20. Sloane
Sloane
The microphones are already live when Marcus looks at me. Not at the reporters, not at Graham, standing off to the side with legal and investor relations, and not at the prepared statement sitting untouched on the podium between us.
Me.
For half a second, the room narrows around that look. It is not a request for approval. Marcus Vale does not need permission to speak, and I know better than anyone what he looks like when he’s seeking control of a room.
This isn't that.
He looks at me because I matter to the answer now, and because whatever happens next belongs to both of us. The realization is powerful enough to push everything else aside for a moment, including the wall of cameras waiting ten feet away.
For a moment, anyway.
“Ms. Parker,” someone calls from the press line, voice sharp enough to cut through the low swell of noise. “Are you denying that the relationship was created as a media strategy?”
No warm-up, or careful lead-in. No pretending this conference is about forensic reports or unauthorized access or corporate accountability. They came for the story they understand best, which means they came for me.
I step toward the podium before Marcus can answer.
“The leaked emails were manipulated,” I say, my voice carrying across the room with the same calm I’ve used through a hundred difficult questions in my career.
“Crossridge has released the forensic findings supporting that. The original communications were part of an internal crisis response after private material was taken and distributed without authorization.”
A dozen hands rise immediately, and questions stack over each other, hungry and bright.
“Were you involved in staging the relationship?”
“Did investors know?”
“Was the wedding timeline fabricated?”
“Did Marcus Vale authorize the strategy?”
My fingers rest lightly against the edge of the podium. I keep them still.
“I’m going to be very clear,” I say. “I did not fabricate emails. I did not leak private communications. I did not create a false relationship for professional gain.”
A murmur moves across the room, but I let it continue without stepping in to control it.
There is power in leaving space for people to reach their own conclusions. That might be the strangest thing Marcus has taught me, or maybe it's the strangest lesson this entire mess has forced both of us to learn.
Beside me, he remains quiet, solid, and present without trying to take over the moment. The cameras notice that too.
I can feel the difference in the room, the subtle reorientation that happens when people realize the dynamic they came to capture is not the one in front of them. They expected defense. Maybe conflict. Maybe a woman publicly cleaned up by the billionaire standing beside her.
Instead, Marcus waits.
And I speak.
“Mr. Vale,” another reporter calls, “your statement placed responsibility for the breach inside your office. Are you accepting personal liability?”
Marcus steps forward then, but before he answers, his gaze moves to mine again, brief enough that most of the room probably misses it entirely. But I feel the weight of it immediately. Because whatever answer comes next touches me before it touches him now.
I nod once, barely.
His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the moment connect us.
“Yes,” he says, and the room stills.
That single word does more than any prepared language could have.
Marcus continues, voice steady. “The breach occurred through a former employee in my office. Materials accessed through that breach were manipulated and used to attack Sloane Parker’s credibility. I am responsible for the systems inside my office, and those systems failed.”
Every camera in the room focuses on him.
I should feel relieved. I don’t. Instead, I feel something more complicated. Because this is exactly what I told him he couldn't do. Fix it, manage it, or step in and take over the damage. But this isn't that.
He isn't speaking over me. He isn't shielding me from the room as though I can't survive it. He's standing beside me, taking responsibility for his part without trying to take mine.
That difference is everything.
A reporter near the center lifts his phone higher. "Are you saying Ms. Parker bears no responsibility for the strategy?"
Marcus's jaw tightens, and I recognize the instinct immediately.
The impulse to step in, take control, and shut the question down before it can go any further.
The restraint is subtle enough that no one else would notice it, but I do.
When he looks at me, I already know what he's asking. This time, I answer.
“I am responsible for my professional recommendations,” I say.
“I advised Crossridge through a crisis that involved unauthorized leaks, manipulated footage, and escalating pressure from outside parties. Some decisions worked. Some escalated beyond what any of us intended. But the accusation that I engineered this situation for personal or professional gain is false.”
The silence that follows feels different from the one we walked into. The sharp, predatory edge of the room softens slightly. Not into kindness, never that, but into something more measured.
A woman in the second row speaks next, tone more measured than the others. “Are you saying the relationship is real?”
The question is exactly what everyone wants to know.
Public truth is complicated when the private truth has changed faster than either of us can explain.
Yesterday, I might have given the safer answer.
The polished one. The one designed to reduce exposure while leaving the narrative enough structure to keep standing.
Today, I look at Marcus and find him exactly where I expect him to be—silent, steady, and letting the decision remain mine. I hate how much that steadiness affects me.
“Our relationship,” I say slowly, choosing each word with care because this is no longer spin and not yet confession, “became public under circumstances neither of us chose. We made decisions under pressure; none of you could fully see from the outside.”
The room leans in.
“But I’m not going to reduce something complicated to a headline just because that would make it easier to consume.”
The words leave my mouth before fear can edit them down, and for half a second, I think I’ve gone too far.
“Neither will I,” Marcus says quietly.
The words are simple, but they change something in the room almost immediately. Not just the atmosphere, but the story itself.
A reporter frowns. “So are you confirming the engagement or not?”
Marcus's hand rests lightly near the edge of the podium, close enough to mine that I'm acutely aware of the space separating us.
When the reporter speaks, Marcus looks at me first. Not for permission or approval, but because this answer belongs to both of us now, and for the first time since this started, I believe he understands the difference.
I turn back to the room. “We are confirming that the public does not get full ownership of our private life because someone tried to weaponize pieces of it.”
"Then why invite the public into it in the first place?"
"Because at the time we believed we were solving a problem."
"And now?"
"Now we're dealing with the consequences of that decision."
A stir moves through the reporters.
Someone starts talking over someone else. A producer near the back gestures sharply to a camera operator. Graham’s expression, visible at the edge of my vision, shifts into something I can’t read quickly enough.
Marcus moves closer to the microphone.
“And we are confirming,” he says, “that Crossridge will not reward manipulated evidence by sacrificing the person targeted by it.”
My chest tightens.
“Does that mean Ms. Parker remains in her role?” someone calls.
“Yes,” Graham answers from the side before either of us can.
Every head turns.
Graham steps into the edge of the light, controlled and unmistakably final. “Sloane Parker remains Director of Public Relations at Crossridge. She has the full confidence of this company.”
For a second, I cannot breathe properly. I knew this was the plan. I helped shape the language and reviewed the sequence before we walked in. Still, hearing it in front of the cameras does something I’m not prepared for.
Not because Crossridge validated me. Because for the first time since the leak, the room hears someone say my name without treating it like a liability.
Marcus doesn't look away from the reporters, but I notice his hand shift slightly closer to mine on the podium. He still doesn't touch me, yet the gesture feels unmistakable all the same.
The questions that follow aren't completely different, but something about them begins to change. There are still sharp edges. Still suspicion. Still attempts to bait us into contradiction. But the center of the room has moved. The story is no longer only whether I lied.
Now it includes Evan. Julian. Apex. Manipulated evidence. Internal betrayal. Corporate accountability. Truth does not erase scandal, but it redirects weight. I can feel that happening slowly, almost unwillingly, as the reporters begin asking about timelines and legal action instead of my character.
Marcus answers some of those questions. Graham answers others. I take the ones about the communications process, evidence handling, and media manipulation. We don’t perform warmth or touch for the cameras, and we don’t turn the press conference into another stage for the relationship narrative.
And somehow, that makes standing beside Marcus feel more intimate than half the images that have been circulating all week. Because this time, we are not pretending. Not the way we were before.