The morning headlines were already written before Amaiyla woke.
She didn't know that yet—only felt the weight of it pressing into her chest as she stared at the ceiling, London gray seeping through the curtains. Xander lay beside her, still, awake, one arm draped loosely over his eyes like he was shielding himself from something brighter than daylight.
Neither of them had slept.
The night after the confrontation had been too sharp, too full of unfinished thoughts and restrained touches. They had returned to the townhouse in silence, tension stretched thin between them like a wire pulled too tight.
Amaiyla turned slightly toward him. "Do you ever get the feeling," she whispered, "that the moment you stop reacting, everything collapses?"
Xander lowered his arm and looked at her. His eyes were clear. Focused. Dangerous.
"No," he said. "I get the feeling that everything collapses because people react."
She swallowed. "Then what do we do now?"
Xander exhaled slowly. "Now we wait to see how loud your father wants this to be."
As if summoned, Amaiyla's phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Once.
She reached for it.
The notification banner froze her blood.
ENGAGEMENT CONFIRMED: HOLLINGSWORTH–REYES ALLIANCE MOVES FORWARD
Below it—photos. Taken outside the townhouse. Her profile. Xander's silhouette. Close enough to suggest intimacy. Far enough to deny specifics.
Amaiyla's chest tightened. "He leaked it."
Xander sat up instantly, grabbing his own phone. His jaw set the moment he saw the same alert.
"Yes," he said. "And he timed it perfectly."
Amaiyla's hands shook. "This was supposed to be contained."
Xander stood, already pulling on a shirt. "Containment is only useful until it stops working."
Her voice cracked. "He's turning me into a headline."
Xander met her gaze. "He's daring you to correct it."
She froze. "Publicly?"
"Yes."
Amaiyla laughed softly, hysterically. "That's not a correction. That's a declaration of war."
Xander stepped closer. "Exactly."
Tammy Veraga arrived an hour later.
Not rushing. Not flustered.
Prepared.
She stood in the living room, tablet in hand, scanning headlines like a general reviewing troop movements.
"He escalated," Tammy said calmly. "Which means he's nervous."
Amaiyla crossed her arms. "Or confident."
Tammy shook her head. "Men who are confident don't provoke. They consolidate."
Xander leaned against the doorway. "What's the damage?"
Tammy turned the screen toward them. "Speculation. Analysts debating power consolidation. Social media framing you as compliant."
Amaiyla's stomach dropped. "Compliant."
"That's the word he wants attached to you," Tammy said. "Not silent. Not obedient. Compliant."
Amaiyla's voice sharpened. "I won't play that role."
Tammy looked at her intently. "Then you need to step into the light."
Xander stiffened. "Not yet."
Tammy raised an eyebrow. "You don't get to decide that anymore."
Amaiyla felt the truth of it land hard.
"What would stepping into the light look like?" Amaiyla asked quietly.
Tammy's lips curved faintly. "Visibility on your terms."
Xander cut in. "That invites scrutiny."
"Yes," Tammy agreed. "Which is exactly why it works. Control dissolves when it's exposed."
Amaiyla's phone buzzed again.
Connor.
She hesitated before opening it.
Connor: I saw the news. I didn't know he'd do it like this.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Amaiyla: He already did worse.
There was a pause.
Then:
Connor: I shouldn't have stayed silent.
Amaiyla closed her eyes.
Xander watched her carefully. "He's cracking."
"He's hurting," Amaiyla whispered. "Because of me."
"Because of your father," Xander corrected. "Don't take responsibility for someone else's coercion."
Tammy interjected softly, "Pain doesn't care who caused it. It just demands acknowledgment."
Amaiyla looked up sharply. "Are you telling me to choose between them?"
Tammy shook her head. "I'm telling you that refusing to choose is a choice—and it usually favors the person with the most power."
Amaiyla's heart pounded. "Then what do I do?"
Tammy met her gaze. "You speak."
Xander's jaw tightened. "She's not ready."
Amaiyla turned to him. "Stop."
He froze.
She took a breath. "You promised you'd stop deciding for me."
Xander held her gaze, something conflicted flickering behind his control. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Tammy smiled faintly. "There it is."
...
The press briefing was set for noon.
Amaiyla stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing herself. She wore something simple—tailored, neutral. No statement pieces. No armor disguised as elegance.
Just herself.
Xander hovered nearby, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said quietly.
Amaiyla met his eyes in the mirror. "I need to."
His jaw flexed. "And after?"
She hesitated. "After… we see what survives."
The car ride was silent.
Cameras waited outside the venue like a pack sensing blood.
Amaiyla stepped out first.
The noise hit instantly—shouts, flashes, questions thrown like weapons.
She felt Xander's presence just behind her. Not shielding. Supporting.
Inside the room, she stood at the podium, heart hammering.
She didn't look at the notes prepared for her.
She looked straight ahead.
"Good afternoon," she began.
The room stilled.
"I'm aware of the speculation surrounding my engagement."
A murmur rippled.
"I want to clarify something," Amaiyla continued, voice steady. "I am not a symbol. I am not leverage. And I am not silent."
The room froze.
Xander felt it then—the moment she stepped fully out of anyone's shadow.
"This engagement," Amaiyla said, "exists because powerful people believed my consent was implied. That ends today."
Gasps. Cameras flashing wildly.
"My future is not a transaction," she continued. "And any decisions involving me will involve my voice—or they will not stand."
She stepped back.
The room erupted.
Xander's chest tightened painfully—not with fear.
With pride.
With something far more dangerous.
Afterward, backstage, Xander caught her wrist gently.
"You just changed everything," he said quietly.
Amaiyla's breath shook. "I know."
"And your father will retaliate."
"Yes."
"And Connor—"
"I'll face that," she said softly. "But I won't disappear to make anyone comfortable again."
Xander studied her. "You realize this makes you untouchable."
She laughed softly. "No. It makes me visible."
That night, alone again, Xander stood at the window, phone pressed to his ear.
Harold Reyes' voice was cold.
"You've lost control."
Xander replied calmly, "No. I've shifted it."
"You've tied yourself to her defiance."
"Yes."
Harold paused. "Then you'll fall with her."
Xander didn't hesitate. "If that's the cost."
The line went dead.
Across the city, Connor watched the briefing replay on his laptop.
Amaiyla's voice—clear, unwavering—filled the room.
For the first time, he understood.
She wasn't being taken from him.
She was walking somewhere he hadn't followed.
Connor closed the laptop, heart breaking quietly.
And in the space between collapse and clarity, something hardened.
Something dangerous.
...
Amaiyla lay awake that night, phone face-down, the world buzzing louder than ever.
She had spoken.
The silence was gone.
And with it, any illusion of safety.
The war had shifted.
Not because she had chosen love.
But because she had chosen herself.
And everyone else would now have to decide—
Follow.
Or burn.