Chapter 2 The Fallout

Madison POV

It took me some time to realize that the consequences of my article on Ethan Blackwell practically demolished me. Passing your working days without being able to find a job was bad enough; being banned in the sphere of journalism was worse. Nobody wanted to be seen with 'the reckless journalist' who had challenged a ruthless billionaire and failed.

I paced around my tiny apartment, the silence of the house getting on my nerves. I had my laptop on the coffee table while notebooks and mugs filled with cold coffee littered the living room. Each attempts I made to be freed from the accusations, to explain my side of the story, the opposite response was either silence or words indicating rejection.

It was a welcome relief when Jessica, had called me earlier, telling me to let it go. But I couldn't not now after Ethan Blackwell had ruined my career and my life. Yet in some twisted way I still believed that behind all the glamour there had to be something else. I couldn't bring myself to get in another story ... not when my instincts said that the full truth was yet to be told.

I turned on my laptop and started to search numerous articles about Blackwell. His business and personal transactions as well as in his charitable works and in the newspapers and magazines of formal society, the image of a man who could commit no mistake was created. It was disgusting how eagerly the public accepted lies from him.

Hours went by and I studied every detail that was available and looked for an opportunity – any opportunity I could use. It was at this point when I came across a notice of an upcoming annual gala.

"Blackwell Foundation Annual Gala: The Event of the Year."

The words began to burn in the screen and gave me that thrill of twine and reckless determination. The gala was tomorrow night, and the guest list was going to include the who's who of the city. Perhaps I could get into the building, retrieve the evidence that would give me the ammunition I needed to bring down Ethan's lies.

It was a ridiculous plan––dangerous to majorly myself––but it was my only chance.

---

Jessica arrived at my apartment later that evening looking still concerned but also more impatient.

"You're doing that thing again," she said her finger pointed directly at me.

"What thing?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"The look you get on your face before doing something reckless."

I sighed, closing my laptop. "I need your help."

With a sigh, Jessica fell down beside me on the couch. "I bet it is connected to Ethan Blackwell?"

"There's a gala tomorrow night," I said quickly. "I need to get in."

Her eyes widened. "Are you out of your mind? Do you even hear yourself?"

"I'm serious, Jess" I said, realising that I had not been serious as I made the statement. "This is my chance to get close to him, to figure out what he's hiding. Please, I can't do this without you."

She groaned again, but I could progressively notice that her will to refuse my request was fading away. "You're impossible, you know that right?"

"And yet, here you are."

---

The following day was a complete chaos due to the upcoming event. Jessica somehow got me an invitation under a fake ID and spent hours putting me in a look that could pass off as one of the city's high society.

When I got out of the cab that evening the crestmont hotel was towering before me like a palace. Standing before the great door of the hotel made my pulse quicken and I firmly gripped the piece of parchment in my hand.

The Blackwell Gala was everything I'd imagined – opulent, overwhelming and surprisingly, dangerously public. The grand ballroom of the Crestmont Hotel glittered with chandeliers and gilded decor, every detail screaming wealth and exclusivity. Beautiful women in elegant dresses swanned through the room with elegant giggles; Socialites floated through the room in designer gowns, their laughter chiming like delicate bells, while media moguls traded hushed conversations over glasses of champagne.

I slipped through the entrance unnoticed, my heart pounding. My simple black dress and carefully pinned hair made me look the part of an invited guest, though I felt like an impostor in this world of tailored perfection.

This wasn't just about curiosity. I needed to see him.

Ethan Blackwell.

I looked round for him tensely, holding a champagne glass I'd obtained from a tray in one hand. He has been here somewhere -at least his name was on the guest list I had read. My stomach was tight as I thought of our meeting. Would he recognize me? Would he even care?

Further into the room, I was finally able to see him.

Ethan, which was standing near the middle of the ballroom, was surrounded by admirers. He was rather a handsome man who seemed to pull people to him and his impeccably fitted tuxedo that pointed to his broad shoulders and dominating demeanour. He had very dark hair, slicked back, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. When he heard a woman say something, he laughed, his smile genuine but was rather calculated.

For a moment, I faltered. Why in the world did I think it's a good idea to sneak myself into his gala? The memory of our last encounter still burned, a mix of humiliation and unresolved tension. But I couldn't back out now. I told myself and try to calm myself down by taking a deep breath.

---

The people seemed to clear the way as I walked to him the feel of the heels against the marble floor barely audible. My chest was pounding in my ears and my heart began to throb, faster and faster. Ethan swung his head half around and surveyed the room and then he turned fully and looked at me.

His friendly smile slip, and a flash of surprise crossed his face. What I saw for a fleeting second in his eyes then was not anger sort of anger, but curiosity I think? Annoyance? However, before I could, decipher it his facial expression turned hard.

"Madison Russo," he said properly, with that hint of that certain smile capable of deceiving the bystanders. "What an unexpected surprise."

I smiled, turning my head slightly to one side as if I hadn't just marched into his space unannounced. "Ethan Blackwell. Always the charming host."

He only smiled, and that was a sarcastic smile-one that didn't light up his eyes at all. "Why are you here tonight?"

"I'm here for the same reason as everyone else," I said as I tried to make the words sound casual. "To support a good cause."

He moved towards me and towered over me, his large frame blocking out some of the light. "You surely must think you are quite the clever one, to sneak your way into my gala."

"Why, Ethan," I mimicked, and then went ahead to play ignorance. "I didn't know that this was your gala, I though it was a fundraiser."

The silence continued, growing thick and heavy; still neither of us felt comfortable enough to make the first move.