Aurelian did not sleep after that.
He stood by the window until dawn bled slowly into the Paris sky, hands in his pockets, mind moving faster than the traffic below.
Lyra watched him from the bed.
She had never seen him like this.
Not angry.
Not calculating.
Just… quiet.
And that scared her more.
"You knew," she said softly.
Aurelian didn't turn. "I suspected."
"Since when?"
He hesitated.
"Since the first time Elias mentioned you without mentioning you."
Lyra frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Aurelian finally looked at her.
"He never asked about your music," he said. "Never asked about your contracts. Never asked about your past. He asked about how you changed me."
Her chest tightened.
"That was the point," he continued. "You were never the battlefield."
She swallowed.
"I was the evidence."
"Yes."
---
By mid-morning, the news broke.
Not quietly.
Not subtly.
Explosively.
VALMONT AUTOMOTIVE SHARES PLUMMET 18% AFTER LEAKED INTERNAL DOCUMENTS
Lyra's phone began vibrating non-stop.
Aurelian's didn't.
Because his had already been ringing for ten minutes straight.
He didn't pick up.
He was reading the article on the tablet with a still face.
But Lyra saw it.
The muscle in his jaw ticking.
The headline continued:
Documents suggest Valmont's new electric engine prototype fails international safety compliance in three markets. Sources say regulators in Germany, Japan, and Canada are preparing immediate investigations.
Lyra's head snapped toward him.
"That's not true."
"No," Aurelian said calmly. "It's not."
"But—"
"But the documents are real."
Her heart skipped.
"What?"
"They're drafts," he said. "Old simulations. Worst-case projections from two years ago. We solved those issues before production."
She stared at him.
"So why leak them?"
Aurelian's eyes were distant.
"Because to the public," he said quietly, "context doesn't matter. Timing does."
---
By noon, the company lost 27% market value.
By 2 p.m., three regulators issued formal statements.
By 4 p.m., shareholders demanded an emergency board meeting.
And by 6 p.m., every news channel in Europe had his face on screen.
Lyra sat in the hotel suite, watching it unfold like a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
"He didn't attack me," she whispered.
Aurelian was already putting on his suit.
"He attacked the only thing I love more than you."
She looked up sharply.
"Which is?"
He met her eyes.
"My legacy."
---
The board meeting was held via secure video.
Lyra sat quietly in the corner, unseen.
She watched men twice Aurelian's age speak to him like he was suddenly reckless.
Irresponsible.
A liability.
She saw how fast respect evaporated when money started burning.
"We need to step you down temporarily, Aurelian," one of them said.
"For optics."
He didn't argue.
Didn't plead.
Didn't defend himself.
He just nodded once.
Lyra's throat tightened.
She realized something then.
This was the first battle Elias had launched where Aurelian could not fight back.
Because this war was being fought in public perception.
And perception doesn't care about truth.
---
After the call ended, Aurelian removed his jacket slowly.
Like a man coming back from a funeral.
"They voted you out?" Lyra asked.
"Interim CEO," he corrected calmly. "Until investigations clear."
She felt anger rise in her chest.
"That's unfair."
"Yes."
"That's betrayal."
"Yes."
"And you're just calm about it?!"
He looked at her gently.
"Lyra, this is what Elias wanted."
She blinked.
"To make me react?"
"To make me look unstable," he said. "Emotional. Defensive. Guilty."
She hated that he was right.
---
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message from Elias.
He won't scream. He never does. That's why this will hurt longer.
Lyra's hands trembled.
She typed back before Aurelian could stop her.
Why are you doing this?!
The reply came slower this time.
Because he took something from me years ago.
Lyra's heart pounded.
And now I'm taking everything from him.
She showed Aurelian.
He read it.
And for a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, very quietly:
"I know what he thinks I took."
Lyra's voice shook. "What did you take?"
Aurelian's eyes were colder than she had ever seen them.
"His father."