Ethan didn’t attack Theo directly.
He attacked Mira’s foundation—her name, her credibility, her ability to stand on her own two feet.
That night, as Mira and Theo returned to the penthouse, Priya called with a voice like flint.
“Vantage placed Mira on administrative leave.”
Mira went numb. “What?”
Theo’s face went cold. “On what grounds?”
Priya’s tone stayed controlled. “They’re claiming ‘temporary review’ due to reputational risk and potential conflicts raised by anonymous communications.”
Mira’s stomach turned. “So the forged report worked.”
Priya exhaled. “Not legally. Politically.”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “I’ll call the CEO.”
Mira grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”
Theo’s gaze snapped to her.
Mira’s voice shook. “If you call, it confirms the narrative that I can’t stand without you. That I’m your… problem to solve.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “You are not a problem.”
Mira swallowed hard. “Then let me do this.”
Theo went still. The restraint in him looked like pain.
Priya added, “Mira, we can file a formal complaint and pursue action. But you should decide the posture—quiet compliance or aggressive response.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “If I go aggressive, they’ll call me unstable. Vindictive.”
Theo’s voice cut in, low. “Let them.”
Mira looked at him, heart hammering. “It’s my career.”
Theo’s gaze held hers. “Then treat it like one. Fight clean. Document everything. Don’t apologize.”
Mira turned away, trying to breathe through the nausea. The cost was landing now—real, sharp. Not hypothetical.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
She didn’t open it. Her hands were shaking too hard.
Theo took the phone gently from her. “Let me.”
Mira nodded, throat tight.
Theo opened the message. His face went still.
Imani’s voice came through from the living area, already alert. “Theo?”
Theo’s voice was flat. “He sent it to multiple outlets.”
Mira’s stomach dropped. “Sent what?”
Theo turned the screen toward her.
A video.
Mira in the coatroom—crying. Not the kiss. Before the kiss. Before Theo gave her the handkerchief. Before she chose anything.
Just Mira, folded into herself, breaking.
Caption, posted from a burner but already spreading: *The ‘partner’ before the payout.*
Mira’s body went cold, then hot with humiliation so sharp it tasted like blood.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “He—he had someone filming.”
Theo’s hand closed around her wrist, firm. “Look at me.”
Mira couldn’t. The shame was a gravity well.
Theo stepped closer, cupping her face. “Mira.”
She met his eyes.
Theo’s expression was steady, furious underneath. “That video isn’t you being pathetic. It’s you being human.”
Mira’s laugh broke, ugly. “People won’t see it that way.”
Theo’s voice dropped. “I do.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “This is what I mean. There’s always a price.”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “Then we pay it together.”
Mira shook her head, panic rising. “No. Theo—this is your moment. Your company. Your board. Your mother. If I stay, I become the knife they use.”
Theo’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not a knife. You’re not a weakness. You’re not an object.”
Mira’s eyes burned. “I’m a liability.”
Theo’s voice turned lethal. “Ethan is a criminal.”
Imani stepped closer, phone in hand. “We can get the video taken down—requests, DMCA claims if we can identify ownership, platform reporting. But it will live in mirrors.”
Mira felt like she might be sick.
Theo’s voice stayed steady. “Then we change what it means.”
Mira’s breath hitched. “How?”
Theo looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her heart stumble.
“We tell the truth,” he said. “You were betrayed. You cried. Then you left. Then you chose yourself.”
Mira’s voice cracked. “And the kiss?”
Theo’s gaze dropped briefly, then returned. “That was you choosing something else.”
The room went quiet.
Priya’s voice came again from the speakerphone, crisp. “Theo, if you publicly respond with Mira, we can frame this as harassment and stalking. If you stay silent, the narrative metastasizes.”
Mira’s stomach twisted. Responding meant more eyes, more exposure. Silence meant being defined by a stolen moment.
Theo’s hand slid down to lace his fingers through hers. “Mira,” he murmured, “I will stand next to you. But I won’t force you.”
Mira stared at the paused frame of herself crying and felt something in her shift—not strength, exactly. Refusal.
Ethan wanted her ashamed.
Mrs. Reyes wanted her removable.
Both wanted her to disappear.
Mira lifted her chin. “We respond.”
Theo’s gaze sharpened, then softened with something like pride. “Okay.”
Imani nodded once. “I’ll assemble comms.”
Priya said, “I’ll draft language.”
Theo didn’t move immediately. He stepped closer, crowding her gently toward the bedroom, as if he knew she needed walls around her before she faced the world again.
“Mira,” he said quietly, “before we do anything else—tell me you’re staying tonight.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “Theo—”
He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me.”
Mira’s voice came out raw. “I’m staying.”
Theo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day. He kissed her—slow, deep, not for cameras, not for strategy. Just to remind her body it belonged to itself, not to a narrative.
When they broke apart, Theo’s voice was rough. “I’m in this with you.”
Mira’s eyes burned. “I don’t want you to regret choosing me.”
Theo’s gaze went dark with something fierce. “I don’t regret it. I resent that you think you’re regrettable.”
That undid her more than the video.
Mira pressed her forehead to his. “Then prove it.”
Theo’s arms tightened around her. “Gladly.”
He guided her into the bedroom, closing the door on the noise, the phones, the war. His hands moved with careful familiarity—touch that asked, not took—until Mira’s shaking slowed and her breathing steadied.
And when the world threatened to turn her into a spectacle, Theo gave her back a private truth: she was wanted, chosen, held.
Later, when they returned to the living area, Mira’s eyes were still sore but clear.
“Okay,” she said, voice steady. “Now we fight.”