Trey's POV
By the time I strode down the marble hall to the dining room, I was already in the middle of a terse call with Dorothy. My phone was pressed to my ear like a lifeline, my voice a low growl.
"Take it down. Every copy, every site. I don't care what you have to pay. Kill it before it spreads."
"Yes, sir," Dorothy said briskly. "But, Mr. Alvarez, you need a statement ready. The press is already circling."
"I'll handle the press," I bit out, adjusting my cufflinks, my jaw tight. "You just make sure those pictures disappear."
The double doors of the dining hall swung open and I stepped inside and I froze.
Pauline was already there.
She turned when she heard me, a porcelain cup clutched in her hand, steam rising between us. It was not her polished poise that struck me. It was the fury flashing in her eyes. Controlled, icy, but unmistakable.
I had never seen her that angry with me, I thought, and for once the words felt too small.
Her gaze flicked to the phone in my hand, then back to my face. "So it's true," she said, her voice low and cutting.
For a heartbeat, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. The silver teapots gleamed, the chandeliers burned too bright, and all I could hear was the echo of her accusation. True.
I exhaled once through my nose, ending the call with Dorothy in a clipped tone. "Do it now." Then I slid the phone into my pocket, straightened my jacket, and met Pauline's stare head-on.
"Whatever you've heard," I said evenly, "I'll give the press the answer they need. You don't have to worry about scandal."
Her laugh was sharp and brittle. "Scandal? That's all you care about? Not the fact you were carrying her like—" Her words caught, venom curling at the edge of her tongue. "Like she meant something to you."
Her anger pressed against me, but instead of flinching, my chest burned hotter. Because the truth was she did mean something. Too much. More than I could admit here, in the open, with Pauline's eyes blazing into me.
I forced my voice steady. "It wasn't what you think. She wasn't alone with me. Tessa was there, and so was Adrian. They can both vouch for it."
Pauline's lips thinned, skeptical.
"They all drank too much," I continued sharply, cutting in before she could spit another accusation. "Amara included. She could barely walk on her own, and Adrian was in no state to help her. Someone had to carry her. That's all it was."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's all?"
"Yes," I ground out, my jaw tight. "She was Adrian's date, not mine. And I carried her because no one else could."
The words tasted like ash, even though they were the truth. My fists curled at my sides, because saying them aloud, Adrian's date, made my chest feel like it was caving in.
Pauline studied me in silence, her fury tempered but not gone. "If that's the story you'll feed the press, fine," she said coldly. "But make sure they believe it. Because if you slip, Trey, even once, it won't just be your reputation that burns. It'll be mine too."
"I'll handle it," I said again, my voice low and final.
Pauline crossed her arms, clearly not satisfied with my answer. The anger on her face had not faded at all. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger the longer we stood there.
"Trey, we are about to get married, and suddenly you bring this kind of scandal into the middle of it," she said sharply. "Our family name has never been tainted by rumors like this, and I refuse to let you ruin it by flirting with our wedding planner."
Her words were sharp enough to cut.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Be careful with your words, Pauline," I said, keeping my voice controlled even though irritation burned in my chest. "I wasn't flirting with Amara."
She scoffed as if she didn't believe a single word.
"I already told you I will handle it," I continued, forcing my tone to remain calm. "Rest assured everything will be taken care of. The situation will not get out of control."
But Pauline was not finished.
"You better fire her, Trey," she hissed. "She wasn't even that famous to begin with. Honestly, I still can't believe you chose someone like her to plan our wedding. If we are going to hire a wedding planner, she should at least be someone well known."
I rubbed a hand over my temple, already exhausted by the conversation.
"I'm sorry the media decided to label it like that," I said, trying to end the argument. "Those headlines are lies, and I will make sure they are taken down."
The bitterness in my mouth grew stronger as I forced myself to say the next words.
"And let me make one thing clear. I would never flirt with someone like Amara. She was never my type."
The words tasted wrong the moment they left my mouth. Pauline's lips curved into a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with what she heard.
"Of course not," she said sweetly, though the mocking tone in her voice was impossible to miss. "You would never make yourself the laughingstock of our society, sweetheart."
She stepped closer, brushing invisible dust from my sleeve as if she were reminding me exactly who I belonged to.
"You are one of the most sought after bachelors in the country," she continued. "And I'm sure you would never choose someone like her over me."
Her smile widened with confidence.
"I am the best catch you could ever have, Trey. Everyone knows that. Besides, you're crazy about me, and you have class. I can't even imagine you ending up with someone like her."
Every word felt like a quiet insult directed at Amara.
And all I wanted to do was defend her. But I couldn't.
Not without making things worse.
"And I know you're busy, Trey," Pauline said, her tone suddenly soft but still demanding, "but you need to take me out tonight. You owe me that much."
I opened my mouth to answer, but she continued speaking before I could say anything.
"Don't be late," she added firmly. "I'll text you the address."
The way she said it made it clear that this was not a request. It was an order.
"Goodbye for now, sweetheart," she said with a satisfied smile.
Before I could react, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. The gesture felt deliberate, almost possessive, as if she wanted to remind me exactly where I stood.
Then she turned and walked away.
The sharp clicking of her heels echoed across the marble floor as she disappeared down the hallway.
I remained standing there, staring at the empty space she had left behind.
But Pauline was no longer the one occupying my thoughts.
All I could think about was Amara.
The images from last night kept replaying in my mind. The moment I carried her, the closeness between us, the way everything had felt far too real for something that was supposed to mean nothing.
And now the pictures were everywhere.
The media had already turned it into a scandal, twisting the moment into something far more intimate than it should have been.
Soon they would demand an explanation.
And I already knew what I would have to do.
I would have to give them a story.
I could not stand in front of the press and admit that it had been my decision to carry Amara last night. I could not explain what had really happened between us, not when I was about to marry Pauline.
And the worst part of it all was that Amara was the wedding planner.
If the truth came out, it would not just affect me. It would destroy her reputation as well.
So instead, I would have to control the narrative. Give the press a version of events they could accept.
But the thought that kept bothering me was not the media.
It was Amara.
I knew the moment those headlines came out, she would be affected by them. I also knew she would probably hate me for the story I was about to tell the world. Still, I could only hope she would understand that I had no choice.
What I hated the most was how much I cared about how she would react. I should not have cared at all. In a few days, I would be marrying the perfect woman, the one everyone expected me to choose.
And yet, the thought of Amara reading those headlines was the only thing on my mind.
After the press conference, I should have felt triumphant. Relieved even. I had done what was expected, stood beside Pauline, called her my bride, and given the world the perfect picture it demanded. The cameras had flashed, the investors were appeased, Pauline's smile had gleamed like polished glass.
I should have felt satisfied. Instead, my chest was hollow. Every cheer, every headline, every congratulatory message echoed against the emptiness inside me.
Dorothy's voice droned in the background as she read my schedule, board calls, a luncheon with donors, an evening dinner I could not even remember agreeing to. I sat behind my desk, tie still knotted from the conference, but my mind was nowhere near the calendar.
It was back in that hallway. Back in the foyer.
Back in the moment I carried her.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Alvarez?" Dorothy's voice finally cut through, tentative.
I blinked, realizing I had not interrupted her once. Normally, I would be sharp, precise, correcting details before she even finished. Now I just sat there, staring into nothing, hands locked too tightly around my pen.
My throat worked before words scraped out. "Keep reading," I said, low. Because the truth was, I had not heard a single thing she said.
Her eyes softened. Dorothy had worked with me long enough to notice when I was unraveling. But she nodded briskly, as if pretending not to see the cracks.
I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight, mask slipping for a fraction of a second. Pauline's hand on mine at the podium, her diamonds glittering for the cameras, that was what the world saw.
But what I saw was Amara. Her face pale in the photographs. Her head against my chest, like she fit there all along. The way my arms had refused to let her go, even when I knew they should.
And worse, the way my heart had almost believed she belonged there.
Dorothy's voice blurred again into background noise, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to force myself back into focus.
I had told the world she was nothing but my sister's friend. But my body, my traitorous heart, knew better.
I slowly lowered my hand and looked up at Dorothy. The decision had already settled inside me. It was sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore.
"Cancel all my afternoon appointments," I said flatly.
Dorothy's pen froze in the middle of her notes. She looked up at me, clearly surprised.
"Sir?" she asked carefully, as if she thought she had heard me wrong.
"You heard me," I replied, my gaze steady and unwavering. "Cancel them. Every single one."
She hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the tablet in her hand.
"But, sir, you have a very important meeting with an investor this afternoon," she said, trying to remind me gently. "They flew in specifically to see you today."
"Dorothy," I said firmly, my voice carrying the kind of authority that left no room for discussion, "you heard what I said. I don't repeat myself."
Silence filled the office for a brief moment.
For the first time in years, Dorothy actually looked stunned. In all the time she had worked for me, I had never canceled half a day of meetings without a clear reason. Mr. Alvarez did not disrupt his schedule. Mr. Alvarez did not make impulsive decisions.
But today was different.
She quickly composed herself, straightening her posture as professionalism returned to her expression.
"Yes, Mr. Alvarez," she said quietly.
She turned and walked toward the door, already preparing to rearrange the chaos my order would cause.
When the door closed behind her, the office suddenly felt too quiet. I stared at the empty space she had left behind, my chest tight with something I refused to name.
I was not canceling meetings because I was tired. I was not clearing my schedule because I needed rest. I was running. Running from the words I had spoken earlier.
Running from the lie I had just told the entire world.