Chapter 21
Carina
MEDIA CRISIS PROTOCOLS - EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY
No one leaves the chalet without prior approval
All phones to be surrendered to Travis for screening
No social media access
Curtains remain drawn at all times
Deliveries to be inspected before acceptance: Carina - this includes food orders. Let Travis handle.
"Is he serious?" I ask Knox, who's reading his own copy with increasing disbelief.
"Oh, he's serious. Look at number seven."
7. Daily meetings at 8 AM to discuss strategy and review any developments
"He's lost it," Knox mutters. "Completely fucking lost it."
Travis appears in my doorway, holding what looks like a basket. "Phone collection," he says apologetically. "Will's orders."
"You're going along with this?" I can't hide my disappointment.
"I'm trying to manage the situation." He looks exhausted. "The board meeting yesterday didn't go well. They're threatening a vote of no confidence if this isn't resolved soon."
"So we're prisoners because William's job is in danger?"
"We're being cautious because photographers have been caught trying to scale the fence," Travis corrects. "And your ex-husband has escalated to calling board members directly."
That stops me cold. "Dylan's calling the board?"
"Offering them 'insider information' about your relationship with William. Claims he has evidence of inappropriate conduct during the hiring process."
"But that's a lie—"
"We know. But the board's spooked. Hence..." He gestures at the basket. "Will's in full damage control mode."
I drop my phone in reluctantly. It feels like handing over my last connection to the outside world. Which, I realize, is exactly what it is.
The morning meeting is excruciating. William stands at the head of the dining table like a general preparing for war—charts, documents and various printouts spread before him. He's created a literal crisis management flowchart, complete with color-coded response strategies.
"The lawyers have filed injunctions against three publications," he begins without waiting for any of us to say anything. "Dylan's been served with a cease and desist. Klaus has agreed to remain neutral after some... persuasion."
"You mean threats," Knox says flatly.
"I mean negotiation." William's jaw ticks. "Moving on. Carina, I need you to write a statement about your hiring. Emphasizing your qualifications, making it clear the relationship developed after—"
"No."
He blinks at my interruption. "Excuse me?"
"I said no. I'm not defending my professional worth to strangers."
"This isn't about your worth. It's about perception."
"It's about control," I counter. "Over the narrative, over us, over everything."
"I'm trying to protect—"
"Stop saying that!" The words explode out of me. "Stop using protection as an excuse to imprison us!"
"No one's imprisoned," William says coldly. "You're free to leave anytime."
"Really? Because rule number one says otherwise."
"That's for your safety—"
"No!" I stand, needing to move. "You can't handle what’s happening, so you're turning this place into a bunker."
"Would you prefer I let you wander into a mob of photographers?" His voice rises. "Let Dylan ambush you with a camera crew?"
"I'd prefer you trust me to handle myself!"
"Like you handled Klaus?" He regrets it immediately, I can see it in his face, but the words are out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." My voice is quiet now, hurt replacing anger. "You think I'm weak. That I need you to manage my life because I can't do it myself."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" I look at Knox and Travis. "Are you two okay with this? With him deciding when we can leave, who we can talk to?"
Knox shifts uncomfortably. "It's just temporary—"
"Is it? Because it's been three days and he's getting worse, not better."
"The situation is getting worse," William insists. "The stock dropped another four points. Three board members are calling for my resignation. The European expansion is in jeopardy. Excuse me for trying to contain the damage."
"By controlling us?"
"By controlling what I can!" He slams his hand on the table, making everyone jump. "Do you think I enjoy this? Think I want to keep you locked up like—"
He stops, but we all hear the unfinished comparison. Like prisoners. Like possessions.
"I need to cook," I say abruptly. "Alone."
"Carina—" Travis starts.
"Unless that's against the rules too? Do I need permission to use the kitchen?"
William's face is stone. "Of course not."
I escape to the kitchen, hands shaking as I pull out ingredients without any plan. I just need to do something with my hands, something that makes sense. Cooking has always been my escape, and I need it now more than ever.
I'm chopping vegetables with perhaps too much force when Knox appears.
"Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"
"Do I look okay?"
"You look like you're imagining those carrots are Will's fingers."
I snort. "Maybe a little."
He moves closer, not touching but present. "He's scared. When Will gets scared, he goes off the deep end a bit. It's how he's wired."
"Dylan was scared too," I say quietly. "Scared I'd leave. Scared I'd find someone better. So he made sure I couldn't. Made sure I didn't have friends, money or options."
"Will's not Dylan."
"No?" I set down the knife. "Then why can't I leave? Why can't I have my phone? Why is he making every decision 'for my protection'?"
Knox doesn't have an answer.
The day gets worse. William interrupts my lunch with Travis to discuss "strategy." He appears when Knox and I are watching a movie, needing my "input" on a statement. Every moment of peace is shattered by his need to manage what’s going on.
"You're suffocating her," I hear Travis tell him that evening. "Can't you see that?"
"I'm saving her," William responds. "From herself, if necessary."
That's when I know. When those words—so familiar, so painful—confirm what I've been trying to deny. He's not getting better. He's getting worse.
Christmas Eve dawns with new rules. A schedule, actually. William has scheduled our entire day.
8:00 - Breakfast (kitchen) 8:30 - Media briefing (office) 9:15 - Individual phone time (supervised) 10:00 - Legal review (library)
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Knox stares at the schedule. "You've scheduled Christmas Eve?"
"Organization reduces anxiety," William says, like he's quoting a management textbook.
"Whose anxiety?" Knox demands. "Because you're giving me a panic attack."
"This is necessary—"
"This is insane!" Knox throws the paper down. "We're not just your employees, Will. We're your family. People who chose to be here."
"People who are trapped here because of choices we made," William counters. "Because we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves in public. Because we had to flaunt—"
"Flaunt?" I interrupt. "Is that what you think we were doing?"
"What else would you call it? Kissing on public streets, hands all over each other—"
"Being in love," Travis says quietly. "We call it being in love."
"Love doesn't pay lawyers," William snaps. "Love doesn't salvage stock prices or save careers. Love is what got us into this mess."
The silence that follows is deafening.
"You're right," I say finally. "Love is messy and inconvenient. Must be driving you fucking crazy."
"Carina—"
"No, I get it now." I stand, needing distance. "This isn't about protecting us. It's about protecting yourself. From feeling too much. From being human."
"I'm trying to fix this!"
"By locking us up? By treating us like problems to be managed?"
"What would you have me do?" He's shouting now, really shouting. "Let you all run around playing happy family while I lose everything? While the company I've spent my life building crumbles because we couldn't keep it in our pants?"
Knox laughs bitterly. "This is our fault now?"
"If you hadn't been so obvious—"
"If you hadn't been so repressed—"
"Stop!" I shout over both of them. "Just stop. This isn't about blame."
"Then what's it about?" William demands.
"It's about fear." I meet his eyes. "You're afraid. Of being vulnerable, of choosing love over safety. So you're destroying the thing you're trying to save."
"I'm not destroying anything. I'm the only one taking this seriously!"
"You're the only one turning love into a prison!" The words hang between us, sharp and final.
William goes very still. "Is that what you think this is? A prison?"
"What else should I call it when I can't leave? When you monitor my calls, control my movements, decide what's best for me?"
"I'm protecting—"
"Stop. Saying. That." Each word is precise, succinct. "Dylan protected me too. Right into isolation and poverty."
"I'm nothing like him."
"Then prove it." I move toward the door. "Let me go."
"Carina—"
"Let. Me. Go."
He steps aside, but I see the war in his eyes. The need to grab me, stop me, control the situation battling with the knowledge that doing so proves my point.
I make it to my room before the tears come. Not dramatic sobs, just quiet streams of grief for what we're losing. For the beautiful, complicated thing we built that's crumbling under the weight of William's fear.
A soft knock interrupts my misery. "It's Knox. Can I come in?"
I let him in, falling into his arms the moment the door closes.
"He doesn't mean it," Knox murmurs into my hair. "He's just scared and stupid and—"
"And turning into someone I can't be with." The words hurt to say. "I can't do this again, Knox. Can't be with someone like that."
"He'll figure it out. He always does."
"What if he doesn't? What if this is who he really is when things get hard?"
Knox doesn't have an answer.
Later, Travis brings me dinner. We eat in silence, the weight of the day pressing down. Outside, snow falls softly, a perfect Christmas Eve that we're too broken to enjoy.
"He loves you," Travis says finally. "In his broken, complicated way, he loves you."
"I know." And I do. That's what makes this harder. "But sometimes love isn't enough."
"It has to be," Travis sounds desperate.
I think about Dylan, about how long I stayed because I loved him. How many times I forgave manipulation disguised as care, jealousy dressed up as devotion.
"I can't walk away," I admit. "Even knowing what this is becoming, I can't leave."
"Because you love him."
"Because I love all of you." I take his hand. "And I keep hoping the William I fell for is still in there, under all that fear."
"He is," Travis squeezes my fingers. "We just have to help him find his way back."
"What if we can't?"
"Then we'll love him anyway," he says simply. "Broken pieces and all."
As midnight approaches on Christmas Eve, I lie in bed alone, listening to the big house settle around me. Somewhere, William is probably still working. Knox is likely painting his feelings. Travis is almost certainly analyzing our situation from every angle.
And me? I'm holding onto hope that tomorrow—Christmas Day—might bring a miracle.
That William might choose love this time.
That we might find our way back to each other.
That this won't end the way my marriage did, with isolation masquerading as protection and fear winning over love.
I close my eyes and make a wish on whatever Christmas magic might be listening:
Let him choose us. Let him choose joy. Let him choose to let go.
Please.