Chapter 2 - The Contract
River City never truly slept. It just changed the lighting. By the time Aisha stepped out of Hale Tower, the sky had darkened into metallic blue, and the sidewalks glowed from the reflections of car headlights and digital billboards.
Her phone buzzed nonstop — calls, notifications, emails, headlines. The scandal wasn't growing; it was mutating.
She ignored all of it, needing space, air, anything that wasn't cameras or courtrooms or the man she once thought would protect her from the world.
She walked half a block before the world decided to strike back.
"MISS MALIK!"
The shout came from behind her, too loud, too eager. Aisha spun just as three reporters crossed the street like predators that had finally scented struggling prey. Within seconds they were in front of her, microphones up, cameras up, questions firing.
"Were you instructed to appear before Adrian Hale?"
"Is this about the board vote?"
"Were you together before the scandal? Rumors say—"
Aisha blocked the microphone with her hand. "No comment."
Which was the worst answer. No comment was blood in the water. A full-blown pack poured in — four, then six, then ten — appearing from taxis, from sidewalks, from nowhere.
"Did you leak his company documents?"
"Is this revenge for the breakup?"
That one hit harder. The crowd didn't know it, but it did.
Aisha tried pushing through, but a reporter stepped in front of her, raising a recorder like a weapon.
"Is it true he filed a restraining petition against you?"
Her heart froze. It took her a full second to process the words.
"Restraining what?" she demanded.
The reporter smiled — the kind of smile that meant they got exactly what they came for: a reaction.
"Oh? So you weren't notified?"
Aisha's breath caught. She opened her mouth — to demand clarification, to deny, to scream — she wasn't sure. But before anything left her throat, a black car rolled up to the curb with surgical timing.
The back door opened, and a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Get in."
Adrian. Of course.
The cameras turned instantly, shutters exploding. Headlines forming in real time.
CEO AND EX-LOVER REUNITE AT HALE TOWER!
THE SCANDAL TAKES A TURN!
Their pens and lenses were ruthless. If she stayed, they'd rip her apart on camera. If she left with Adrian, they'd rip her apart with narrative.
But standing in the middle of the sidewalk wasn't an option anymore.
Aisha slid into the car and slammed the door shut. The glass muted the chaos, though she could still see the flashes against the windows like lightning strikes.
Adrian didn't look at her immediately. He was watching the sidewalks, eyes scanning the reporters like one might assess a battlefield.
"You're welcome," he finally said.
"Don't start," she snapped. "I didn't ask for a chauffeur."
"Not a chauffeur," he corrected. "Damage control."
The driver eased into traffic, the car gliding through the evening congestion as if the city parted for it.
Aisha leaned back, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat. "So it's true?"
"What."
"The restraining rumor."
Adrian didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Her fingers curled into fists. "Unbelievable. You let the world think I stalked you?"
His gaze flicked toward her, cool and dissecting. "That's not the narrative. The board filed a petition claiming you posed a reputational threat and that your proximity risked investor confidence. It had nothing to do with stalking."
"Oh, that makes it so much better," she spat.
"It was a legal strategy," he said calmly.
"For whom?"
Adrian didn't reply. His silence was more brutal than any explanation.
Aisha stared out the window, jaw clenched. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white. Five years ago she gazed at these streets with ambition and love and foolish belief. Now she looked at them and tasted metal and lawsuits.
"Why did you call me today?" she asked quietly.
"I told you why," Adrian said. "A partnership."
"No," she said. "Why me?"
This time, he didn't evade. "Because the only thing the media loves more than a scandal—"
"—is a comeback," she finished bitterly.
"And a love story," he added.
She froze.
He said it like a strategy. Like a brand alignment. Like a solve.
There was a time he didn't talk about their relationship like a press release — a time when he believed in it without needing to justify it to shareholders.
That was before the night everything fell apart. Before he hurt her in ways the city would never know.
The car slowed. Aisha expected the Hale residence or the corporate penthouse. Instead, the driver pulled up in front of Lumière, the most photographed rooftop restaurant in the city.
"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not."
Adrian opened his door. "We need a picture."
"That's not a picture, that's a grenade."
He stepped out, smoothing his suit with surgical precision. Cameras turned like they were radar-locked. She saw them before they saw her — telephoto lenses, influencers pretending to sip cocktails, paparazzi disguised as staff.
He planned this.
He didn't deny it either. He simply stood there with the confidence of someone who never considered the possibility of refusal.
He extended his hand into the car. Not touching her. Just offering.
Aisha stared at it like it was a trap. Because it was.
But she also knew how headlines worked. And how networks worked. And how easily careers died when the wrong story controlled the oxygen.
She placed her hand in his — not gently, not lovingly, just decisively.
The moment their fingers intertwined, the cameras detonated.
It was instant chaos.
Shutters clicked. Voices shouted. Phones recorded. Social media feeds ignited. A relationship resurrected in real time, whether she wanted it or not.
Adrian leaned in, for the cameras, for the story, for the board. "Smile," he murmured through his teeth.
"Pretend harder," she whispered back.
To anyone watching, it probably looked like flirting.
They walked toward the restaurant entrance. Two hostesses nearly choked on their own shock — the city wasn't just watching this reunion; it was starving for it.
The maître d' escorted them to a private booth by the glass railing. City lights glittered below like spilled diamonds. The perfect backdrop for a performance neither had auditioned for but both were trapped in.
As soon as the menus closed, Aisha leaned forward. "You didn't answer my question."
Adrian sipped his water, unbothered. "Which one."
"Why me," she repeated. "Why not some model or actress or PR darling? Why the woman you haven't spoken to in five years?"
His eyes lifted to hers — steady, unreadable, metallic.
"Because the world already believed us once," he said. "They'll believe us again."
She stared at him, pulse stuttering against her will. Because as much as she hated it, he was right. Their relationship had once been the city's favorite secret. The kind whispered at charity galas and corporate events. The kind that didn't need public confirmation because everyone could read it in the way he looked at her.
Back then, before everything shattered.
Before the night he hurt her so thoroughly she couldn't even remember what loving him had felt like.
The waiter stepped away. The rooftop buzzed with quiet curiosity. The entire restaurant pretended not to watch them.
Aisha squared her shoulders. "If we do this—"
"We are doing this," Adrian corrected.
"If," she insisted, "then I want terms."
His brow rose slightly. "Terms?"
"You don't get to dictate all the rules anymore," she said. "If I'm going to play your partner in public, then you're going to play mine in private."
Adrian tilted his head. "Define play."
"You don't get to humiliate me," she said. "You don't get to leave me out of the strategy. You don't get to talk about me like I'm an asset class."
For the first time that night, something in Adrian's expression shifted. Not softened — nothing about him softened — but paused.
"Is that what you think I did five years ago?" he asked quietly.
Her breath stalled. The question landed harder than any headline.
Before she could answer, before she could ask her own questions, before she could mention the night he sent her away without explanation, a camera flash reflected off the glass wall behind him.
Adrian didn't look. He didn't need to.
The city already had its story for the night.
Aisha picked up her fork with shaking fingers.
This was only Day One.