The fallout didn't explode.
It crept.
By morning, the first dirty trick revealed itself. Amaiyla woke to the sound of her phone vibrating nonstop.
Messages.
Missed calls.
Emails she hadn't opened yet—but the subject lines were enough.
ENGAGEMENT CONFIRMED
HOLLINGSWORTH–REYES ALLIANCE FINALIZED
EXCLUSIVE: POWER COUPLE TO WED IN EUROPE
Her breath caught. She hadn't agreed to anything. She stormed into the kitchen where John Hollingsworth stood calmly reading the paper, coffee in hand, completely unbothered.
"You leaked it," she said, voice shaking with fury.
John didn't look up. "I confirmed it."
"You lied."
"I controlled the narrative," he corrected. "Before someone else did."
"You used me, Dad, it's not fair ."
"I protected you." He finally met her gaze.
She laughed, sharp and broken. "From what? My own life?"
"From choices that would ruin you," John replied with a firm tone .
"From men who come with liabilities." Her stomach twisted. "Connor."
John silence was answer enough.
...
At the same time—across the city—Connor sat frozen in his office, staring at the email on his screen.
SUBJECT: Notice of Pending Civil Inquiry
CONTENT: Request for testimony regarding events during your academic tenure abroad.
His blood ran cold. Someone had reached back into his past.
Someone powerful.
...
Back at the Reyes estate,
Xander was discovering his own trap. His father slid a folder across the table. "Clause 17-B."Xander flipped it open—and stilled.
"Temporary cohabitation?" he said sharply. "You're forcing us to live together?"
"One week," Harold replied.
"Under supervision. Neutral territory. Until the engagement is formally recognized."
"This is fucking extortion," fumed Xander.
"This is enforcement," Harold said calmly. "If either of you refuses, the clause escalates."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Escalates, Fucking hell, how?"
Harold's eyes hardened. "You don't want to find out."
...
That was how Amaiyla found herself standing outside a sleek, glass-walled townhouse overlooking the river—suitcase in hand, heart pounding—as Xander arrived moments later, equally furious. They stared at each other.
"This is insane," she said.
"I agree," he replied.
Inside, silence stretched between them—thick, uncomfortable, charged. Rules were posted on the counter. Curfews. No guests. Shared meals. Daily check-ins. Amaiyla scoffed.
"They're treating us like prisoners." Xander tossed his jacket aside.
"No. Like assets." That night, neither slept. By day three, the tension shifted. They argued about everything—coffee strength, lights, music—but something strange began to happen in the quiet moments. Xander noticed how Amaiyla hums when she cooked. Amaiyla noticed how he checks the locks every night—without fail. One evening, she found him on the balcony, staring out at the city.
"You don't look like a villain," she said softly.
He snorted, "Neither do you."
Silence.
"You really love him," Xander said finally.
Not accusatory.
Observant.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
Something flickered across his face—regret? Or relief?
"Then don't thank me for what's coming," he said quietly. "Because I won't stop it. Not yet."
She frowned. Confused, she asked, "Why?"
"Because your father is counting on you breaking," Xander replied. "And I don't like rewarding men like him."
Meanwhile, Aras's world tilted. Tammy Veraga arrived two days later—unannounced, flawless, dangerous in her confidence.
She slipped into the restaurant where Aras sat alone, sliding into the chair across from him like she owned it. "You didn't tell me your family was this… powerful," she said lightly.
Aras stiffened. "You shouldn't be here."
Tammy smiled. "Your father invited me." That smile carried threat.
'I kept my end of the deal," Aras said quietly. "You promised discretion."
"I promised silence," she corrected. "Not distance." She leaned in. "And silence has a price."
Across the room, Naiya watched them—something in her chest tightening painfully which she ignored and went back to her books.
Back at the townhouse,
Amaiyla and Xander sat on opposite ends of the couch, exhaustion finally dulling their defenses.
"You ever notice," Amaiyla murmured, "how they never had to ask for our consent?"
Xander nodded. "Because they trained us not to expect it."
Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Understanding.
And that, somehow, was more dangerous. Outside, the city pulsed—unaware that contracts were tightening, secrets surfacing, and love was being weaponized in ways none of them could yet escape. The week wasn't over. And nothing—nothing—would ever be the same when it ended.