The city reacted faster than Amaiyla expected.
By morning, the choice Xander had made was no longer personal—it was currency.
She woke to the sound of her phone vibrating nonstop on the nightstand. Not calls. Notifications. Headlines stacking one on top of another, each sharper than the last.
REYES HEIR STRIPPED OF AUTHORITY AFTER PUBLIC DISPUTEFOUNDATION SHAKEN BY INTERNAL POWER STRUGGLEENGAGEMENT TURNS TO LIABILITY?
Amaiyla lay still, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing into her ribs. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the city washed and watchful, like it was waiting to see who would bleed first.
She hadn't slept much.
Neither had Xander.
She knew without seeing him.
Her phone buzzed again—this time a message that made her stomach twist.
Tammy:It's moving faster than projected. Do not respond to anyone yet. Let the first wave pass.
Amaiyla exhaled slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The townhouse felt different this morning.
Not quiet.
Alert.
She padded down the hallway, barefoot, the cool floor grounding her as she moved toward the kitchen. Xander was already there, standing by the counter with his laptop open, coffee untouched beside him. His sleeves were rolled up, hair still damp, posture rigid in a way she was starting to recognize.
Control under pressure.
He didn't look at her when she entered.
"You shouldn't read the news," he said calmly.
Amaiyla crossed her arms. "You shouldn't pretend I won't."
That earned her a glance—brief, assessing.
"Fair," he said.
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the screen. Numbers. Graphs. Market movement. Names she didn't recognize, but the tone was unmistakable.
This wasn't gossip.
This was damage.
"How bad is it?" she asked quietly.
Xander shut the laptop with deliberate care. "Bad enough that everyone smells blood. Not bad enough that they're certain where it came from."
Amaiyla swallowed. "They're blaming you."
"They're questioning stability," Xander corrected. "Blame comes later."
She leaned against the counter, arms hugging herself. "You told me not to react."
"Yes."
"And now?"
Xander studied her. "Now you choose whether to disappear or define the narrative."
Her pulse quickened. "I thought disappearing was what they wanted."
"Exactly," he replied. "Which is why you shouldn't give it to them."
Amaiyla's jaw tightened. "My father is already spinning this."
Xander nodded. "John excels at reframing loss as sacrifice."
"And Harold?" she asked.
Xander's mouth flattened. "Harold is recalibrating."
That scared her more than anger.
"People are losing money because of me," she said.
Xander's gaze sharpened. "Because of your father's reaction to your autonomy."
Amaiyla met his eyes. "You lost power."
Xander didn't deny it. "Yes."
She took a step closer. "Because of me."
Xander's voice dropped. "Because I refused to let them punish you through me."
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
Amaiyla whispered, "You warned me this would cost something."
Xander nodded once. "I underestimated how quickly."
Her throat tightened. "Do you regret it?"
The question hung there—dangerous, naked.
Xander's answer came without hesitation. "No."
Amaiyla felt it then—not relief, not comfort.
Responsibility.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Then again.
Xander straightened immediately. "Stay here."
Amaiyla ignored him and followed anyway.
Tammy stood in the doorway, immaculate as always, tablet tucked under one arm, expression unreadable.
"You're trending," Tammy said by way of greeting.
Amaiyla huffed a bitter laugh. "I always wanted influence."
Tammy stepped inside, eyes flicking briefly to Xander. "You broke pattern."
Xander's jaw tightened. "That was intentional."
Tammy nodded. "Good. Because they're trying to rebuild it without you."
Amaiyla frowned. "What does that mean?"
Tammy moved into the living room, already pulling up files. "It means Harold is pushing alternative leadership within the Foundation. And John is quietly contacting three of your mother's former allies."
Amaiyla's chest tightened. "To do what?"
"To suggest concern," Tammy replied coolly. "Concern that you're being destabilized by romantic involvement."
Amaiyla stiffened. "So they're painting me as—"
"A liability," Xander finished.
Tammy glanced between them. "Yes. And you're making it worse by being silent."
Amaiyla's pulse spiked. "You told me not to react."
"I told you not to panic," Tammy corrected. "Silence only works when you already control the room."
Xander crossed his arms. "She's not issuing a statement."
Tammy's gaze flicked to him. "I didn't say she should."
Amaiyla looked between them. "Then what do I do?"
Tammy's mouth curved slightly. "You appear."
Amaiyla's stomach dropped. "Where?"
Tammy slid the tablet across the table.
A charity luncheon.Press confirmed.Attendance optional—but noted.
Amaiyla stared at it. "They'll ask about you."
"They'll ask about your father," Tammy said. "They'll ask about Connor. They'll ask whether the engagement is still intact."
Amaiyla swallowed hard. "And what do I say?"
Tammy's eyes sharpened. "You don't clarify."
Xander's gaze snapped to her. "That's dangerous."
"Yes," Tammy replied. "Which is why it works."
Amaiyla looked at Xander. "If I go, it looks like I'm choosing visibility over privacy."
Xander met her gaze steadily. "If you don't go, they'll choose invisibility for you."
Amaiyla exhaled slowly. "They're trying to corner me."
"Yes," Tammy said. "So you stand where corners don't exist."
Amaiyla straightened. "I'll go."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Amaiyla—"
"I won't speak," she continued. "I won't deny or confirm anything. I'll be… present."
Tammy nodded approvingly. "Exactly."
Xander watched her closely. "You're stepping into fire."
Amaiyla met his eyes. "You already did."
The luncheon was worse than she expected.
The room hummed with polite hostility, eyes tracking her every movement as she entered. Conversations stuttered. Whispers followed.
Amaiyla felt it—the weight of being watched not as a person, but as a symbol.
She kept her spine straight.
Smile neutral.
She didn't look for Xander.
That was the hardest part.
"Ms. Hollingsworth," a reporter said smoothly, stepping into her path. "Are you concerned about Mr. Reyes' suspension?"
Amaiyla tilted her head slightly. "I'm concerned about how quickly authority punishes dissent."
The reporter blinked.
Another voice. "Is the engagement still on?"
Amaiyla paused—just long enough to make them lean in.
"I'm not in the habit of discussing private commitments in public forums," she said calmly.
Cameras flashed.
A third voice, sharper. "Did you know Mr. Reyes would defy his father?"
Amaiyla's lips curved faintly. "I knew he would make his own decisions."
That answer rippled.
From the edge of the room, Tammy watched.
From across the city, John Hollingsworth watched the footage replay on mute, jaw tightening.
And somewhere else entirely, Connor Jackson sat alone, the video paused on Amaiyla's face—composed, controlled, distant.
Not broken.
Not waiting.
Something cold settled in his chest.
Back at the townhouse that night, Amaiyla collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion finally breaking through adrenaline.
Xander stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice low.
"No," he said. "I'm not issuing a retraction."
A pause.
"Because I don't negotiate my integrity."
Another pause.
"Then we're done."
He ended the call and turned to her.
"They've cut the last channel," he said quietly.
Amaiyla's chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
Xander's gaze was steady. "It means there's no going back."
Amaiyla stood, walking toward him. "You don't sound afraid."
Xander's mouth curved faintly. "I'm not."
She searched his face. "You should be."
Xander met her gaze. "I am. But not of them."
Amaiyla whispered, "Of what?"
Xander stepped closer, close enough that the space between them felt charged again.
"Of wanting you in a world designed to punish it."
Amaiyla's breath caught.
Outside, thunder rolled again.
Inside, the fallout was only beginning.
Because the system had noticed.
And systems don't forgive people who refuse to stay small.