C9 Chapter 9
“Have you seen the papers this morning?” Lisa’s voice rang through the phone, sharp and relentless, cutting through my morning haze like a knife.
I groaned, clutching the phone tighter as I rolled over in bed. “Lisa, it’s barely seven. What could possibly be so urgent?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that your face is plastered all over the tabloids again? You should really look. Page six. You’re welcome.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the phone, annoyance bubbling up in my chest. Lisa was always like this—dramatic, self-serving, and lately, not much of a friend. After all, she had no problem siding with the board members who’d accused me of stealing company funds.
Still, curiosity got the better of me. Throwing off the covers, I shuffled to the door, grabbing the newspaper that had been unceremoniously shoved through the mail slot. As I flipped to page six, my heart sank.
"POWER COUPLE IN THE MAKING: ADRIAN AND MIA KNIGHT RISE ABOVE SCANDAL"
Underneath the headline was a glossy photo of Adrian and me leaving the office yesterday, hand in hand. The smile on my face now felt like a cruel joke. And as if the headline wasn’t bad enough, the subheading twisted the knife further:
"Mrs. Knight, Cleared of Theft Charges, Lands Managing Director Role—Coincidence or Favoritism?"
My grip tightened on the paper. Of course, they couldn’t resist dragging up the accusations. They never could.
I dialed Adrian’s number, pacing the living room as the line rang. He picked up on the second ring.
“Good morning, Mrs. Knight,” he said, his tone smooth as ever.
“Don’t ‘good morning’ me,” I snapped. “Have you seen the tabloids?”
“I don’t usually make a habit of reading gossip columns,” he replied coolly.
“Well, you might want to make an exception today.”
---
Less than an hour later, I stormed into Adrian’s office, the offending newspaper in hand. He sat behind his desk, utterly unbothered, scrolling through his laptop.
“Good morning to you too,” he said without looking up.
“Don’t start,” I said, tossing the paper onto his desk. “What is this?”
He raised an eyebrow, picking it up with deliberate slowness. “Ah. Page six.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I said, folding my arms. “Did you plant this story?”
He set the paper down, leaning back in his chair. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe to make yourself look good? ‘Fairytale romance’? ‘Power couple’? Give me a break.”
“And what about the part where they dredged up your supposed embezzlement?” he asked, arching a brow. “Does that make me look good too?”
I froze, the heat in my chest turning into something colder. “So you’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
“Exactly,” he said, standing and walking around the desk to face me. “But this is what tabloids do, Mia. They twist everything into a spectacle.”
“Well, it’s not just a spectacle to me,” I said, my voice rising. “This is my reputation, Adrian. My career. I worked hard to get where I am, and now people are going to think I only got the job because of you.”
“They don’t think that,” he said calmly.
“They will after reading this!”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. It’s not ideal. But fighting this kind of narrative will only make it worse. We need to steer it, not fight it.”
“Steer it?” I echoed. “How? By smiling for the cameras and pretending this marriage is perfect? I didn’t sign up for this circus, Adrian.”
“No, you signed up to save your job at the company,” he shot back. “And if you want to keep saving it, you’re going to have to play the part.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, turning away from him.
“Mia.” His voice softened. “I know this isn’t easy. But I promise you, the more we stick to the plan, the faster this will blow over.”
“And what’s the plan, exactly?” I asked, spinning around to face him.
“We stay united,” he said simply. “They want to see cracks in the facade? We don’t give them any. We stick to the story, and we make sure the narrative is in our hands, not theirs.”
I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “And if they keep bringing up the theft accusations?”
“They won’t,” he said, his voice firm. “Not if we handle this right.”
---
The rest of the day was a blur of meetings and damage control. Adrian arranged a session with the PR team, and I sat at the head of the conference table, determined to take charge.
“First of all,” I said, addressing the team, “we’re not leaning into the ‘fairytale romance’ angle. It’s tacky and unnecessary. We focus on the facts—my qualifications, my achievements, and my plans for the company. End of story.”
One of the PR reps nodded, scribbling notes furiously. “Understood, Mrs. Knight.”
“And no fluff,” I added. “I don’t want anything that sounds like it was written for a tabloid.”
“Agreed,” Adrian said, leaning back in his chair. “Also, make sure the focus stays on Mia’s accomplishments. She’s not just the Managing Director because she’s my wife. She’s here because she’s damn good at her job.”
I glanced at him, caught off guard by the genuine note in his voice. For a moment, I almost forgot this marriage was a business arrangement.
“Anything else?” one of the reps asked, glancing nervously between us.
“Yes,” Adrian said, his gaze fixed on me. “No more talk about the theft accusations. That story is dead and buried. Make sure everyone knows it.”
---
That evening, I found myself on the balcony, a glass of wine in hand as I stared out at the city lights. Adrian joined me a moment later, holding his own glass.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, breaking the silence, “I meant what I said in there. You deserve this role, Mia. Scandal or no scandal.”
I took a sip, letting the warmth of the wine settle my nerves. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
We stood in silence for a while, the tension between us more palpable than the cool evening air.
“Do you ever regret this?” I asked suddenly, turning to face him.
“This?” he repeated, his brow furrowing.
“This… marriage,” I said, gesturing between us. “Do you ever think we made a mistake?”
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting to the city skyline. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I do know we’re in this together. And we’ll figure it out.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
“And what happens when it’s over?” I pressed.
He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Something in his voice made my stomach twist. I wanted to ask more, to press him for answers, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I drained my glass and turned back to the view, the city lights blurring as my thoughts raced.
This wasn’t just about the tabloids anymore. It was about us. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was pretending—or if I’d already started falling.
