The lights in the Stone mansion glowed cold and sterile, casting long shadows across marble floors and velvet drapes. The air was thick with unspoken rage and bitterness. Vivian reclined on the velvet chaise lounge, the very picture of composure. Draped in silk, wine glass poised perfectly in hand, she looked every bit the martyr she liked to play—flawless, wounded, and theatrical.
Ian stormed into the room, his jaw tight, his phone still buzzing in his pocket from the barrage of news alerts and missed calls. The scandal had detonated like a bomb, and now the shrapnel was everywhere.
"What the hell was that, Vivian?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she gave the wine glass a lazy twirl and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the question hang.
"You mean the truth?" she said, with the detached chill of someone who knew exactly how to twist the knife.
Ian's voice rose. "You told the entire world I was drugged and assaulted—by her? You turned Bianca into a villain to save face. She's done nothing but try to stay away from this mess."
Vivian stood, wine glass still in hand, eyes flashing now. "And you think I care about her feelings? You humiliated me, Ian. What, you weren't drugged? Then you're just a cheating bastard!"
His hands clenched at his sides. "Then say that. Tell the world I cheated. Own your hurt. But dragging an innocent woman through the mud because I couldn't keep my vows? That's low, Vivian. Even for you."
She let out a cold laugh, sharp as broken glass. "Innocent? You really think any woman who spreads her legs for a stranger in a club is innocent? Grow up."
There was nothing left to say. The bitterness in her voice was vintage, aged to perfection, and laced with venom. Ian didn't answer. He just turned, walked out, and let the door slam shut behind him. He left her with her wine and her self-righteous grief, both of which had become her favorite companions.
The Next Morning – Press Conference
The room was electric with anticipation. Journalists crammed shoulder to shoulder, cameras rolling, microphones thrust forward like weapons. The scandal had gone viral—worse than anyone expected—and now, everyone wanted blood.
Ian Stone stood behind the podium, dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie loose at the collar. His face was drawn, his jaw shadowed with stubble, the image of a man barely holding it together.
"There's been a lot of speculation about the events surrounding my relationship with a former employee of Stone Enterprise," he began, his voice steady but low. "Ms. Bianca Rosewood."
The crowd went silent. Not a rustle. Not a whisper.
"I want to clear the air," he said. "Bianca did not drug me. She did not manipulate me. She didn't even know I was married when we met. The truth is simple—I cheated. I made the choice. And the only person to blame is me."
Gasps and murmurs spread across the room like wildfire.
"I'm not here to ask for forgiveness," he continued. "And I'm not offering excuses. But I will not stand by while a woman is vilified for a mistake that was mine. Bianca Rosewood deserves better."
A reporter near the front raised her hand. "Mr. Stone—why did she resign then?"
Ian hesitated. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice carried more than just frustration—it carried guilt.
"Because when the internet decided to make her a villain, none of you stopped to ask who she really was. You saw a scandal. You didn't see the person."
Bianca's Apartment – Same Day
The door clicked shut behind her, and the weight of it made Bianca's knees weak. It felt final. Like the end of something she couldn't name. She dropped her bag without ceremony and leaned against the door for a moment, just breathing.
Becky sat on the couch, phone in hand, eyes wide and glassy with disbelief.
"Girl..." she said, setting the phone down slowly. "Did you see Ian's press conference?"
Bianca didn't answer. She peeled off her coat and hung it with mechanical movements.
"Doesn't matter," she said, her voice hollow. "I still quit."
Becky stood, watching her closely. "Bianca, he really stood up for you. Like... seriously. He told the truth. All of it. Publicly."
Bianca walked to the window, arms crossed tightly, as if trying to keep the pieces of herself from falling apart.
"It's too late," she murmured. "The damage is done. They know who I am now, Becky. My name. My family. Everything I've been running from? It's all out there."
Becky blinked. "Wait... they leaked your identity?"
Bianca nodded slowly. "Rosewood Inc.'s runaway heir. The girl who threw away a billion-dollar merger for a one-night stand with a stranger."
She let out a sharp, bitter breath.
"No job. No anonymity. Just a headline. Just a punchline."
Becky crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her gently. "Then maybe it's time to stop running. Maybe it's time they see who Bianca Rosewood really is."
For a long moment, Bianca said nothing. Her gaze remained fixed on the skyline outside—the city that had become her haven and her hell, all in one.
Then she whispered, "Yeah. Maybe it is."
Two Days Later
The sky was bruised—purples and greys smeared across the Manhattan skyline like someone had dragged their fingers through wet paint. I sat at the edge of the sleek chaise in the townhouse Becky and I now shared, heart beating like a drum line. I knew he was coming. The media frenzy hadn't just caught fire—it exploded. And now, the lion was flying in to roar.
The knock wasn't polite. It was thunder.
Becky, ever the guardian angel in a messy bun, opened the door. But her usual sass evaporated the moment she saw him.
"Mr. Rosewood," she whispered, half-curtsied before realizing this wasn't a Jane Austen drama.
"Where is she?" His voice was ice chipped off a glacier—elegant, terrifying.
I stood up before she could answer. "Right here, Dad."
He turned to me. Still the man in a tailored suit with the power to crush boardrooms. Still the father who once carried me on his shoulders through the Hamptons garden and said I'd rule the world.
But now, he looked at me like I was the downfall of an empire.
"Bianca." He said my name like it was a slur. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Rosewood Inc. is trending—not because of a new acquisition, but because my daughter is the center of a sex scandal with a married CEO!"
He stepped closer. "Do you know how many calls I've had to take? Investors pulling out. Board members demanding your name be stripped from succession."
I flinched. "Then do it," I said quietly. "Strip my name. Strip it all. I didn't ask to inherit your empire."
His nostrils flared. "This wasn't about asking, Bianca! This was about duty. About legacy. About family. And instead you run off, get knocked up by a married man, and—"
"I didn't know he was married!" I snapped, voice cracking with the weight of too many days holding it in. "He didn't tell me, Dad. I found out when his wife stormed into the hospital screaming at me while I was lying on a bed wondering if my baby was okay."
His jaw clenched, but I didn't stop.
"I didn't sleep my way through his office. I worked my ass off. And I didn't want this pregnancy. But now? I do. I want this baby. I don't care about your merger. I don't care about James or his stupid surname. And I sure as hell don't care if the Rosewood name never passes to me."
He stared at me—silent, stewing.
"I love him," I whispered. "I love Ian Stone. And I'm keeping this baby. Even if I have to raise this child alone."
Silence.
Even Becky was holding her breath.
"You love the man who destroyed your future?"
I nodded. "No. You tried to destroy my future. Ian... Ian gave me something real. Even if it was messy and complicated and came wrapped in secrets."
My father turned away. He didn't storm out. That would've been too human. He just adjusted his cufflinks and walked to the door like nothing had happened.
At the threshold, he paused. "Your mother always said you were like her. Stubborn. Wild. Too emotional to lead." He glanced back. "Maybe she was right. But if you want to choose this path... don't come crawling back when it ends in flames."
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
Becky exhaled like she'd been drowning for hours. "Holy crap."
"Yeah," I said, collapsing onto the couch, my stomach tight with adrenaline and nausea. "I just told my father I was keeping the baby of a married man I accidentally fell in love with."
"You're officially main character energy, B."
I gave a humorless chuckle. "Feels more like tabloid headline energy."
But even as the room settled back into silence, I felt something... steadier than before. I'd chosen. Not because of pressure. Not because of fear.
But because it was my life now.
And this baby? This life I was creating? It wasn't going to be defined by scandal or shame.
It would be born from courage.
Even if I had to walk the fire alone.