Chapter 11 Dominic
Istride through the glass doors of Hawthorne Industries, the familiar weight of responsibility pressing against my shoulders.
The launch of our newest tech innovation is days away, and every moving piece of the company is in full motion.
Yet, for all the precision and control I demand over my business, my personal life is unraveling at an uncontrollable pace.
The boardroom is already full when I enter. A dozen executives glance up, eyes flickering between me and the massive screen displaying projections and prototypes. The project—an advanced AI-driven security system—could revolutionize personal and corporate safety. It’s my vision, my legacy.
But instead of celebrating the progress we’ve made, my thoughts are elsewhere.
Amelia.
The regency.
The suffocating decision looming over me.
“Sir,” Jonathan, my VP of Development, speaks up, pulling me back to the present. “We’ve finalized the adaptive AI components. The real-time response algorithm exceeded our expectations in the latest test. We’re ready for launch.”
“That’s good news,” I reply, leaning forward, forcing myself to focus. “Security-wise, are we still on track for risk assessment?”
“Yes, but there’s something else.” Jonathan hesitates. “You might want to see this.”
A few keystrokes later, the screen shifts.
A news headline flashes across the boardroom, bold and damning.
DOMINIC HAWTHORNE’S SECRET ENGAGEMENT: WHO IS AMELIA GRANT?
My entire body stiffens.
My jaw clenches as my eyes scan the screen. Below the bold letters are several images—some taken at the hospital, others at my penthouse entrance, and worst of all, one from our weekend retreat.
But what sends a jolt of fury through me is the wording:
Sources close to the tech mogul suggest an upcoming engagement with the accomplished Dr. Amelia Grant. The relationship, previously undisclosed, hints at a strategic alignment between the billionaire and the medical world.
“Where the hell did this come from?” My voice is low, lethal.
Jonathan clears his throat. “It surfaced about an hour ago. No official statements have been made, but it’s already gaining traction across multiple media platforms.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “Call PR. Get ahead of it.”
A knock at the boardroom door interrupts me.
The room goes silent as Eleanor steps in, her expression grim.
“We have a bigger problem.”
I already know what she’s going to say before she does.
“The regency wants an immediate response. They’ve been blindsided, and they’re not happy.”
Of course, they aren’t.
An hour later, Amelia walks into my office, her posture rigid with frustration. I asked her to come, but I doubt she’s thrilled about it.
“Explain,” she says, crossing her arms.
I sigh. “I didn’t know about it until this morning.”
Her eyes narrow. “And yet, my face is all over the news as your fiancée.”
I stand from my desk, closing the distance between us. “The media twisted it. But we need to handle it before it spirals further.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “Handle it? Dominic, my credibility is on the line here. Do you have any idea what this could do to my career?”
“I do,” I say, voice controlled. “That’s why we need a statement. A clear one.”
She shakes her head, pacing. “And what exactly would that statement be? That this is a mistake? A misunderstanding? That I was just another distraction?”
Her words sting more than they should. I step closer. “Amelia, I would never let them reduce you to that.”
She meets my gaze, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. I wish I could give it to her.
She exhales, her hands on her hips. “So what’s your plan?”
“Simple,” I say. “We go public together. We control the narrative instead of letting them do it for us.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Together?”
I nod. “A press conference. We decide how we present this—on our terms.”
She hesitates. “Dominic… what exactly are you trying to say?”
I step even closer, lowering my voice. “That I don’t want to lose you. That this—whatever this is—means more than just damage control.”
Her lips part slightly, but before she can respond, my phone buzzes violently on my desk.
Eleanor’s name flashes on the screen.
I answer, already knowing it won’t be good news. “What now?”
Her voice is tight. “Your security detail just arrived at the building. There’s been a breach.”
My entire body goes cold.
“A breach where?”
“Petrovia.”
Amelia stiffens at the name. I exchange a sharp glance with her before turning back to the call.
“How bad?”
“Enough for your presence to be requested. Immediately.”
I close my eyes briefly, the weight of the moment pressing hard against my chest.
This was inevitable.
I’ve spent years fighting the pull of my homeland, refusing to be drawn into its endless obligations.
But now?
Now, there’s no choice.
The jet is waiting when I arrive at the private airstrip.
Amelia stands beside me, arms wrapped around herself against the cool night air.
She shouldn’t be here.
This isn’t her problem.
But she’s here anyway.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her.
She lifts her chin, eyes unwavering. “Neither do you. And yet, here we are.”
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “If I go, I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
A beat of silence stretches between us. The night hums around us, filled with words neither of us can say.
Finally, she speaks. “Then tell me one thing, Dominic.”
I swallow hard. “Anything.”
She takes a step closer. “If you come back… what happens to us?”
I cup her face, my thumb grazing her cheek. “If I come back, Amelia, it won’t be as the man I was before.”
She searches my eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind my words.
Then, with a heavy breath, she nods. “Then I’ll wait.”
I don’t deserve her.
But as I board the jet, watching her silhouette shrink against the backdrop of the city, I know one thing:
No matter what awaits me in Petrovia, my fight isn’t just for my country anymore.
It’s for her, too.