The first time Amaiyla realized she'd truly changed the rules wasn't when the cameras flashed.
It was when the world answered back.
She woke to her phone vibrating so violently on the bedside table it sounded like a trapped insect—buzz, buzz, buzz—one notification stacking onto another until the screen looked like a warning label.
AMAIYLA HOLLINGSWORTH BREAKS SILENCE ENGAGEMENT IN TURMOIL?INSIDERS: "FAMILY FURY"REYES HEIR GOES OFF-SCRIPT
Her stomach rolled.
Beside her, Xander didn't move. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling like he'd been counting the seconds since she stepped off that podium.
"Tell me," Amaiyla whispered, voice rough. "Did I just light myself on fire?"
Xander's eyes shifted to her. Calm. Controlled.
"No," he said. "You lit a signal."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to make you prepared."
Amaiyla pushed herself upright, sheets pooling at her waist. Her hair felt like a nest. Her throat still tasted like adrenaline and microphones.
"Prepared for what?" she asked.
Xander sat up slowly, reaching for his phone.
"For the part where men like your father stop pretending they're polite."
He didn't look angry.
That was the frightening part.
He looked… operational.
His phone rang immediately, as if the universe had been listening.
Xander glanced at the screen.
Harold Reyes.
He answered without greeting.
"A brave little performance," Harold said smoothly. "I almost applauded."
Amaiyla's spine went rigid.
Xander's voice stayed even. "It wasn't for you."
"It never is," Harold replied. "It's for the audience. The audience is the point."
Xander's gaze flicked to Amaiyla. A silent check-in: Are you listening?
Amaiyla nodded once.
Harold continued, mild as a blade. "You've made her… difficult."
Xander's jaw tightened. "She made herself free."
Harold's chuckle was soft. "Freedom is expensive, son."
Xander didn't answer.
Harold's voice dropped. "Your accounts are being reviewed. Your corporate approvals are being delayed. And your favorite little security chief? He's being audited."
Amaiyla's breath caught.
"You're punishing your own people," Xander said.
"I'm teaching you," Harold replied. "Your mother used to call it consequence."
Xander's face went still.
"What do you want?" Xander asked.
"Obedience," Harold said simply. "And a corrective statement."
Amaiyla's chest tightened. "A corrective statement?" she mouthed silently.
Xander replied, "No."
A pause.
Then Harold said, "Then I'll go to John."
Xander's voice sharpened. "He's already in motion."
Harold sighed, almost bored. "So we'll see who breaks first. The girl, the boyfriend, or the illusion."
The call ended.
Amaiyla stared at Xander. "He called you my boyfriend."
Xander's expression didn't change. "He called you leverage."
A knock came at the door—not gentle, not hesitant.
A servant. A note. A sealed envelope.
Amaiyla opened it with shaking fingers.
John Hollingsworth requests your presence. Immediately.
Xander read it over her shoulder.
"Don't go alone," he said.
Amaiyla turned sharply. "You think I'm scared of him?"
Xander's gaze held hers. "I think you're not scared enough of what he's willing to do to get you back under control."
That silenced her.
It wasn't fear that walked her out of the room.
It was fury.
John Hollingsworth waited in the townhouse library, a room designed for men who wanted to look intellectual while they destroyed people quietly.
He stood behind the desk like it was a throne.
When Amaiyla entered, his eyes went straight to her face.
He didn't ask how she was.
He didn't ask if she'd slept.
He said, "You humiliated me."
Amaiyla didn't blink. "I told the truth."
John's smile was thin. "Truth is what you use when you don't have strategy."
Xander stepped into the room behind her, presence like a wall.
John's gaze flicked to him. "And you."
Xander said nothing.
Amaiyla stepped forward. "If you wanted me silent, you should've raised a daughter who didn't learn to speak."
John's jaw tightened. "You think this is defiance. It's not. It's exposure."
"Yes," Amaiyla replied. "Exactly."
John's hand hit the desk—not hard enough to be dramatic, just enough to punctuate his authority.
"You'll fix it," he said.
Amaiyla laughed once. "No."
John's eyes sharpened. "Amaiyla—"
"No," she repeated. "You don't get to command the version of me that's convenient."
John's voice lowered. "Then you will suffer the version of me that is not."
Xander moved one step forward.
John held up a hand to stop him without looking.
"I wasn't speaking to you, Mr. Reyes."
Xander replied calmly, "You were threatening her. That makes it my conversation."
John's gaze turned cold. "You've become arrogant."
Xander's mouth curved slightly. "I've become honest."
Amaiyla's pulse hammered.
John looked back at Amaiyla. "Do you understand what you've done? Analysts are calling this a fracture. Investors don't like fractures."
"Then they can invest in something else," Amaiyla snapped.
John's eyes narrowed. "This is bigger than your feelings."
"It's bigger than your ego," she shot back.
Silence slammed down.
John leaned forward, voice precise. "You will issue a statement today. You will clarify your engagement is intact. You will apologize for 'miscommunication.'"
Amaiyla's throat burned. "I won't."
John's gaze sharpened to a point. "Then I will make sure every person you care about pays for your rebellion."
Amaiyla went cold.
"Connor," John added casually, as if discussing weather. "He's fragile right now."
Xander's posture changed. A new kind of stillness.
Amaiyla's voice dropped. "Leave him out of this."
John's mouth curved. "He stepped into it willingly."
Amaiyla's hands trembled. "He made a deal with you."
John's eyes didn't flicker. "He made a choice."
Amaiyla's chest tightened as the truth stitched itself together.
"He's gone because of you," she whispered.
John's tone softened by a fraction—more dangerous for it. "He's gone because you're valuable."
Amaiyla's voice broke. "I'm not an asset."
John's expression hardened. "You're my daughter."
Xander spoke then, voice calm but edged. "You're confusing fatherhood with ownership."
John's gaze snapped to him. "You want to lecture me on family?"
"No," Xander said. "I want to warn you."
John smiled faintly. "You don't have the power."
Xander leaned in slightly. "Try me."
Amaiyla felt the air crackle.
John straightened. "Fine. You want to play hero? Then let's play public."
He reached into a drawer and slid a folder across the desk toward Amaiyla.
She opened it.
Photos.
Not of Madrid.
Not of Connor.
Of her.
Leaving the press venue.
Xander's hand on her wrist backstage.
A close-up of her mouth near his ear—half a second frozen into scandal.
Amaiyla's stomach dropped.
John's voice was quiet. "This goes live if you refuse."
Amaiyla looked up. "You'd smear me."
John didn't blink. "I'd correct you."
Xander's voice turned lethal. "If you release that, you burn her—"
John cut in, "No. I burn you."
Xander went still.
John's gaze sharpened. "Your father will not protect you from me."
Amaiyla stared between them, heart pounding.
This wasn't just fathers and contracts anymore.
This was retaliation.
This was personal.
Amaiyla closed the folder slowly.
Then she looked at her father.
"I'm not issuing a statement," she said.
John's eyes narrowed. "Then you leave me no choice."
Amaiyla stepped closer to the desk.
"Ask me instead," she said softly.
John's jaw tightened. "I don't negotiate with my children."
Amaiyla smiled without humor. "Then you don't have a daughter. You have a hostage."
That hit.
John's face tightened—not anger.
Recognition.
For a brief second, she saw something slip in his eyes.
Something like fear.
It was gone as quickly as it appeared.
Xander saw it too.
He met Amaiyla's gaze.
A silent agreement passed between them: He has something to hide.
Amaiyla's phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't look.
John's eyes flicked downward anyway.
"Answer it," he said.
Amaiyla didn't.
John's smile returned—thin, sharp. "Then I will."
Xander moved.
Fast.
He planted his hand on the desk between John and Amaiyla's pocket like a barrier.
John's gaze snapped up, ice-cold.
Xander said, perfectly calm: "Touch her again, and I'll show you exactly what defiance looks like."
The room froze.
Amaiyla's breath caught.
John Hollingsworth—who never lost control—stared at Xander for a long moment.
Then he leaned back and said, "So this is love."
Xander didn't flinch.
"This is consequence," Xander replied.
Amaiyla's phone buzzed again.
This time, she pulled it out.
Connor.
One message.
Connor: I found something. Not yet. But soon. Don't trust him.
Amaiyla's blood ran cold.
Xander's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
Amaiyla swallowed hard, heart racing.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But Connor just… broke silence."
John's gaze sharpened instantly. "Connor contacted you?"
Amaiyla slid the phone behind her back. "No."
John stood. "Amaiyla—"
Xander stepped between them. "You're done."
John's voice turned low. "You leave with her, and you'll regret it."
Xander's gaze didn't waver. "I already chose regret."
He took Amaiyla's hand—not possessive.
Anchoring.
Amaiyla let him.
They walked out of the library together.
Behind them, John Hollingsworth stood very still.
And for the first time, he looked like a man calculating panic.
Outside, Amaiyla's breath came in short bursts.
"That message," Xander said quietly. "Connor wouldn't send it unless he was desperate."
Amaiyla nodded, shaking. "He said he found something."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Something about your father."
Amaiyla's throat burned. "What could Connor possibly find?"
Xander's eyes hardened, scanning the street like it held answers. "Something John never wanted anyone to see."
Amaiyla's phone buzzed one more time.
Another message—unknown number.
Four words.
Watch who moves first.
Amaiyla's heart slammed against her ribs.
Xander read over her shoulder, then looked up, eyes dark.
"They're setting a trap," he said.
Amaiyla swallowed. "For who?"
Xander's voice dropped. "For all of us."
And as the townhouse door shut behind them—heavy, final—Amaiyla realized the worst part wasn't that she was visible now.
It was that visibility had made her the target.
And somewhere, Connor Jackson had started digging.
Not enough to reveal the truth yet.
But enough to make John Hollingsworth afraid.
That was going to change everything.
Soon.