Chapter Nine: The Puppet Master

The next morning, we woke to headlines that screamed across every business feed on the East Coast:

“Lennox Global Scandal: Shareholder Removed After Espionage Leak”

“Who Is Ava Monroe?”

“Billionaire CEO Names Fiancée as Interim Executive, Insider Deal or Real Trust?”

My inbox exploded.

Journalists. Ex-classmates. Distant family members who hadn’t spoken to me since graduation.

Everyone wanted a piece of the girl who went from nobody to power broker overnight.

Killian watched me scroll through the chaos, arms folded.

“Welcome to the fire,” he said.

I looked up. “What happens now?”

He moved toward the window, gaze locked on the skyline.

“Now we flush them out.”

I stared at him. “You think Oriana was taking orders.”

He nodded. “She had no real motive for the assassination attempt. But someone else did. Someone with reach.”

He pressed a button. The security feed changed.

A single image loaded: a man, mid-forties, suit tailored too well, walking down a Lennox Global hallway like he built it.

Killian tapped the screen.

“Graham Vale. Deputy Chairman of Acadia Holdings. Silent investor. And the only man Oriana ever bowed to.”

I blinked. “He was never on the board.”

“No. He was behind it.”

“Why now?”

“Because the merger makes me too powerful.”

Killian turned. “Acadia wants to weaken Lennox. And Graham knows exactly how to do it.”

He walked over and handed me a thumb drive. “This has everything. Ties to shell companies. Bribes. Even an offshore property in the Caymans Oriana signed over to his holding group.”

“Why give it to me?”

“Because if I release it, it looks like a smear campaign. But if you release it…”

“…it looks like a whistleblower.”

He nodded. “And people will finally listen.”

That afternoon, I called a press conference.

I didn’t ask Killian. I didn’t wait.

I walked into the media room at Lennox Global wearing a tailored black pantsuit, no jewelry, no notes, just the truth.

“I’m Ava Monroe,” I began.

“Two weeks ago, I was a junior analyst. Today, I’m standing here because I’ve seen too much to stay silent.”

I dropped the thumb drive on the podium.

“This contains evidence that Acadia Holdings, through Mr. Graham Vale, has interfered with Lennox operations in violation of antitrust laws, investor ethics, and federal transparency guidelines. They attempted to manipulate the upcoming merger and silence anyone who stood in their way.”

Gasps. Flashes. Shouts.

I raised my voice.

“I’m not a corporate heiress. I’m not a politician. I’m not here to play chess with billionaires. I’m here to survive. And when someone tries to erase me from the board, I fight back.”

Killian stood at the back of the room, watching. Not smiling. Just watching.

And I saw it.

The tiniest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Not pride.

Not relief.

But respect.

Three hours later, the Department of Trade opened an investigation into Acadia Holdings.

By sunset, Graham Vale had deleted every online profile he had.

By midnight, I was trending as #TheLennoxWhistle.

And the next morning…

I got a message.

Not a text. Not an email.

A note. Slipped under the door of the penthouse.

White envelope. One line:

“You should’ve stayed a pretty face.”

Killian read it. Didn’t speak.

Just tore it up and tossed it in the fire.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Too many what-ifs. Too many eyes on me now. My fake fiancée status was collapsing under the weight of something real.

I found Killian on the balcony again, watching the city.

“You did it,” he said. “You forced their hand.”

I shook my head. “I started a war.”

“No,” he said. “They did.”

We stood in silence for a beat.

Then I asked, “What would you have done if I walked away after the first gunshot?”

He turned. “I would’ve hunted you down and made you walk back in.”

“Because I’m useful?”

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“Because I don’t want to do this without you.”

His hand brushed my jaw. His touch was fire and frost.

And suddenly, I didn’t want to pretend anymore.

Not about the merger. Not about the danger. Not about us.

I kissed him.

Hard.

Fast.

Hungry.

And he kissed me back like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

We made it to the bedroom like we were being pulled by gravity, shedding suits, pride, pain.

And for the first time since this whole twisted game began…

We weren’t pretending.

Later, breathless in the dark, he whispered against my shoulder:

“There’s one more name I haven’t told you.”

I turned. “What name?”

He stared at the ceiling, voice cold.

“The person who connected Oriana and Graham. The one who pulled the strings.”

I waited.

His next words nearly stopped my heart.

“Jason Walker.”

I sat up.

“No,” I breathed. “He’s dead.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. “Maybe not.”

He handed me a photo.

Jason. Alive. Smiling.

Dated four days ago.