The press conference was Liam’s idea.
“I need to get ahead of this,” he said the next morning, pacing his office. “If I hide, they’ll make up twice as much. If I stand up there and say, ‘Yes, I’m engaged, no, she’s not a gold digger, yes, we met at work, no, we’re not commenting on anything else,’ it takes some of the oxygen out of their fire.”
Mara sat on the couch by the window, fingers knotted in her lap.
“Do I have to be there?” she asked.
He stopped pacing.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not. I won’t put you on that stage. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if you don’t want it.”
Elena, perched on the arm of the couch, snorted. “You think you can keep her hidden in a tower?” she asked. “Have you met your mother?”
“I’m working on the premise that we control when and where,” he said. “Not that we never do it.”
Mara exhaled.
“This is your world,” she said. “If you think a press conference will help…”
“I don’t know if it will,” he admitted. “But it feels better than staying silent.”
He glanced at her. “We can craft the message together,” he added. “I won’t say anything about you that you’re not comfortable with.”
She appreciated that.
They sat with the Hart Global PR team for an hour, going over talking points.
“We emphasize honesty,” the head of PR said, clicking through a slide deck. “No elaborate love story. No grand romantic meet-cute. Just…two people who met at work and decided to commit.”
“Do not say ‘decided to commit’ like it’s a limited-time offer on shipping containers,” Elena muttered.
“And we have to address the article,” someone else said. “Without repeating it.”
“Call it inaccurate,” Mara said quietly.
The room turned.
“It is,” she added. “Inaccurate. We can say that without giving them more.”
The PR head nodded, impressed. “We can work with that,” she said. “Simple. Strong.”
They set the time for the next day, in the Hart Global auditorium. Limited press. No Q&A.
“Are you sure you don’t want to watch from backstage?” Elena asked Mara later, when they were back at the house.
“No,” Mara said. “I’ll watch from here. With Hallie. And a pillow to scream into if necessary.”
“Elena,” Liam said warily, “you are not allowed to throw anything at the TV if a reporter says something stupid.”
“I make no promises,” Elena sniffed.
***
The day of the press conference, Mara woke late.
For once, no early shift. No alarm.
The house was quiet.
Hallie had spent the night in the pastel guest room Elena had insisted on redecorating the second she’d learned of her existence. Now she padded downstairs in heart-print pajamas, rubbing her eyes.
“Morning,” she mumbled, climbing onto the couch beside Mara.
“Morning, Bug,” Mara said, tucking her closer.
On the coffee table, a plate of muffins sat—Elena’s doing. Next to it, the remote.
“You still want to watch?” Elena asked from the armchair across from them, knitting needles clicking. “We don’t have to.”
“I do,” Mara said. “I need to see how he…handles it.”
Elena nodded.
The Hart Global logo filled the screen when they turned on the news. A lower-third chyron scrolled:
> LIVE: HART GLOBAL CEO ADDRESSES ENGAGEMENT RUMORS
The feed cut to the company auditorium.
Rows of reporters. Cameras. Flashes.
Liam at the podium, in a dark suit, tie perfectly knotted. He looked calm. Controlled.
She knew better now; she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
He adjusted the microphone.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, voice echoing slightly in the room. “I’ll keep this brief.”
Mara’s heart pounded.
“As many of you have noticed,” he went on, faint dry humor threading his tone, “my personal life has attracted more attention than usual this week.”
A ripple of polite chuckles.
Cameras flashed.
“I understand the interest,” he said. “Hart Global is a public company. My actions, personal and professional, have an impact on our image. I take that seriously.”
He paused.
“In the interest of transparency,” he continued, “I can confirm that I am engaged to be married.”
The room erupted in shouted questions. The moderator at the side lifted a hand; the hubbub subsided.
“My fiancée’s name is Mara Leoni,” Liam said. “She works at Hart Global. We met through the company.”
Mara’s lungs forgot how to work for a second.
He said her name.
Calm. Unapologetic.
He didn’t flinch.
“She is not a socialite,” he went on. “She did not grow up in my world. She is, however, one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met. She’s a single mother. She has juggled two jobs, night shifts, and school drop-offs without complaint.”
He looked straight into the camera.
“She is not,” he said clearly, “what some outlets have chosen to call her.”
The *not* landed with a quiet force.
“The article that ran in the *Herald* this week contained inaccuracies,” he said. “We are exploring our legal options. In the meantime, I would ask that you respect her privacy. You chose this life when you chose to report on business and finance. She did not.”
The room hushed.
“I’m not going to tell you a fairytale,” he said. “I won’t pretend we locked eyes across a crowded ballroom and the world fell away. The truth is simpler. We met. We talked. We decided we wanted to build something together.”
Something in Mara melted and braced all at once.
“We’re not perfect,” he said. “We’re…figuring it out. Like everyone else. The only difference is that some of you have cameras.”
A faint ripple of surprised laughter.
“I will not be taking questions today,” he finished. “About her, or our daughter, or our past. That’s not a story I’m willing to share. Not now. Maybe not ever. Thank you.”
He stepped away from the podium.
The room exploded—“Mr. Hart! Mr. Hart! Is it true she was pregnant five years ago?” “Is the child yours?” “Did you meet her as a janitor?” “Is this a PR move?”
He didn’t look back.
He walked off the stage, jaw set.
The moderator cut the feed.
The news anchor came back on, lips pressed in a faintly disapproving line.
“Well,” she said. “That was…terse.”
Hallie blinked at the screen. “He talked about us,” she said, awed. “He called me our daughter.”
Mara’s throat ached.
“Yes,” she said softly. “He did.”
“You’re crying,” Hallie observed.
“Happy tears,” Elena said quickly. “Mostly.”
Mara wiped them away.
“He did good,” Elena said, nodding. “Not perfect—he said ‘transparency’ twice, which is a bore—but good.”
“He didn’t say anything wrong,” Mara murmured.
“He wouldn’t,” Elena said.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Tessa.
> You okay?
Another, from Anika.
> Strong opening. We’ll use some of that language in the defamation claim.
And one from an unknown number.
> Nice performance. Let’s see how long it lasts. xo
Dahlia again.
Mara deleted it without responding.
“I have to pick you up from school later,” she told Hallie, voice steadying. “Mr. Hart has a lot of work today.”
“He *always* has a lot of work,” Hallie said, scowling. “He needs recess.”
“He does,” Mara agreed.
She didn’t know then how soon the fragile calm would shatter.
***
The building was on fire.
At least, that’s what it felt like when Liam stepped back into Hart Global headquarters that afternoon.
Not literally—no flames, no smoke—but metaphorically. Hot with speculation. Crackling with whispers.
Tessa fell into stride beside him.
“Board chair wants a debrief,” she said. “PR wants to book you on a business channel to ‘control the narrative.’ Legal wants you to stop improvising.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t improvise.”
“You did,” she said. “But it wasn’t bad. Just…less sanitized than they prefer.”
“I’m done being sanitized,” he muttered.
She glanced at him. “Careful,” she said. “You’ll start feeling things. It’s contagious.”
“Is Sam here?” he asked.
“In your office,” she said. “With three offers of ‘exclusives’ from magazines you don’t read and a very angry letter from the *Herald*’s legal department.”
“Of course,” he said.
In his office, Sam was exactly where Tessa had promised: sprawled in the armchair, papers fanned out on the coffee table.
“You caused a stir,” Sam said by way of greeting. “My inbox hasn’t been this fun since the IPO.”
“Tell me something good,” Liam said. “Lie, if you have to.”
“Good news,” Sam said. “Our stock didn’t tank. Yet. Bad news: the *Herald* is offended. They don’t like being called inaccurate on live TV.”
“They *were* inaccurate,” Liam said.
“I know that,” Sam said. “You know that. But they’re lawyers. They’re going to argue that you defamed them by implying shoddy journalism.”
“Can they?” Liam asked.
“They can argue anything,” Sam said. “Anika’s already drafting a response. She’s…scary. I like her.”
Liam slumped onto the couch.
“I’m so tired,” he admitted.
Sam eyed him. “You’ve been tired since grad school,” he said. “This is just a different flavor.”
Liam thought of Mara on the couch that morning, Hallie curled against her. Of the way she’d watched the screen, shoulders squared.
He thought of the swabs. The three to five business days.
He thought of Dahlia’s sneer.
“Do you regret it?” he asked abruptly.
“Regret what?” Sam asked. “Helping you sign your life away?”
“All of it,” Liam said. “The contract. The announcement. Dragging Mara into this mess.”
Sam leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
“You want the friend answer or the CFO answer?” he asked.
“Both,” Liam said.
“The CFO answer,” Sam said, “is that from a purely strategic perspective, this might actually work in your favor. You looked decisive. Human, even. Investors like human sometimes. As long as human doesn’t tank their returns.”
“And the friend answer?” Liam asked.
Sam hesitated.
“The friend answer,” he said slowly, “is that when you talk about her, you don’t sound like Conrad’s son. You sound like…you. I haven’t heard that since you were nineteen and in love with that girl in undergrad who used to make you skip class to play guitar with her.”
Liam winced. “That ended well.”
“Because you freaked out and shut down,” Sam said. “Because you didn’t know how to let anyone in then. You’re…trying now. That’s growth, my man.”
“Feels like a panic attack,” Liam muttered.
Sam’s mouth twitched.
“Love and panic attacks are first cousins,” he said. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m not in love with her,” Liam said automatically.
Sam arched a brow. “Sure.”
“I’m not,” Liam insisted. “We barely know each other. This is…arranged. Structured. Convenient.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Sam said. “Maybe you’ll believe it by the time your three years are up.”
Liam rubbed his temples.
“What if she hates me when the test comes back?” he said, low. “If I am Hallie’s father. If she thinks I abandoned them. What if…” He swallowed. “What if I did?”
“You didn’t know,” Sam said. “You can’t be blamed for not acting on information you didn’t have.”
“I had enough to suspect,” Liam argued. “I knew Liana was dangerous. I knew some girl had been drugged and delivered to my room. I knew she disappeared. And I…moved on. Got busy. Got drunk. Went back to work.”
“You were grieving,” Sam said. “You were drowning. You’re not Superman. You’re allowed to have failed someone once without it meaning you’re doomed to fail them forever.”
Liam stared at the floor.
“If she hates me,” he said quietly, “I’ll take it. I deserve it.”
“You deserve a therapist,” Sam said. “Which we will be scheduling before you spiral yourself into a CEO breakdown memoir.”
“I don’t have time for therapy,” Liam muttered.
“You don’t have time *not* to,” Sam shot back.
Tessa appeared in the doorway then, saving him.
“You have ten minutes before the union call,” she said. “And your mother texted. She says if you don’t eat something by lunchtime she’ll come down here and feed you in the lobby ‘like a baby bird.’ Her words.”
Sam snorted. “You should let her. It’d be good for morale.”
“Get out of my office,” Liam groaned.
Sam left, still chuckling.
Tessa lingered.
“You really want to do this, don’t you?” she asked quietly. “Marry her.”
“Yes,” he said, surprising himself with how little hesitation there was now.
She studied him. “Then you’d better make sure you’re worth the chaos you’re dragging into her life,” she said. “Because if you hurt her, Elena will kill you. And so will I.”
“Noted,” he said.
She nodded once and left.
He stared at the city for a long moment.
Then he picked up his phone and dialed.
***
Mara met him that evening on the roof of Elena’s house.
It was chilly; she tugged her cardigan tighter, the wind lifting strands of her hair.
The city spread out below, all lights and motion. From up here, it looked almost peaceful.
He joined her at the railing, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
“Scary,” she said. “Big. Uncaring.”
“That too,” he said.
They stood in silence for a moment.
“How are you?” he asked finally.
“Don’t ask me that,” she said, a bitter laugh escaping. “I don’t know how to answer anymore.”
“Fair,” he said.
He was quiet for a beat.
“Thank you,” he said.
She blinked. “For what?”
“For not…bolting,” he said. “After the article. After my mother ambushed you with contracts. After my ex-almost-stepmother tried to assassinate your character in my kitchen.”
She huffed. “My bar for bad days was already pretty high,” she said. “This week just…raised it.”
He smiled faintly.
“You handled the press conference well,” she added. “You didn’t throw me under a bus. That was…nice.”
“High bar for ‘nice,’” he said.
She shrugged. “I’ve lived with worse.”
His jaw clenched.
“I wish I could go back and…stop some of that,” he said. “Show up at your door when Liana threw you out. Give you money. A place to stay.”
“I would have said no,” she said quietly.
He looked at her. “Why?”
“Because I would have thought you were doing it out of obligation,” she said. “And I was…I am…so tired of being someone’s obligation.”
“You’re not mine,” he said. “Not like that.”
“I know,” she said. “Now.”
He took a breath.
“I want to do something,” he said. “For you. For Hallie.”
“You’re already doing a lot,” she pointed out. “Contracts. Lawyers. Press conferences.”
“That’s…triage,” he said. “I mean something that’s not about defending. Something…positive.”
She eyed him warily. “Like what?”
He hesitated.
“School,” he said. “For Hallie. The one with the globe in the lobby. And the robot floor cleaner.”
Her heart kicked.
“She talks about that school a lot,” he said. “I looked it up. It’s…expensive. But it’s good. Small classes. Good teachers. Art. Music. Scholarships for lower-income kids, but the waitlist is long.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“I want to put her there,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
Emotion flooded her.
“That feels…big,” she whispered. “Too big.”
“It’s…what people like me do,” he said, a touch of self-mockery. “Throw money at problems. But this doesn’t feel like a problem. It feels like…an opportunity. For her.”
“People will say it’s payment,” she said. “That you’re buying me. Buying her.”
“People will say anything,” he said. “We can’t live our lives based on their bad takes.”
She almost laughed.
“Think about it,” he said. “No rush. We don’t have to decide tonight. Applications aren’t due for months.”
“I thought you planned everything two years in advance,” she said.
“I make exceptions,” he said. “For you two.”
Her chest hurt.
“You can’t keep doing that,” she blurted.
“Doing what?”
“Making…exceptions,” she said. “Being…kind. It makes it harder.”
“For what?” he asked softly. “For you not to feel anything?”
She swallowed.
“For me to keep this in my head,” she said. “As a contract. As…practical.”
“Practical and emotional aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said. “We can care and still protect ourselves.”
She stared at the city.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” he said. “We can…learn.”
The wind tugged at the hem of her sweater.
Downstairs, she could hear Elena laughing with Hallie over some cartoon.
“We still don’t know,” she said. “About…her.”
“No,” he said. “We don’t.”
“What if she’s not yours?” she asked. “Will you…pull back? From both of us?”
He turned, leaning against the railing, facing her fully.
“No,” he said simply.
She searched his face. “You say that now.”
“I’ll say it again after,” he said. “If that helps.”
“It might,” she said.
They stood there, the space between them crackling.
He reached out, fingers brushing hers on the railing.
“May I?” he asked.
She didn’t ask what.
“Yes,” she said.
He laced their fingers together.
It was a small thing.
It felt enormous.
“Whatever the test says,” he murmured, “we’re in this. Together. At least for three years.”
“At least,” she echoed.
A siren wailed faintly in the distance.
The city moved on below.
Up here, on a quiet rooftop, two people held hands and watched, waiting for a piece of paper that would change everything.
***