The crowd didn't breathe.
Amaiyla felt it before she saw it—the collective pause, the way cameras stilled for half a second as if the world itself had decided to wait and see who would flinch first.
Her phone vibrated again in her hand.
Another notification.Another repost.Another headline being drafted in real time.
PRIVATE FOOTAGEHOLLINGSWORTH HEIRESS EXPOSED?ENGAGEMENT FRACTURES TURN PUBLIC
John Hollingsworth stood at the foot of the steps like a man offering mercy, his expression carefully curated for the cameras. Not angry. Not cruel. Concerned. The kind of concern that discredited before it ever raised its voice.
"Come home," he said again, softer now. "This doesn't have to get ugly."
Ugly.
Amaiyla lifted her chin.
Xander moved closer—so close she could feel the heat of him at her back, steady and unyielding. He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. His presence was a line drawn in the ground.
"Do not open it," he murmured near her ear. "Not yet."
Amaiyla didn't answer him.
She looked at her father.
"You uploaded it," she said calmly.
John inclined his head. "I allowed it to be uploaded."
"That's not denial," she replied. "That's ownership."
A ripple ran through the crowd.
John smiled faintly. "You're tired, Amaiyla. And tired people misinterpret protection."
She almost laughed.
Instead, she raised her phone—not to open the video, but to show it. The screen glowed between them, reflected in a hundred camera lenses.
"This," she said clearly into the microphone she hadn't stepped away from, "is extortion."
John's smile froze—just a fraction.
"Amaiyla—"
"No," she interrupted. Her voice didn't shake. That surprised even her. "You don't get to soften it with language anymore."
The murmurs sharpened into something dangerous.
Xander's jaw tightened. He could feel the shift—the press turning from curiosity to blood-scent.
John took one step forward. "You're accusing your own father."
"I'm naming behavior," Amaiyla replied. "And if it happens to be yours, that's not my doing."
She turned slightly, addressing the cameras now.
"Let me be very clear," she said. "I have not watched the video. I don't need to."
That landed harder than anything else.
"If my father believes the threat of exposure is a substitute for consent," Amaiyla continued, "then he has already confessed to wrongdoing."
A reporter shouted, "Are you saying the footage was obtained illegally?"
Amaiyla didn't hesitate. "Yes."
John's expression finally cracked—just a breath. Enough.
Xander leaned in, voice low. "This is the point of no return."
Amaiyla nodded once. "I know."
She raised her phone again and tapped—not on the video, but on another file.
A second notification pinged across several journalists' devices simultaneously.
Tammy's doing.
Amaiyla spoke as it landed.
"Ten minutes ago," she said, "my legal team filed an emergency injunction against the distribution of private surveillance footage obtained without consent."
Gasps.Phones lifted higher.Editors started shouting instructions.
John's composure tightened like a wire pulled too far.
"That won't hold," he said quietly, stepping closer to the steps. "Not once they see what you've been doing."
Amaiyla met his gaze, fearless now.
"Then you should hope," she said, "they never get the chance."
John's eyes flicked—to Xander.
"You encouraged this," he said. "You're enjoying it."
Xander finally spoke.
"No," he said calmly. "I'm containing it."
The words hit with unexpected force.
"I gave you an out," John said coldly. "I told you to keep her compliant."
Xander stepped forward—just enough to be seen.
"You don't give me orders," he said. "You bargain. And today, your leverage depreciated."
A hush fell so sharp it rang.
John laughed once, quietly. "You think you've won because she spoke?"
Xander's gaze was unwavering. "I think you lost because you threatened."
Amaiyla felt something shift behind her—Xander no longer standing with her, but for her.
John turned back to Amaiyla, eyes hard now.
"You think this ends with applause?" he asked. "You think defiance keeps you safe?"
"No," Amaiyla replied. "I think silence keeps me owned."
She took a breath.
"And I'm done being owned."
The video trended anyway.
Of course it did.
Screens across the plaza lit up with snippets—blurred, cut, deliberately framed for damage. A doorway. A shadow. Her voice, clipped out of context. The implication doing exactly what John had promised it would.
Amaiyla's chest tightened.
Xander saw it.
He didn't look at the screens. He looked at her.
"Stay with me," he said quietly. "Not the noise."
Amaiyla exhaled shakily. "He planned this."
"Yes," Xander replied. "But not what comes next."
Tammy stepped forward at last, her calm slicing through the chaos.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said smoothly, "you're watching a live demonstration of coercive control."
Some reporters turned instinctively—recognition sparking.
Tammy continued, "The footage you're seeing is unverified, illegally sourced, and strategically timed to silence a legal declaration."
She smiled faintly. "Which, for the record, tends to backfire."
A journalist shouted, "Who are you?"
Tammy met the camera. "Someone who anticipated this."
John's eyes snapped to her—recognition, then fury.
"You," he said softly.
Tammy inclined her head. "Hello, John."
Amaiyla blinked. "You know each other."
Tammy didn't look away from John. "We've circled the same board for years."
John's jaw clenched. "You think this helps her?"
"No," Tammy replied. "I think it helps the truth."
She gestured subtly—and more notifications landed.
Legal filings.Expert commentary.A timeline showing surveillance gaps and inconsistencies.
The narrative began to fracture.
Amaiyla felt dizzy—not from fear, but from momentum.
John took a step back.
For the first time.
"You're making a mistake," he said, voice low. "You don't understand what you're provoking."
Amaiyla's hands trembled—but she didn't hide them.
"I understand exactly what I'm provoking," she said. "A response that shows everyone who you really are."
John's eyes flicked again—to Xander.
"And you," he said quietly. "You'll pay for this."
Xander didn't blink. "I already am."
The press surged closer. Security shifted.
John straightened his jacket, mask sliding back into place.
"Very well," he said calmly. "If you want war…"
He looked at Amaiyla.
"…don't expect me to fight clean."
Amaiyla nodded. "I never expected you to."
John turned and walked away—slow, deliberate, cameras tracking his retreat.
The moment he disappeared into the car, Amaiyla's legs nearly gave out.
Xander caught her elbow instantly.
"I've got you," he murmured.
She clutched his sleeve. "Connor will see this."
Xander's expression darkened. "Yes."
"And he'll think—"
"I know what he'll think," Xander said. "And I won't lie to you about what that means."
Amaiyla swallowed. "He'll come after you."
Xander's mouth curved—not in humor, but acceptance. "Let him."
The crowd was still buzzing, but Amaiyla felt suddenly separate from it—as if she'd stepped into a quieter, more dangerous space.
Tammy approached again, her voice low now.
"You did well," she said. "You didn't react. You redirected."
Amaiyla looked at her. "You knew he had footage."
Tammy nodded. "I suspected."
"And you still let me walk out there?"
Tammy's gaze softened—just a fraction. "Because the only way to survive men like your father is to make them show their hand."
Amaiyla closed her eyes briefly. "What happens now?"
Tammy glanced at Xander.
"Now," Tammy said, "the counterstrike begins."
That night, the townhouse felt different.
Not watched.
Alert.
Amaiyla stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't sipped from.
Xander leaned against the counter across from her, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up.
"You didn't ask me to stop it," he said quietly.
Amaiyla shook her head. "I didn't want to."
He studied her. "That video… it didn't break you."
She laughed softly. "It tried."
Xander stepped closer—not touching.
"You understand what you did today?" he asked.
"I made myself expensive to control," she replied.
Xander's eyes searched hers.
"And to protect," he said.
Silence stretched—charged, heavy.
Amaiyla whispered, "He's going to retaliate."
Xander nodded. "Yes."
"With Connor."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Yes."
Amaiyla stepped closer—so close their breaths mingled.
"Then don't protect me from it," she said. "Protect me through it."
Xander's composure finally slipped—just enough to show something raw beneath the strategy.
"Ask me instead," he said quietly.
Amaiyla's heart stuttered.
"For what?" she whispered.
Xander met her gaze, no masks left.
"To choose you," he said. "Not the performance. Not the arrangement. Me."
Amaiyla's breath caught.
"I am choosing," she said softly.
Xander exhaled slowly.
Then—very carefully—he rested his forehead against hers.
Outside, the city buzzed with fallout.
Inside, something more dangerous settled between them:
Alignment without illusion.
And somewhere else, Connor Jackson watched the footage replay for the fifth time—jaw clenched, hands shaking—not at Amaiyla, but at the man standing beside her.
The counterstrike had begun.
And no one was untouched.