Chapter 62

Lucas's POV

On my screen, news coverage of the press conference plays on mute, frozen on a frame of Serena addressing the reporters. Even without sound, her composure is evident in every line of her posture, in the unwavering look in her eyes.

I lean back in my chair, letting out a slow breath. She proved stronger than I'd anticipated. Not that I ever doubted her capabilities, but the way she handled the situation - it showed a level of resilience I hadn't expected.

Miles enters with a fresh cup of coffee, placing it on my desk with practiced precision. "The press conference has been making quite the rounds, sir. Every major outlet is covering it."

"Her performance was... unexpected," I admit, keeping my tone neutral despite the pride threatening to seep through.

A knowing smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "I told you Ms. Sinclair would have everything under control. She wouldn't have refused your help without being absolutely certain."

I nodded slightly, my fingers hover over my phone's keyboard. I've already typed and deleted three different messages to her. Each attempt at congratulations feels either too formal or too intimate. In the end, I close the messaging app entirely. She's made it clear she wants to handle things independently, and I understand why. Life has taught her the hard cost of trusting too easily.

The phone rings, Drew Yeager's name flashing on the screen. I consider letting it go to voicemail, but knowing Drew, he'd just keep calling.

"Tell me you watched that press conference," he says the moment I pick up, not bothering with a greeting. "Our little reporter really knows how to command a room."

"She's not 'our' anything," I reply, my voice dropping a few degrees.

"Touchy, touchy." I can hear the grin in his voice. "But seriously, Lucas, she handled herself beautifully. Smart, fierce, independent - exactly your type. If you don't make a move soon-"

"Weren't you considering that study abroad program in Switzerland?" I cut in smoothly. "I hear winter semester applications are still open."

Drew's laugh carries through the phone. "Message received, loud and clear. But speaking of celebrations - your birthday's coming up. Twenty-eight is a big deal. We should do something."

I glance at the calendar on my desk, an idea taking shape. "Perhaps."

"Don't 'perhaps' me. You need to start living a little. When was the last time you-"

"I'll think about it," I interrupt, already reaching for my phone again. This time, when I open the messaging app, I know exactly what to write.

*Delete the previous draft*

My fingers move decisively across the screen: "My birthday is the day after tomorrow. Keep your schedule clear. Dinner."

Short, direct, leaving no room for refusal while still giving her the dignity of choice. It's an acknowledgment of her victory today, wrapped in an invitation that allows her to feel she's repaying a debt rather than accepting charity.

The minutes stretch as I wait for her response. I tell myself I'm not watching the phone, but my eyes keep drifting to the screen anyway. When it finally lights up with a simple "Okay," I feel the tension I hadn't realized I was carrying ease from my shoulders.

Miles chooses that moment to return with some documents requiring my signature. He pauses at my desk, noting my expression.

"Good news, sir?"

"Just confirming a dinner arrangement," I reply, but I can't quite keep the satisfaction from my voice.

Ian's POV

The news was playing on my phone screen, her face radiating that infuriatingly serene confidence. Serena Sinclair, her voice clear and unwavering as she delivered the final blow to my reputation.

"I believe these documents and recordings speak for themselves," she was saying, that slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. "As for Mr. Ian Whitmore and Miss Nina Sinclair, I wish them..." A perfectly timed pause. "...lasting happiness together."

The rage building inside me reached its crescendo. With a roar that seemed to come from somewhere primitive and dark, I hurled my phone at the marble floor. The crack of the screen shattering echoed through the room, followed by the tinkling sound of glass skittering across the polished surface. Each piece reflected the afternoon sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains, creating a constellation of broken light.

Evelyn flinched at the violence of the gesture. She stood pressed against the far wall, her fingers nervously twisting the pendant at her throat. "Brother... please try to calm down..."

"Shut up!" The words came out as a snarl. The social media notifications kept coming, each ping like a needle under my skin. #WhitmoreScandal was trending, along with #SinclarRevenge. The court of public opinion had already rendered its verdict.

The PR team's urgent report lay scattered across my desk, their carefully worded suggestions for damage control now meaningless. Every news outlet was running with the story, each one featuring that damning photo of Nina and me leaving the hotel, along with snippets from the recorded conversation that left no room for denial.

My phone - or what remained of it - lit up again. Father's name flashed across the spiderwebbed screen. Before I could move, the heavy double doors burst open. My father filled the doorway, his presence seeming to suck all the oxygen from the room. His face was a mask of cold fury that made even my rage seem childish in comparison.

"Ian." His voice was low, controlled, but vibrating with anger. "What have you done?"

I met his gaze, struggling to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Dad, I can explain-"

"Explain?" He crossed the room in three long strides. "Explain how you've managed to destroy not only your own reputation but potentially our entire family's standing? Explain how you let that Sinclair woman outmaneuver you so completely?"

Evelyn tried to intervene. "Father, perhaps if we-"

"Be quiet!" He rounded on her. "And you - you need to distance yourself from this mess immediately. Cancel any public appearances. No social media. Nothing that could connect you to this scandal."

The walls of the room seemed to be closing in. Outside, I could hear phones ringing throughout the office as our PR team scrambled to contain the damage. Serena had played her hand perfectly, timing the release of the evidence for maximum impact.

Father turned back to me, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Listen carefully, Ian. You have exactly one chance to salvage this situation. One chance to prove you're still worthy of the Whitmore name. Fix this, or don't bother coming back to the company at all."

The door slammed behind him with enough force to make the crystal decanter on my desk rattle. In the sudden silence, I could hear my own ragged breathing, feel the pulse pounding in my temples.

I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, but all I could see was Serena's satisfied smile at the press conference.

When I opened my eyes again, they fell on Evelyn, still hovering uncertainly by the wall. "Your phone," I said, my voice hoarse but steady. "Give it to me."

"What? Why do you-"

"Give it to me!" The words came out sharper than I intended, making her jump.