007 The Media Storm

I watched Mia chase a piece of strawberry across her high chair tray, her small giggles filling the kitchen. Damian sat across from me, his eyes fixed on his tablet as he took a slow sip of his black coffee. The tension between us from the night before after I had overheard him crying in his study still hung heavily in the air, but looking at Mia’s bright, flushed face, I knew I had to stay strong.

"More juice, Lila?" Mia asked, holding up her tiny plastic cup.

"Of course, sweetheart," I said, reaching for the pitcher.

Damian’s phone suddenly buzzed on the table. It didn't just ring once; it began vibrating continuously, lighting up with back-to-back notifications.

He frowned, setting his coffee cup down with a soft click. He swiped the screen, and I watched the color completely drain from his face. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his cheek twitched.

"What is it?" I asked, my hand pausing over Mia's cup.

Damian didn't answer me. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor. Mia startled, her giggles instantly cutting off as she looked up at her father with wide, worried eyes.

"Damian?" I repeated, my heart racing.

"Nanny," Damian called out, his voice sharp and tight. The nanny appeared from the hallway almost instantly, as if she had been waiting nearby. "Take Mia up to her playroom. Now."

"Daddy, I'm not done eating," Mia whined, her lower lip trembling.

"Go with the nanny, Mia," Damian said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't look at her; his eyes were glued to his phone screen.

I gave the nanny a quick nod, and she gently lifted Mia out of the high chair, murmuring softly to soothe her as they hurried up the stairs.

The moment the kitchen doors clicked shut behind them, Damian turned his phone toward me and slid it across the table.

"Look at this," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.

I picked up the phone. The screen displayed a major celebrity gossip blog, and right at the top was a massive, high-resolution photograph. It was a picture of Damian and me standing outside the municipal office three days ago. The camera had caught the exact second he slipped the gold band onto my finger. In the picture, my face was pale, my eyes looked swollen, and Damian looked completely stone-faced.

The headline above the picture felt like a physical blow to my chest.

THE REBOUND BRIDE: Billionaire Damian Voss Marries His Late Brother’s Flame.

My fingers shook as I scrolled down. The article was a nightmare. It claimed Damian was using his dead brother’s woman to cure his grief, or worse, that we had been sneaking around behind Alex’s back before the accident. The comments section below it was already exploding with thousands of shares. People were calling me a ruthless gold digger. They were calling Damian heartless and disrespectful to Sophia’s memory.

"I didn't tell anyone," I said immediately, my voice cracking as I looked up at him. "Damian, I swear to you. I haven't even spoken to my friends since I moved here. I haven't left the house."

"I know you didn't," Damian snapped, pacing toward the large kitchen window. He looked out at the security gates, his shoulders stiff as iron. "My PR team is already tracking the source. It was a leak from inside the municipal building. Someone saw a payout and took a picture through the window."

"Can't your team just take it down?" I asked, standing up from the table. "Delete the article? If people start digging, they'll find out the marriage is just a legal contract. If reporters start hanging around the gates, the stress is going to get to Mia. The doctors said she needs absolute quiet."

The mention of Mia's name made Damian freeze. He turned around, his eyes piercing through me. "The board of directors just called an emergency meeting. Our stocks are already dropping. The investors are furious. They think this is a trashy family scandal that will ruin the reputation of the Voss Foundation."

"What are you going to tell them?"

"I already spoke to the head of PR," Damian said, walking closer to me. He stopped just a few feet away, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "We can't deny the marriage. The papers are public record now. Taking the article down just makes us look guilty. It makes it look like we have something to hide."

"Then what do we do?"

"We play the part," he said, and for the first time, I heard a trace of defeat in his voice. "The PR team delivered an ultimatum. If we want to save the foundation and keep the paparazzi from hunting Mia at her clinic appointments, we have to project absolute, undeniable marital bliss. There can be no doubts."

"Okay," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "We can do that. When we go out to events, we can pretend."

"It's not just about when we go out, Lila," Damian said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. He looked past me, toward the stairs that led to the guest wing where I lived. "The media is going to watch this house. They will pay the staff for tips. If a single maid mentions to a reporter that the new Mrs. Voss sleeps in the opposite wing of the mansion, the story breaks."

A cold feeling started to spread in my stomach. "What are you saying, Damian?"

"I'm saying the separate wings arrangement is over," he said directly, meeting my gaze with unwavering intensity. "Your things need to be out of the guest room before the morning shift ends."

I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No. We agreed on boundaries. Three days ago in the study, you said this wasn't a real marriage. You said I stay for Mia and nothing more."

"Mia is the exact reason we are doing this," Damian countered, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself and lowered it again. "If the press exposes us as a sham, the chaos will destroy her stability. Do you want reporters jumping out of bushes with cameras when she goes to the clinic? Do you want her hearing people call her father a fraud?"

I clamped my mouth shut. He was right, and it infuriated me that he was right.

"Then pack your bags," he said. "You are moving into the master bedroom today."

I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. He was a businessman used to making hard executive decisions, and right now, I was just another problem he had to manage.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" I asked quietly. "Your room has one bed, Damian."

"There is a sofa," he said simply. "We will figure it out. But you sleep under my roof, in my room, from this moment on. Go get your things. I will have the nanny help you move them."

I realized I didn't have a choice. I turned around and walked out of the kitchen, my feet heavy as lead as I climbed the stairs to the guest room.

It took less than an hour to pack everything back into my suitcases. I saved Alex’s photograph for last. I picked up the small silver frame, looking into his smiling eyes, and a wave of intense guilt washed over me. Moving into the mansion was one thing, but moving into his brother's bedroom felt like crossing a line I could never walk back from. I tucked the photo safely into my bag and zipped it shut.

The nanny helped me wheel the suitcases down the long, quiet corridor of the upper floor. We stopped at the double doors at the very end of the main hall. The master suite.

The nanny gave me a sympathetic, tight smile, set my bags down, and left without a word.

I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside. The air immediately felt different. The room was huge, double the size of the guest room, with a massive king-sized bed dominating the center of the space. But it didn't feel like a normal bedroom. It felt like a museum preserved in time. On the vanity, there was a small crystal bottle of perfume. On the wall, a beautiful oil painting of a woman with bright eyes and a soft smile hung in a gold frame.

Sophia.

The room smelled of lavender and old paper. It was completely suffocating. I stood near the entrance, holding tightly to my suitcase handle, feeling like an intruder who had just broken into a sacred temple.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Damian walked out, having changed into a crisp white button-down shirt for his board meeting. He stopped when he saw me standing by the door, his eyes scanning my suitcases.

He walked past me, closed the double doors, and locked them with a sharp click.

"This is it," he said, his voice completely flat as he turned to face me in the quiet room. "Welcome to our married life."