It started with a headline.
> “Lucien Sinclair’s Wife Exposed: Gold Digger or Spy?”
Then came the articles.
Photos of me—taken without permission.
Clipped quotes. Twisted facts.
And a headline war designed to bury the truth we just leaked.
They called me a fake.
Said I manipulated Lucien.
Claimed I forged the files.
It was everything we expected.
But it still hurt.
---
Lucien slammed the newspaper down on the table.
“They’re desperate,” he muttered.
“They’re smart,” I corrected. “They know attacking me is easier than attacking you.”
He looked at me then—really looked.
“I can make this stop.”
“How?”
“I’ll take the blame. Say I acted alone. Leave you out of it.”
I shook my head.
“Then they win. Again.”
---
That afternoon, we received a subpoena.
Lucien’s father was suing for defamation.
Trying to drag the fight into court where he still pulled all the strings.
Lucien leaned against the wall, jaw tight. “He’s going to destroy everything.”
“Then we hit harder,” I said. “You still have more files, don’t you?”
He hesitated. Then nodded.
“There’s one. The one she died for.”
---
We knew what leaking it would mean.
No more safety.
No more doubt.
Just war.
And maybe…
Freedom.
---