The morning of the press conference, Theo’s penthouse didn’t feel like a home. It felt like the calm center of a storm designed by people who wore suits like armor.
Imani’s team arrived first—quiet, efficient, scanning corners Mira didn’t know mattered. A stylist followed, then a media adviser Theo hadn’t introduced by name, the kind of woman whose tablet probably contained private histories of every person in the city.
Mira stood in the bedroom in a slate-gray dress she’d chosen herself: clean lines, strong shoulders, no apology. She pinned her hair back, then changed her mind and let it fall—softening the severity just enough to look like she belonged in front of cameras without becoming one of them.
Theo came in behind her as she was fastening her earrings. He wore a dark suit, no tie. His sleeves were perfect; his eyes were not.
“You didn’t sleep,” Mira said.
Theo’s gaze met hers in the mirror. “Neither did you.”
Mira swallowed. “I kept hearing your words. ‘We don’t hide.’”
Theo’s mouth tightened. “Are you still in?”
The question was steady, but she heard the cost underneath it. Not fear of a PR miss. Fear of her leaving.
Mira turned, facing him fully. “I’m here.”
Theo stepped closer, hands sliding to her waist with a familiarity that made her breath hitch. It wasn’t performative in the privacy of his bedroom. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was him grounding himself.
“If at any moment you want out,” he said, “you say it. I don’t care if I’m mid-sentence at the podium.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “And you’ll just—stop?”
Theo’s eyes darkened. “I will stop the world if you ask.”
It was too much. It made her want too much.
Mira lifted her hand and touched his cheek—light, deliberate. Theo stilled like he felt it everywhere.
“I’m not asking you to stop,” she said. “I’m asking you to remember I’m not decoration.”
Theo’s lips curved, brief and fierce. “You’re the point.”
The words hit her harder than any threat Ethan had sent. Mira’s chest tightened, and before she could overthink it, she kissed him—quick, decisive. Theo’s hands tightened at her waist, pulling her closer as if he’d been waiting for permission to forget restraint.
When they broke apart, Theo’s forehead rested against hers.
“After this,” he murmured, “nothing is reversible.”
Mira exhaled shakily. “Then don’t do it halfway.”
Theo’s gaze sharpened. “I won’t.”
—
Reyes Systems had its own auditorium. Not rented. Not borrowed. Built.
The stage was minimalist: lectern, backdrop, the Reyes Systems logo like a stamp. The front rows filled with press—tech, business, society. Behind them, people with sharper eyes and quieter movements: security, counsel, board observers.
Mira stood just off-stage with Theo. Imani remained close enough to touch. Priya arrived with a slim folder and a look that promised destruction in twelve-point font.
Theo leaned in, voice low. “Stay on my left.”
Mira’s heart hammered. “Why left?”
Theo’s mouth twitched without humor. “So my right hand is free.”
To gesture, she told herself. To control the room.
But Theo’s gaze slid over her face as if to memorize it. “Look at me if you feel overwhelmed. Just me.”
Mira nodded, throat tight.
A producer signaled. Five seconds.
Theo’s hand found hers—warm, steady. The contact didn’t look like PR. It looked like habit.
Then he walked out.
The room shifted immediately. Cameras lifted. Whispers sharpened. Theo took the lectern without rushing, posture loose, voice calm when he began.
“Good morning.”
He spoke about the Hartwell partnership—philanthropy, education access, a funding initiative that would change real lives. It was clean, admirable, unassailable.
And Mira knew he’d built the first half of this speech as armor, so the second half could be a blade.
Theo paused, gaze sweeping the room.
“Before we take questions,” he said, “I’m making a personal statement. It’s not optional. It will be brief.”
A ripple moved through the press like wind through grass.
Theo’s hand lifted. Not to gesture.
To beckon.
Mira’s body went tight. Imani’s eyes met hers: You’ve got this.
Mira stepped onto the stage.
The room reacted—camera shutters, a buzz of recognition, speculation igniting in real time.
Theo didn’t step away from her. He moved closer, and his hand settled at the small of her back.
“This is Mira Chen,” Theo said, voice even. “She’s my partner.”
The word partner landed heavier than girlfriend. It didn’t sound like fun. It sounded like chosen.
Theo continued, “Mira has been subjected to targeted harassment and attempted professional sabotage by an individual acting maliciously. Any anonymous communications, forged documents, or ‘reports’ attributed to her are false. They are being handled by counsel.”
Cameras flashed. Priya’s expression remained flat, like she’d already written the filings.
Theo’s gaze narrowed slightly. “I’m also making this clear: my relationship is not a matter for boardroom discipline, family negotiation, or public entertainment.”
A murmur—sharp now. Somewhere in the third row, a reporter leaned forward as if scenting blood.
Theo’s voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened. “If you receive harassment targeting Mira, forward it to my office. Do not amplify it. Do not speculate for clicks. She is not a scandal. She is not a storyline. She is a person I care about.”
Mira’s lungs forgot to work for a moment.
Theo looked at her then—just her—eyes steady.
“And,” he added quietly, “any attempt to harm her will be met as an attempt to harm me.”
That was the bridge burning. Not just with Ethan. With anyone who wanted leverage.
Theo turned back to the room. “Questions.”
The first came fast. “Mr. Reyes—are you saying the board has threatened you over this relationship?”
Theo didn’t blink. “No. I’m stating it won’t.”
Another: “Is Ms. Chen employed at Vantage? Is this a conflict of interest?”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “No conflict. She’s not a Reyes Systems employee. And no one is entitled to her work history as gossip.”
Another, sharper: “Mr. Reyes, is this relationship contractual?”
The room held its breath.
Mira’s heart slammed so hard she felt it in her teeth.
Theo’s hand tightened at her back—one firm press that said stay steady.
He answered, calm and lethal. “If you’re asking whether we have private agreements regarding safety and confidentiality due to harassment, yes. If you’re asking whether my feelings for her are purchased—no.”
Mira’s eyes stung, and she blinked hard.
A final question, too casual to be innocent: “What does your mother think?”
Theo’s expression cooled into something like winter.
“My mother,” he said, “doesn’t run my life.”
The room erupted into overlapping questions. Theo raised a hand once.
“Enough,” he said. “This press conference is concluded.”
He guided Mira off-stage, hand still at her back like a promise.
Back in the corridor, away from cameras, Mira’s composure cracked in a single shuddering breath.
Theo caught her shoulders, steadying her. “Look at me.”
Mira did.
Theo’s gaze held hers. “You did it.”
Mira laughed, thin and disbelieving. “You did it.”
Theo’s mouth tightened. “We did.”
Priya approached, phone already in hand. “We have an issue.”
Theo’s eyes went cold. “Ethan.”
Priya nodded. “He just filed something online—he’s pushed the forged ‘incident report’ to multiple outlets and tagged Vantage executives. He’s also posted a thread implying you ‘bought’ Mira’s silence.”
Mira went icy.
Theo’s jaw flexed. “Good.”
Mira blinked. “Good?”
Theo leaned closer, voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “Because now he’s public. Now we don’t have to guess. Now we can end him cleanly.”
And in Theo’s eyes, Mira saw it—the part of him that wasn’t just a billionaire. The part of him that knew how to turn an attack into a trap.
“Imani,” Theo said. “Lock it down.”
Imani’s voice was immediate. “Already moving.”
Theo looked at Mira again, and his expression softened—just slightly.
“Stay with me,” he murmured.
Mira swallowed. The contract’s countdown echoed in her head like a timer.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
But in her pocket, her phone buzzed again—unknown number.
One line, sharp as a blade:
*If he wants war, I’ll give him blood.*