Behind the Headlines

Ava

After hanging up, I leaned back in my chair, exhaustion washing over me. The headache was getting worse, and I still had hours of damage control ahead of me.

My gaze drifted to the family photo on my desk—me, James, and Emilia on her fourth birthday, just months before the accident. We looked so happy, so complete. Would we ever feel that way again? Could Emilia and I ever be whole without him?

The thought of Alex Russo—arrogant, infuriating Alex—being involved in my daughter's life seemed absurd. And yet, he'd volunteered to drive her to school, bought her thoughtful gifts...

I picked up the book he'd left for Emilia—a signed first edition of "Starstruck." How had he known she wanted it? The puzzle too—it was exactly the kind of complex challenge she loved. It showed an attention to detail, a consideration I wouldn't have expected from him.

My phone buzzed with another text message. This time from Alex: Emilia safely delivered to school. She might have mentioned I ask "stupid questions." Working on my kid conversation skills.

Despite everything, I smiled. Then immediately frowned at my reaction. I should not be smiling at anything Alex Russo said or did. This was business, nothing more.

I typed back: Thanks for the drop-off. And the gifts. That was... unexpectedly thoughtful.

His response came quickly: I have my moments. Unlike your daughter's opinion of me, I'm not actually the devil incarnate.

I set the phone down without replying. I needed to focus on work, on the PR crisis, on anything but Alex Russo and the confusing feelings his kiss had stirred up.

The next two hours passed in a flurry of emails, calls, and putting out the various fires that seemed to ignite spontaneously whenever I wasn't looking. By the time I left for Silver Innovations, I'd managed to placate the board, draft a preliminary statement about my "relationship" with Alex, and down enough pain relievers to dull my headache to a manageable throb.

The walk to the conference room at Silver Innovations felt longer than usual, my heels clicking aggressively against the polished floor. I could feel eyes on me—employees trying to appear busy while sneaking glances, whispering behind their hands. News traveled fast in this building.

I pushed open the conference room door with more force than necessary. Three people looked up simultaneously—Diane Montgomery and two of her associates.

"Let's get started," I said, taking a seat at the head of the table. "What's the damage?"

Diane cleared her throat, sliding a tablet across the table. "These are the headlines from the major outlets. As you can see, the reaction is... mixed."

I scrolled through the articles, my stomach sinking with each headline:

"Tech's Power Couple: Silver and Russo's Surprise Engagement"

"From Boardroom to Bedroom: Business Rivals Turn Lovers"

"Alex Russo Caught Cheating? Vivian Harper 'Devastated' by Engagement News"

"Ava Silver: Billionaire Husband-Stealer?"

I looked up, my face burning. "Husband-stealer? Are you fucking kidding me?"

One of Diane's associates, a young man with thick-rimmed glasses, spoke up. "The narrative is getting away from us. We need to control it before it impacts stock prices and investor confidence."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" I asked.

"We recommend a joint statement," Diane said, opening a folder. "Confirming your engagement and expressing surprise at the public interest in your private lives. Keep it vague but affectionate."

"Then," her other associate added, "a carefully orchestrated series of public appearances. Nothing too obvious—charity events, business functions, perhaps a casual dinner at a visible restaurant."

"We also suggest a formal engagement party," the young man continued. "Something elegant but not ostentatious. It would give us an opportunity to control the photos and messaging."

I rubbed my temples, trying to stave off the headache building behind my eyes. "And what about the Vivian Harper angle? How do we address that?"

Diane frowned, consulting her notes. "According to our sources, Mr. Russo and Ms. Harper's relationship was already on the rocks. We can imply—subtly, of course—that their relationship had ended before your engagement."

Another lie to add to the pile. This was exactly why I hated PR—it was just professional lying, wrapped in corporate language.

"Fine," I said finally. "Draft the statement. I'll review it with Alex before we release it."

The meeting continued for another hour, with the PR team outlining a detailed strategy for the coming weeks. Every appearance, every statement, every social media post carefully planned to present a unified front to the world. By the time they left, I had a calendar full of "couple activities" and a growing headache.

After the PR team departed, I sat alone in the conference room, staring at my notes. We were committed now. There was no backing out, not without causing exactly the kind of publicity disaster we were trying to avoid. For the next few months, I was going to be Alex Russo's fiancée in the eyes of the world.

And on Thursday, I'd be bringing him home to meet my father. I could already picture my dad's excitement, his questions, his hopes for me finding love again. The thought made my stomach twist with guilt. This charade was affecting real people now—people I loved, people who mattered.

And what about Emilia? How was I going to explain all of this to her when I could barely make sense of it myself?

My phone buzzed with a text from Rosa: Emilia's school called. She's in the nurse's office, upset. I'm picking her up.

"Shit," I muttered, already standing and gathering my things. Whatever crisis awaited me at the office could wait. My daughter needed me.

"Jared," I called as I passed his desk, "cancel my afternoon. Family emergency."

He nodded, already reaching for the phone. "Want me to reschedule the investors call?"

"Push it to tomorrow. And hold any non-essential calls until then."

As I waited for the elevator, I found myself wondering if Alex had anything to do with Emilia's distress. Had something happened during their drive to school? Had he said something insensitive? The thought made my blood boil. If he'd upset my daughter...

But then I remembered the gifts, the thoughtful texts, the way he'd volunteered to help. Maybe I was being unfair. Maybe there was more to Alex Russo than I'd given him credit for.

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