Chapter 4 4

The Holyster estate was under siege. By noon, reporters swarmed the gates, their cameras trained on the grand house as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the scandal they'd been promised. Helicopters droned overhead, their blades chopping the air, broadcasting live feeds of the "billionaire's forbidden affair" to every screen in the country. Inside, the tension was suffocating.

Lola stood at the tall windows of Devon's study, watching the chaos unfold beyond the iron gates. Photographers jostled for position, their lenses glinting in the pale autumn sun. News vans lined the street, satellites raised like giant mechanical flowers hungry for a signal.

"This is insane," she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Devon stood behind her, his reflection dark and brooding in the glass. "They smell blood. The media always does."

She turned, searching his face. "What do we do?"

His jaw clenched, blue eyes burning with determination. "We take control of the story before they do more damage."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Devon's head of communications, a sharp-eyed woman named Clarissa, entered with a tablet in hand. "The statements are drafted," she said briskly. "But I strongly advise a joint press conference. It'll humanize you both and cut down on speculation."

Devon glanced at Lola. "Your call."

Lola hesitated. She'd spent years hiding from the spotlight, building a quiet life where no one whispered her name with scorn. The thought of standing before the world, vulnerable and exposed, made her stomach twist. But the alternative-letting strangers write their story-was worse.

"I'll do it," she said quietly. "But I want to speak for myself."

Clarissa gave a tight nod. "We'll set it up for this afternoon."

The hours passed in a blur of preparation. Devon's stylists and media team worked their magic, but no amount of makeup or careful lighting could hide the exhaustion in Lola's eyes. Still, she stood tall beside Devon as they walked out onto the stone steps of the estate.

The courtyard had been cleared of staff. The cameras focused on them like a wall of unblinking eyes. The hum of generators and equipment filled the air, a modern symphony of greed and curiosity.

Devon took the podium first, his voice steady, commanding. "Thank you for coming. We won't take much of your time. There's been a lot of speculation over the past twenty-four hours, and I want to set the record straight."

He paused, glancing at Lola with something that looked like pride. "Lola Gareth and I have been working together to uncover the truth about what happened between our families. That truth is bigger and more complicated than either of us imagined. And yes-during that process, we've become close."

The reporters erupted with questions, shouting over one another.

"Is this relationship a cover for more fraud?"

"Miss Gareth, are you after the Holyster fortune?"

"Devon, how long has this been going on?"

Devon lifted a hand, silencing them. "I understand your curiosity. But this is not a scandal. It's two people finding common ground after years of pain and lies. And we will not let this distract us from seeking justice."

He stepped aside, and Lola took his place, heart hammering so hard she thought the microphones might pick it up.

"I never wanted to be here," she began, voice clear despite the tremor she felt inside. "I never wanted to stand in front of the world and defend my heart. But life doesn't always give us what we want. Devon and I were born into a war we didn't choose. We're trying to end it. Together."

A hush fell over the crowd. For a moment, the cameras seemed less invasive, the reporters less like vultures. She took a deep breath.

"My father wasn't perfect. Neither was Devon's. But they were pawns in a game played by men like Victor Cavanaugh. And we intend to make that truth known."

Devon returned to her side, his hand finding hers. "That's all we have to say. Thank you."

They turned and walked back inside, leaving the reporters to shout after them. The door shut behind them with a heavy finality.

They stood in the grand foyer, the silence deafening after the chaos outside. Lola let out a shaky breath. "Do you think it worked?"

Devon squeezed her hand. "It was honest. That's more than most of them expected."

Clarissa appeared, phone to her ear, murmuring instructions to the PR team. She gave them a nod of approval before disappearing down the hall.

Devon led Lola back to the study, where fresh coffee waited. He poured a cup for her, watching as she sipped it, hands still trembling.

"You were brilliant," he said softly.

She gave a bitter laugh. "I felt like I was going to faint."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "But you didn't. You stood up there and told the world the truth. I've never admired you more."

Her cheeks flushed. "Devon..."

Before she could finish, his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was part thank you, part promise, and entirely possessive. She melted into him, the weight of the world outside momentarily forgotten.

The next few days were a whirlwind. The media frenzy continued, but the narrative began to shift. Headlines spoke of "the star-crossed heirs" and "a new chapter for the Holyster and Gareth legacies." Devon's team worked tirelessly to manage the fallout, and Lola found herself dragged into meetings she barely understood, her name now entwined with corporate strategy.

But at night, when the doors were closed and the world faded, they found solace in each other's arms. The heat between them burned brighter, tempered now by the growing bond that neither dared to name.

One evening, as they lay tangled in Devon's bed, the city lights glittering beyond the windows, Lola traced lazy circles on his chest.

"I never imagined this," she said softly.

He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Neither did I."

She propped herself up on one elbow, studying him. "What happens when the world moves on? When they stop caring about our story?"

His eyes darkened. "Then we're free to write our own."

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that their fragile peace could survive the forces determined to tear them apart.

But peace was a fleeting thing.

Devon's phone rang in the dead of night, shattering the quiet. He answered, voice tense. Lola watched as his expression shifted from confusion to fury.

"What is it?" she asked as soon as he hung up.

He swung out of bed, dragging on a pair of jeans. "Cavanaugh's lawyers. He's filing suit to block the release of the documents. Claims we extorted him."

Her blood ran cold. "But that's a lie."

"I know," Devon snapped, pacing. "But he has deep pockets and no shame. He'll drag this through court for years if he can."

She rose, wrapping a blanket around herself. "What do we do?"

He stopped, his gaze fierce. "We fight. We don't back down. Not now."

The next day, the legal war began. Devon's attorneys filed countersuits. Lola was deposed, forced to relive every moment of her father's downfall, every meeting with Victor, every whisper of betrayal.

The media latched onto the drama, spinning wild theories. Former associates crawled out of the woodwork, offering damning "evidence" and contradictory statements.

Through it all, Devon was her rock-steady, unyielding, his presence a constant source of strength. But she saw the toll it took. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The tightness in his jaw. The moments when his temper flared and he snapped at those closest to him.

One night, after a brutal day of meetings and strategy sessions, Lola found him in the old study, staring at the grand piano.

She crossed the room, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Devon..."

He turned, and for the first time, she saw tears in his eyes. "I'm so tired of fighting."

Her heart broke. She slid into his arms, holding him tightly. "Then let's stop. Let's walk away from all of this."

He buried his face in her hair. "And let Cavanaugh win?"

"No," she whispered. "But maybe... maybe there's another way. Maybe we stop playing his game."

He pulled back, searching her face. "What do you mean?"

"Tell the truth," she said, heart pounding. "Publicly. Everything. The documents, the blackmail, the lawsuits. Take away his power by taking away his secrets."

Devon hesitated. "It's risky. We could lose everything."

"We already have," she said softly. "Except each other."

A slow smile curved his lips, full of admiration and love. "You really are the bravest person I know."

She kissed him gently. "Then let's be brave together."

And as dawn broke over New York, casting golden light over a city that never slept, Devon and Lola stood hand in hand at the window, ready to face the storm on their own terms.

The plan was simple on paper, but terrifying in execution. By mid-morning, Devon's media team had secured an interview with one of the most-watched investigative journalists in the country- a woman known for exposing corruption without fear or favor. Clarissa paced the marble floors outside the library, phone glued to her ear, finalizing details. Lola stood by the tall windows, her reflection pale and determined in the glass.

"Are you sure about this?" Devon asked softly, coming up behind her.

She turned, meeting his eyes. "We can't keep running. This ends now."

He took her hands in his, thumbs stroking over her knuckles. "No matter what happens after today... I want you to know something."

She looked up, heart stuttering at the raw vulnerability in his gaze.

"I love you, Lola," he whispered, voice rough. "I tried not to. I tried so damn hard. But I can't stop."

Her breath caught, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "Devon..."

He cupped her face, kissing her with fierce, desperate need. "I don't expect you to say it back. I just needed you to know."

She swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the force of her feelings-by the truth she'd been too afraid to name. But before she could speak, Clarissa stepped in, phone pressed to her ear.

"It's time."

The studio lights were blinding. Lola sat beside Devon on a plush cream sofa, microphones clipped to their collars. Across from them, journalist Naomi Foster studied them with a keen, assessing gaze. Cameras hummed softly, robotic arms adjusting angles.

"Whenever you're ready," the producer said.

Naomi nodded, turning to the cameras with a practiced smile. "Today, we sit down with Devon Holyster and Lola Gareth, heirs to two of New York's most storied families-families that have been at war for over a decade. But the story they're here to tell today could change everything."

She turned to them, expression serious. "Lola, let's start with you. Why come forward now?"

Lola took a shaky breath. The lights, the cameras, the watching eyes-it all fell away as she remembered her father's smile, her mother's laugh, the way her life had been ripped apart.

"Because the lies have gone on long enough," she said clearly. "Our fathers were not enemies. They were manipulated by Victor Cavanaugh, who orchestrated their downfall for his own gain. We have the documents to prove it-wire transfers, false contracts, private correspondence."

She slid a thick folder across the table. Naomi flipped through it, eyes widening.

"This... this is a bombshell," Naomi murmured. "Why reveal it now?"

"Because Victor Cavanaugh is trying to silence us," Devon said, voice hard. "He's filed lawsuits, spread false stories to the press, and threatened everyone who stands in his way. We won't let him hide anymore."

Naomi leaned forward, sharp eyes glittering. "Some will say this is about power. About money."

Devon's jaw tightened, but it was Lola who answered. "Then let them. We're not here to win a popularity contest. We're here to tell the truth."

Naomi sat back, clearly impressed. "And your relationship? How does that factor into all this?"

Devon reached for Lola's hand, threading his fingers through hers. "That's the only thing in this mess that's real. We found each other through the wreckage. We're not going to apologize for it."

The cameras zoomed in, capturing the raw honesty in his face, the tears glimmering in Lola's eyes.

The interview ended in stunned silence. Naomi stood, shaking their hands. "You've just declared war on one of the most powerful men in America," she said quietly. "Be careful."

They returned to the estate to find it in chaos. Phones rang nonstop. Emails flooded in. Devon's team moved like soldiers, triaging threats, fielding calls from board members, and coordinating security.

But the world outside was shifting. Social media exploded with clips from the interview. Hashtags like #GarethHolysterTruth and #ExposeCavanaugh trended within hours. Talk shows debated the scandal. Ordinary people, tired of corrupt billionaires, rallied to their side.

In the library, Lola watched the news with Devon's arm wrapped around her shoulders. On screen, analysts dissected every word they'd said, every expression they'd worn.

"Do you think it'll be enough?" she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. "It has to be."

The first counterstrike came faster than either of them expected. Just after midnight, Devon's head of security burst into the library, face grim. "Sir, Miss Gareth-you need to see this."

He handed over a tablet. Lola's blood turned to ice as she saw security camera footage from the estate's main gate. A black SUV had driven by, windows tinted, slowing just enough for someone to toss something into the hedges. The object-a charred, blackened piece of metal-bore a single word scratched into its surface:

ENOUGH.

Devon's expression was thunderous. "Find them," he ordered. "I don't care how much it costs."

The head of security nodded, already dialing. Devon turned to Lola, pulling her into his arms. "You're not safe here anymore."

She shook her head. "Running won't solve this."

"I'm not running," he said fiercely. "I'm protecting you."

Within an hour, Devon's private jet was prepped at a secluded airstrip. Lola sat beside him in the sleek cabin, staring out the window as the city lights disappeared beneath them. Her mind raced-memories of the interview, of the threat, of Devon's whispered confession.

"Where are we going?" she asked finally.

"Switzerland," he said, eyes dark. "A family property. Secure. Hidden."

She turned to him, searching his face. "What if they find us there too?"

His expression softened. "Then we keep fighting. Together."

He reached for her hand. She let him, their fingers intertwining. But in the quiet hum of the plane, doubts began to whisper. Would they ever be free? Or were they chasing peace they'd never find?

The chalet in the Swiss Alps was breathtaking-a sprawling estate nestled among snow-capped peaks, the sky a dazzling tapestry of stars. Inside, it was warm and welcoming: roaring fireplaces, thick rugs, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the mountains.

Devon showed her to a room on the second floor. "You'll be safe here," he promised, brushing a kiss across her forehead. "I'll be just down the hall."

But sleep eluded her. She rose before dawn, wrapping herself in a thick sweater as she stepped onto the balcony. The air was crisp and sharp, the world hushed and white. She stood there, breath clouding in the cold, wondering if she'd ever see home again.

"Couldn't sleep?" Devon's voice drifted from behind her.

She turned to find him leaning in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair tousled from bed. The sight sent a shiver of longing through her.

"Too much on my mind," she admitted.

He stepped forward, gathering her into his arms. "I know."

They stood in silence as the first rays of sunlight turned the mountains gold. The moment felt fragile, suspended between what they'd lost and what they still hoped to find.

Later, they huddled over laptops in the chalet's cozy library, coordinating with Clarissa and the legal team. International press coverage exploded-Victor's name was everywhere, his reputation shredded as more documents leaked online. Former associates turned on him, eager to distance themselves from the brewing scandal.

"Look at this," Lola said, pointing at a news article. "Interpol's investigating him now."

Devon's eyes gleamed with grim satisfaction. "Good. Let him feel what it's like to be hunted."

But as the net closed around Victor, new threats emerged. Their servers were attacked. Hackers tried to break into their private communications. Devon's security scrambled to plug the leaks.

And then came the worst call of all.

"Mr. Holyster," one of his guards said over the speakerphone. "They've taken your CFO. We found his car by the river-empty."

The blood drained from Lola's face. Devon's hand slammed down on the desk. "Victor."

She reached for him, but he pulled away, pacing the room like a caged predator. "He's not just trying to discredit us anymore. He wants us to suffer."

"Devon," she pleaded, grabbing his arm. "You can't fight him alone."

His eyes softened, but his voice was steel. "I'm not alone. I have you."

That night, as a storm raged outside, they made love with a desperation that bordered on feral-each kiss, each touch a promise against the darkness closing in. They moved together in the flickering light of the fireplace, clinging to each other like the only solid thing left in a crumbling world.

Afterward, she lay draped across his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Tell me we'll survive this," she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "We'll survive. And when it's over, I'm going to marry you."

She lifted her head, eyes wide with shock. "What?"

He cupped her cheek, eyes fierce and unyielding. "You heard me. I'm not letting you go."

Tears spilled over her lashes. She kissed him with everything she had, tasting hope for the first time in weeks.

But dawn brought new horrors.

Devon's phone buzzed with an urgent message. He read it, face going ashen. "They've found us," he said hoarsely.

A car engine roared outside. Lights swept across the chalet's snowy courtyard. Men in black climbed out, weapons glinting under the pale morning sun.

Lola's breath caught. "What do we do?"

He pulled her behind him, eyes blazing. "We finish this."

He led her to a hidden passage behind the fireplace, pressing a pistol into her hands. "Stay quiet. Stay safe. I'll draw them away."

"Devon-"

He kissed her fiercely. "I love you."

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the dark, heart pounding as footsteps thundered upstairs.