17. Chapter Seventeen #2
“My private decisions belong to me. You won’t reveal or speculate about them.”
He typed it exactly. “Anything else?”
“No.” She paused. “You didn’t have to admit all of that to answer the video.”
“Yes, I did. Otherwise, I’d be using what happened to you as a clean way to repair my reputation.”
“Legal may tell you it sounds like an admission.”
“It is one.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Send me the final version,” Nicole said. “If it has those changes, I approve it.”
He sent it. She answered with one word: “Approved.”
Only then did Alexander give the statement to counsel and communications. Legal did hate parts of it. He refused every change that softened his responsibility or turned Nicole into a silent supporting figure in his defense. The approved statement went out as she had seen it.
“The phrase ‘absent husband and father’ creates unnecessary exposure,” the lead attorney told him before release. “We can say your work habits created misleading public impressions.”
“The romance was misleading,” Alexander said. “My absence wasn’t.”
The communications director tapped the draft. “Calling Nicole your beloved wife will invite questions about the state of the marriage.”
“It answers the only question I’m answering. I love my wife. The rest is private.”
“We should at least remove ‘allowed people to treat her as disposable.’ It’s emotional language.”
“It describes what I did.”
The attorney leaned back. “You’ve been publicly cleared of the most damaging claim against you. This statement gives the press five new admissions.”
“I wasn’t asked to protect myself from consequences. I was asked to tell the truth without exposing Nicole. She read this. She changed it. She approved it. You don’t get to bargain her back out of the statement now.”
No one tried again.
The response was immediate, loud, and beyond his control. He didn’t read it. Nicole had asked him to handle a statement, not spend the night measuring whether strangers had forgiven him.
Sofia and studio counsel arranged a call with Angela and her representatives through formal channels. Alexander joined from his study. Sofia and two lawyers occupied the other studio windows on the screen. Angela sat alone in a bright room, with her agent and attorney in separate boxes beside her.
There was no scented trailer, no low laughter, and no private access. Just a recorded business call with witnesses.
Angela looked tired. “I’ve seen your statement,” she said.
“Then you know what I’m asking,” Alexander said.
Her agent cut in. “We haven’t agreed that Ms. Stone will make any personal statement. The video speaks for itself.”
“The video was stolen from Nicole,” Alexander said. “It shouldn’t have to speak for anyone.”
Angela’s gaze shifted. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. You initiated the kiss. I rejected it. There was no affair before it and there hasn’t been one since. You crossed a boundary, and Nicole didn’t deserve the story that grew around us.”
Her lawyer began, “We should be careful about language that could be read as–”
“I kissed him,” Angela said.
Everyone stopped.
She looked directly into her camera. “I did it without asking. He pulled away right away. When I tried again, he stopped me. There was no affair. There was never a relationship.”
Alexander felt no satisfaction. He only saw Nicole outside that trailer with their crying daughters while Angela explained his marriage to him.
“Will you say that publicly?” he asked.
Angela folded her arms. “Yes.”
Her agent stared at her. “Angela.”
“It’s already everywhere. Hiding behind the fact that somebody stole the video won’t change what I did.” Her expression tightened. “I owe both of you an apology. Especially Nicole. I decided I understood a marriage that wasn’t mine, and then I crossed a line because of it.”
“Don’t discuss our living arrangements or what you think Nicole should do,” Alexander said. “Don’t turn the apology into advice for her.”
“I won’t.”
“And no interview built around it,” Sofia added. “A written statement through counsel. Nothing tied to Brittle publicity.”
Angela nodded. “Fine. Send me the wording. I’ll make sure it says what I just said.”
Her public statement followed. She confirmed that she’d initiated the kiss without Alexander’s consent, that he’d rejected her at once, and that no affair had occurred. She apologized to Alexander and Nicole for crossing the boundary and for helping create a false story around their marriage.
Production on Brittle continued under Sofia’s authority.
Reports arrived about delays, public reaction, and predictions that the scandal would either sell the film or bury it.
Alexander closed every one. For most of his life, the film’s fate would’ve felt like a test of his own worth.
Now his wife was frightened to open the private photographs she’d taken of their daughters.
Prim and Rose needed to travel to preschool without becoming material for strangers.
Whether Brittle succeeded or failed no longer mattered to him.
The investigation mattered, and even that refused to obey him.
The original account had left no name, face, payment record, or reliable location.
Each path ended with another disposable identity or concealed connection.
The investigators couldn’t tell him who the intruder was.
They couldn’t promise the person hadn’t copied more files before their access was closed.
Alexander called Nicole with the final update he had.
“We don’t have an identity,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Nicole was silent for a moment. “Can they still get into my account?”
“Not through the route they used. Every session was ended, and the accounts and devices are secured. They’ll keep watching for another attempt.”
“But you can’t tell me what they took.”
“No.”
He hated the word. He made himself leave it alone.
“Thank you for not pretending,” Nicole said.
“I want to give you more than this.”
“I know.”
“But I can’t promise what I don’t know.”
“No. You can’t.”
Alexander looked at the closed laptop, the dark screen, and the pages of instructions built around Nicole’s choices. He couldn’t buy back her privacy. He couldn’t order the stalker to have left no copies. He couldn’t turn an investigation into certainty because his family needed it.
He could keep the access closed. He could protect the girls without taking their lives away from them. He could tell the truth in public and keep Nicole’s private choices private. He could ask before he acted.
“The same rules stay in place,” he said. “No one gets more access to you because we haven’t found them. If security recommends something new, you decide.”
Nicole released a slow breath. “That’s what I need.”
It wasn’t everything Alexander wanted to give her. It was what she’d asked him to give.