faint scent of cedar and something warmer beneath it.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"Answer them."

I looked at the wall of cameras.

Then at Adrian.

Then back at Damien.

And suddenly, I understood.

This wasn't just a press conference.

It was a battlefield.

And everyone in the room was waiting to see who would bleed first.

I drew in a breath.

And stepped toward the microphone.

*To be continued...*