Ian's POV
Curtains covered every corner of my office window, turning the room dim even though the morning sun kept forcing its way in. Warm light slid across the floor like it was trying to reach me—but I stood frozen, coffee cup in hand, unable to take another sip.
I'd just finished another exhausting meeting with the board.
Another hour of damage control.
Another lecture about Camila's scandal.
I ran a hand across my jaw as their words repeated in my head.
"We need to minimize the damage before things get out of hand."
"This video could sink the brand this season and also continue to affect market sales in the future."
"Your relationship with Ms. Vale is now a liability. It's a huge threat to the fashion industry. Don't you see what's coming?"
And yes, some part of me told me they weren't wrong about that but...
The video had turned Camila into a public monster overnight. And not even my money can cover it up.
My phone chimed.
Again.
I pulled it out, already annoyed—and saw the same damned video flashing across my screen.
Camila crying on stage to prove her innocence.
Camila begging for them to turn the video off.
Camila exposed in front of the god-damn world.
My jaw tightened until it ached.
"Whoever is fucking behind this…" I muttered, staring at the viral clip spreading like wildfire, "…has no idea what hell they've just unleashed."
This wasn't about love.
This wasn't even about Camila.
This—was about my empire that has been glued to this shame.
I set the coffee down on my desk, walked toward the window, and pulled the curtain aside for a better view. New York stretched beneath me—alive, ruthless, unforgiving. Perfect reflection of how I felt. And I wondered.
"Who hates me enough to pull something like this?" I whispered. "Who wants to see Vance Corporation burn?"
My thoughts sharpened—
—when I heard the sound of heels clicking behind me.
Only two people walked into my office without knocking.
Victoria.
Or Camila.
But the air told me before I turned. Victoria carried authority.
Camila… carried disaster.
I turned slowly.
She stood there—face pale, eyes shaking, breath uneven—as if her whole world had cracked open overnight.
"Ian…" she whispered, walking straight to me, phone trembling in her hand. She shoved it toward me desperately. "This… this video has to be taken care of, babe. The world still sees me as a monster—over something I didn't do! I still don't know why someone would do such a disgraceful thing to me? What did I do wrong to deserve this? A kind hearted woman with a pure soul. Why?!"
Her voice rose, sharp and venomous.
"And I swear to God, Ian, if I find whoever posted this— I will rip their fucking throat out without waiting a second to think about what I'm about to do!"
My anger surged.
I grabbed her arm—hard.
She gasped, eyes widening.
"Camila," I said, voice cold enough to freeze air, "I thought you had this under control. What did you tell me?"
"I—I'm trying—"
"Trying?" I smirked as
my other hand snatched the phone from her.
I looked at the screen.
The video played again.
Her fear.
Her cries.
Her name on the big screen.
Her mess.
My grip tightened on her arm.
"You created this chaos yourself," I hissed. "Don't fucking expect me to fix it for you. And if you think my company and my career will drown with yours… think again, darling."
"I didn't do anything wrong!" she cried, voice cracking. "Ian, baby, you know me—someone set me up! I've been sabotaged"
"Someone targeted you, Camila!" I snapped. "The name in the video—did you hear it? Should I spell it out for you?"
I dragged my voice sharply:
"C-A-M-I-L-A."
She flinched.
I threw the phone to the floor and smashed it into pieces. The crack echoed across the room like a gunshot.
Camila's breath hitched. "Ian—why would you—"
"The board decided," I cut in. "You're being transferred from Vance Fashion headquarters to another branch."
Her face drained of color.
"And congratulations on your new promotion," I added with a cold smirk. "You're the new marketing manager."
"I—I fucking don't want a transfer!" she stumbled backward, shaking. "No, no, Ian, please—I belong here! I want to be close to you!"
"Then maybe," I said, walking past her, "you shouldn't have become the center of a global scandal."
She collapsed to the floor, gathering the broken pieces of her phone.
"Ian… please." Tears streamed down her face. "This isn't my fault. Why am I being punished for something I didn't do? I'm innocent"
I stared down at her—and something inside me snapped completely.
"If you love me, like you keep saying," I growled, "then fix your mess before it buries me."
She crawled to her feet and grabbed my hand. "Laura is handling it—I promise—just give me time—"
I pulled my hand away with a cold smirk.
"My company is on the edge of collapse, Camila. Clients are walking away. Investors are already asking questions. If you stay here, things will get worse for both of us."
"I love you," she whispered, trying to touch my cheek. "Ian, please—talk to the board. Do something. Keep me here."
"No."
My voice was stone.
I walked toward the door. My hand touched the knob—then stopped.
Without looking back, I said:
"Camila has her own ways of fixing things. And I don't care if you have to go live on social media or call the press—I'm not cleaning up your trash. If you want us to continue whatever is between us… then don't fail me."
"Ian! Babe! PLEASE!" she screamed behind me.
I didn't turn around.
I twisted the knob.
Stepped out.
And just as the door clicked shut behind me, her voice rose—raw and shrill:
"You're MINE, Ian! Only mine! I won't let anyone take you from me!"