The Deal We Never Made

Madison's POV

"Is this the best you could come up with? Have you lost your mind, Madison?" Harold's voice echoed loudly through the newsroom, cutting through the oppressive silence like a sharpened blade.

I had barely lifted my head up from the table when my gaze met dozens of pairs directing their attention to me. This led to rumors and endless whispers being passed around like vices. My editor was usually coolheaded, but not today for some strange reason.

I was left standing with my hands gripping the side of my desk. "I did my job, Harold. I reported the truth."

"The truth?" Harold came toward me with the printout of my article as if it was a weapon of some sort. "You call this the truth? This is a death wish!"

"I'll never apologise for saying the truth," I retorted angrily even if my voice trembled.

In essence, the atmosphere was electric enough; one could literally feel the tension and choke on it. Mobiles rang, type-writers clicked and all around there were people editing their files and documents but the real drama was on.

Harold threw a file paper on my desk and almost whispering the words he had screamed just this morning. "Did you have any concept what sort of scenario you've just triggered? Ethan Blackwell doesn't play fair about it. But now you have ensured that the whole of this paper is in his sights."

I was still trying to make a comment about what he said when the double doors to the newsroom flew open, and banged against the walls. Eyes widened and lips parted collectively as people in the room drew in their breath at the same time.

There he was. Ethan Blackwell.

He entered the room like the predator he was, wearing an expensive business suit, his eyes hissed with resentment. His polished shoes were the only sound heard in the large expanse of the newsroom.

I stood, willing my knees not to buckle. He was even more intimidating in person than I remembered.

"Madison Russo," he said, his tone a deep productive rumble.

The anxious feeling grew in my chest but, despite the adrenaline, I had to control myself. "Mr. Blackwell."

He stood in front of my desk leaning over me. As usual, he was taking up all the space; physically present but emotionally and mentally unbearable.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked, in a calm tone, too calm. And it scared me but I couldn't back out now.

I met his gaze, refusing to back down. " I just brought your evil deeds to light."

He gave a sarcastic smile. "You really believe this is all about telling the truth?" No. It is more directly about you writing the lies. Fabrications. Baseless allegations that will be costly to you."

"Everything in that article is backed by evidence," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He leaned in closer, as he stared deep into my eyes. "Evidence that won't hold up when I'm through with you. Do you know how easy it is to bury someone like you, Ms. Russo?"

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My palms were clammy, but I clenched them into fists at my sides. "You can try, Mr. Blackwell, but I won't be silenced."

His expression darkened. "You'll regret this. That's a promise."

Not a word more was said than he went out, and the door banged to after him.

Again there was whispering in the newsroom and I dismissed it. My hands shook as got back on the chair.

A shadow loomed over my desk. It was Harold, my editor looking uncomfortable, his tie slightly loosed.

"Madison," he started with his deep voice.

I knew what was coming.

"I have just been speaking with the board," he went on to say. "They're not happy. I have been informed that Blackwell's team is consulting its lawyer and, as you can imagine, that we cannot afford to do that here".

I rose slowly; the noise of the chair against the tiled floor was loud. "So you're.. you're firing me?"

"It's not personal," Harold muttered, avoiding eye contact with me. "Madison, you're a good journalist, but this ... this is beyond us. We can't stand behind you on this one."

I immediately flared up with anger. "So you're giving up because the pressure is too much? Letting him have say in what we can and can't report?"

Harold sighed. "This is bigger than you, Madison. Bigger than me."

I grabbed my bag and turned toward the door, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You're making a mistake," I said, echoing Ethan's words.

He winced but didn't argue. "Please leave your badge on the desk on your way out."

---

The coming of cold air outside felt like I was being slapped. I strolled about the city harassed as different thoughts ran through my mind with most dominant being. As I had come to know, Ethan Blackwell was a monster, but that is where my fears ended and began.

I stopped by at my usual coffee shop to gain some clarity on what I intended to do which was to calm my head down. The barista gave me my drink with a small smile and I think she read the article stares.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"You have no idea," I said low, wrapping my fingers around the cup, which radiated warmth.

I went to a corner, and pulled out my laptop. I couldn't stop now. After all, Ethan was powerful, but I had facts, solid, obvious facts in front of me. If he wanted a fight, he'd get one.

My phone buzzed again. Jessica.

"You scared the living daylights out of me!" She exploded the second I answered the call without even a greeting.

"I was thinking about the truth," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction.

"Ethan Blackwell is dangerous," she said. "I know you're hell bent for a revenge but mind the consequences and he's coming for you."

"Good," I shot back. "Let him come. I have nothing to lose."

"That's where you're wrong," Jessica said, her tone softening. "You've worked too hard to throw it all away. Just... be careful, okay?"

I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I will."

---

Hours later, I found myself walking aimlessly through the city. The lights blurred as exhaustion set in, but my mind was too restless to stop.

When I finally returned to my tiny apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed again, a notification flashing across the screen:

"Ethan Blackwell announces impending legal action against a reckless journalist"

I closed my eyes, a mix of fear and resolve churning in my chest.

This was only the beginning.

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.

Madison POV

I noticed an effort Ethan made to say something but before he could voice out his emotions, there was a flash of light in the open space between us. I quickly looked, surprised, to my right to find a photographer taking pictures. Those eyes were now pointed at Ethan and me with the camera's lenses focused on my face, on the precise frame that captured a confrontation between me and Ethan.

Panic clawed at my chest. I looked around and noticed that we'd attracted a crowd. Cautious murmurs began to spread through the audience, almost a murmur but clear enough.

"Who is she?"

"Is she with Blackwell?"

"I've never seen her before."

Ethan's jaw tightened, his sharp features hardening into an unreadable mask. My pulse quickened as the weight of the stares bore down on me.

I did not have time to respond before Ethan sprang into motion. He put an arm around my waist and held me close against himself, as tightly as he could. The sudden contact caused me to halt in my tracks, literally to catch my breath.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice low and commanding into my ears

"What?" I asked, still started.

"If you don't want to make this worse, just smile."

The photographer took another photo, I was close to him and he had his arm around my shoulder; to anyone looking at the photo we would definitely appear to be a couple. I gave a stilted smile while my head was spinning with active thoughts. What was Ethan doing?

---

In what can only be described as the arrival of the reporters on queue, they arrived. People asked questions that came close to being thrown at us, like spears.

They approached him and one of them asked openly "Mr. Blackwell, is she your date?"

"Who is this mystery woman?"

"Why don't you enlighten us on the latest rumors of your acquisition of other businesses? "

Ethan replied as sweetly as he possibly could, ensuring his arm stayed around my waist the entire time. "There wouldn't be any comments on business tonight. Regarding my pretty companion, let it just be say there are some secret that are worth keeping."

He only stirred the sensitive issue with his words. I was about to argue with him but Ethan's grip on my waist tightened and I felt threatened, angry inside.

Every time I tried to step away, he held me closer, presenting a united front to the cameras. The reporters ate it up, their lenses flashing relentlessly.

---

When it finally seemed that the crowd was tired of the display, Ethan gently guided me away from the crowd, moving me to a corner of the room. The sound of the gala faded slightly, but the silence that appeared between us could not have been more intense.

"What the hell was that?" I hissed as i pulled my arm free from his grip.

Ethan just slumped against the wall and sighed, even though his eyes were still sharp. "i supposed to be the one asking you that question."

"I actually overheard that remark and as far as I am concerned, you had no right to drag me into your petty PR publicity stunt!"

"And you had no right to show up uninvited," he snapped back. "But here we are."

I snapped at him, standing with my fists by my sides tightly. "You think you can just play around with people's emotions like this? Why did you use me to distract the press?"

He stood there leering at me, his gaze unwavering. "You're welcome, by the way. The pressure of feeling that you could have made the situation a lot worse if I hadn't stepped in?"

My breath hitched. "Worse for who? You?"

"For both of us," he said his voice lowering. "Believe me, Ms Russo, you don't want to witness how the press behaves when they have an opportunity to unearth something."

---

The things he said made me shiver, but I decided not to show him that part of me; the frightened woman. "This isn't over, Blackwell," I told him my tone even although part of me wanted to scream.

Ethan sneered, his gaze steady, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of amusement and intrigue. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

I walked away from him to go outside for some fresh air and was unusually brisk in my movements. It was late and the temperature outside was much lower than I anticipated, that slap of cold air astonished me further, but stopped my rage inside from boiling over.

When I turned my head towards the beautiful lighted windows of the gala, I caught him staring at me with those intent eyes as he walked outside the gala to meet up with me where I stood.

For a moment, silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension. Then, Ethan's expression shifted, his sharp features softening just enough to unnerve me.

"I have a proposition for you," he said his voice was calm as a cucumber.

I blinked, caught off guard. "A proposition?"

"Yes." Pulling himself to a closer range from the girl, his tone lowered. "A deal."

My uncertainty flared. "Why would I want to make a deal with you?"

"Because it benefits us both," he finally said. "Hear me out."

I was unsure but tried not to say anything.

"This little stunt of yours has created a narrative," he began, as the words came out of his mouth smoothly like a deceptive politician. "Since it bothers the media to think that we're a thing. Instead of fighting this aspect of the development, we use it to our advantage."

"Use it?" And I repeated, hesitant but knowing there was suspicion in my voice.

He nodded. "A fake engagement. You play the role of a loving fiancée, I use the story to clean up my image. In return, I will withdraw this lawsuit against you and open up the doors to the Blackwell empire, full access. You'll get the truth you are searching for so hard.

His words sat like a silent judgement on me but for whatever reason, I was ready to accept whatever he was willing to dish out.

"A fake engagement?" I repeated it slowly, which made my chest uncomfortable, disbelief and anxiety painted all over it.

"Think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement," Ethan said. "You're getting your story and I'm getting my reputation."

I looked straight into him to tell if he was genuine or not. The idea was ridiculous, outrageous-but nonetheless tempting.

---

"You really think I would just trust you after all that have happened between us?" I asked, my voice sharp.

"You don't have to trust me," he said in return. "You just have to work with me."

The isolation of the room felt palpable for a moment and the tension was all but visible. There was a part of me that could have just said no, to hell with him and his offer. But another part, the part that makes decisions out of greed and, in this case, the hope of' salvage,' held back.

Ethan must have seen me weakening because he intensified.

.

"Here is your opportunity, Madison", he said, his voice suddenly sounding gentle. "It's time to face it – Your career is in shambles and you and I both know it. This story might turn your life around. You really want to let that go?"

"What about motives then?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "What's stopping you from using and then shoving me to the side when your needs are met?"

Ethan's gaze didn't waver. "Nothing. But if you're smart, you will ensure that you achieve what you want before that happens."

---

Instead I pulled away and walked towards the ladies rest room, around the room as I struggled with the decision. It is important not to underestimate the fact that the deal was very risky from the start. Ethan was cunning, strategic-typical of a person who only played to win.

However, the idea to receive insiders' information, to learn the truth about Blackwell wonderful empire was too tempting to deny.

When I was done washing my face, I joined him and stood right in front of him my determination growing. "If I agree to this, I have conditions."

The first reaction that crossed Ethan's face was a kind of surprise which was crowned with irony. "I'm listening."

"First," I pointed in her face to make her focus on my words, "No lies. If I have to be a part of this, there should be no secrets."

"Alright," he replied instantly "Done," he repeated without any doubt.

"Second," I went on and said, "I want this engagement to be just public not personal."

His smirk came back but he nodded. "Cool."

"And third," I said confidently, "This is done on my terms. When I say I want out it is over."

For a brief moment I was happy until I saw the look in Ethan's eye-approval, possibly? Amusement? "Agreed."

I took a moment to think over the decision that seemed to suddenly have shifted to my shoulders. This was a big risk on my part; it was the gamble which would either be my success or failure.

"Alright," I said finally. "You've got yourself a deal."

Ethan reached out his hand and I put mine into it and the moment our fingers locked, the intensity of his grip said a lot more than the determination in his eyes.

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you formally welcome to the game Madison." His response was smooth, "Let's see if you can follow this".

---

When our hands touch and release I could feel goose bumps all over me. I had just struck the agreement with who I had considered my foe and there was no way out of it.

What I didn't know was that the game Ethan Blackwell had invited me into was far more dangerous than I'd imagined.