Chapter 12: Adrian Loses His Mask in Public
1063 Words
Adrian Vale has always believe composure is the power.
Not honesty.
Not kindness.
Control.
The mask he wears is precise measured smiles, calm pauses, voice never raised.
It's the version of him the public trusts. The version that turned scandals into footnotes and enemies into ghosts.
Today, that mask has cracked
.
Not in private.
Not behind closed door.
But In front of everyone.
The event supposed to repair him.
A charity gala. White marble floor. Crystal lights. Cameras position at a flattering angles.
A carefully selected audience of donors, politicians, and media personalities trained to applaud on cue.
Adrian step onto the stage in a tailored suit, the color of authority.
The applause is loud.
Too loud.
It feel like forced.
I watch from my seat, hands folded, face neutral. The ring on my finger feels heavy tonight.
Not with sentiment but with anticipation.
Adrian begin his speech. Measured. Calm. Polished.
He speak of resilience. Of transparency. Of growth after adversity.
Words crafted to mean everything and nothing.
The audience listens.
But they are not leaning forward.
They are waiting.
It always is.
A journalist stand. Smilenprofessionally.
“Mr. Vale,” she said, “how do you respond to the concerned that recent internal disruptions suggest instability in your leadership?”
Instability.
Such a gentle word.
Adrian nods, as if expecting it.
He answered smoothly. Talks about restructuring. About progress. About future.
The audience murmured approval.
The mask holds.
For now.
Another journalist rise.
“Several board members have step back in recent months,” he says. “Is this related to the ongoing investigation, or something else?”
Adrian’s jaw tighten.
Just slightly.
“People make personal choices,” he replied.
“That’s not unusual at this level.”
A paused.
Then—
“Next question.”
Too fast.
A woman near the front stand without waiting for a microphone.
She didn't smile.
“Why,” she ask, “do the people closest to you keep leaving?”
Room goes quiet.
This isn’t on the list.
Adrian laughs once short, sharp.
“That’s a misleading framing,” he say. “And frankly inappropriate.”
The word inappropriate land wrong.
The cameras zoom in.
I feel it —the shift.
The air changes.
Adrian voice grows firmer.
Not louder.
But colder.
“I’ve been transparent,” he continues.
“More than most people in my position would be.”
Someone whispered.
Another person stand.
“If transparency is your goal,” a man ask, “why do former associate claim they were pressured into silence?”
That’s when Adrian smile fades completely.
No transition.
No warning.
Just gone.
“Because they were incompetent.” Adrian snap.
The word echoes.
A rippled move through the room.
“Incompetent people fail,” he continued. “Then they blame leadership instead of themselves.”
A pause.
The silenced stretch too long.
Someone coughed.
Adrian didn't notice.
He is already somewhere else—somewhere private, where anger is allowed.
“You all want a villain,” Adrian said. “Someone to project onto.”
His voice is sharp now. Controlled but in edged.
“Do you know what it takes to build something at this scale?” he demand. “The decisions? The sacrifices?”
This is no longer a speech.
It’s already a defense.
And no one asked him to defend himself.
People shift in their seats.
Phones lift discreetly, then openly.
This isn’t outrage.
It’s a recognition.
The audience isn’t angry.
They are seeing him.
For the first time.
“I don’t owe anyone softness,” Adrian continued. “I don’t owe anyone comfort.”
He gestured sharply.
“Result are all that matter.”
A donor near the front stiffened.
A politician looks away.
The mask is gone now.
What stand on the stage is not a leader.
It’s a man who believed power excuses cruelty.
A reporter calls out, “And your wife? Does she agree with that philosophy?”
Every head turned.
Every camera swing.
Adrian looks at me.
For a moment, something flickers in his eyes.
Not love.
It's ownership.
“She understand,” he says coldly. “She wouldn’t survive without me.”
The room inhaled as one.
The words hang there ugly and undeniable.
That’s the worst part for him.
I didn’t flinch.
Don’t defend.
Don’t smile.
I sit perfectly still.
No reaction.
And the cameras catch that too.
He tried to recover it.
Laughed awkwardly.
“That came out wrong, so wrong” he say.
But no one believed in him.
Because it didn’t come out wrong.
It came out honest.
The moderator step in too quickly.
Thanks him too loudly.
The event end early.
People leave in cluster whispering.
Adrian steps down from the stage stiffly.
His hand shake.
Just a little.
“What do they want from me?” he snap, pacing. “Public humiliation? Blood? Defeated?”
His assistant avoid his eyes.
No one answered.
Because the truth is simple, they want the mask and he tore it off himself.
“You could’ve helped,” he said.
I tilted my head.
“How?”
“You could’ve said something,” he snap.
“Smile. Supported me.”
“In public?” I ask calmly. “Or in private?”
He stared.
Didn’t ’t answer.
By morning, the damage is done.
Not scandals.
Not accusations.
Clips.
Quotes.
Expressions.
“Vale Snaps Under A Pressure.”
“A Glimpse Behind the Billionaire Smile.”
“When Control Fails.”
No lies.
Just him.
---
Neither do I.
But for different reasons.
Adrian stares at the ceiling, replaying every second he answered that questions.
Every look.
Every word.
He know something has shifted.
He just doesn’t know why it feels irreversible.
Still heavy.
Still cold.
Still exactly where it needs to be.
The public has seen him now.
Not as a monster.
Not as a criminal.
But as something far more dangerous.
A man who believes power excuses everything.
Ruin is loud.
Temporary.
Messy.
This is about revelation.
About letting the world glimpse the truth before it looks away again.
Adrian lost his mask today.
And once a face is seen.
It could never be unseen.
“Cold men don’t fall because they are hated,” I think.
“They fall because they finally understood.”
And Adrian Vale has just begun to understand what that costs.
- Writer
