DYLAN
DYLAN
I knew this was going to happen eventually.
But not like this.
Not with her name dragged through the mud.
Not with intimate moments plastered across gossip blogs like goddamn clickbait.
Not with her past exposed in ways she never agreed to.
I pace the length of the living room, phone pressed to my ear, my other hand clenched into a fist that keeps flexing, ready to hit something. Anything.
"Find the source," I snap. "Photos. Article. I want every hand that touched it, Adrian. Every payment, every leak."
Adrian's voice crackles through the line. "Already working on it. The metadata on the photos shows they were taken from a private account… possibly a burner. I've flagged two suspicious logins from last night—one pinged from inside the penthouse party."
My chest tightens. "Inside?"
"Looks like a server used a smart lens hidden in a brooch. It wasn't in the guest scan."
"Who hired him?"
"Ronan said some of the catering staff were outsourced. One disappeared halfway through."
I grit my teeth. "Find him."
"And when I do?"
"I'll deal with it personally."
I hang up and turn, pulse hammering.
Hermione's curled on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees like armor.
She looks up at me — hurt, betrayed, humiliated.
"Say something," she whispers. "Because right now I can't tell if you're angry at them or angry at me."
"I'm not angry at you," I say, moving toward her. "I'm furious that they touched you. That they thought they could use you to get to me."
"I told you," her voice trembles, "I told you people would look for a reason to paint me like I don't belong in your world."
"They don't own this world, Hermione. And you don't need to belong to them. You belong with me."
She scoffs softly. "That's not what the headlines say." She picks up her phone and reads aloud. "'Voss Billionaire's Legal Mistress: Cinderella or Calculated Climber?' That's your world, Dylan. That's what they see when they look at me."
"That's not what I see."
Her eyes meet mine. "Then what do you see when you look at me now?"
"I see a woman I'd go to war for."
Her breath catches. But then she shakes her head. "That won't erase what's out there. My grandparents saw the photos. My best friends are getting calls. And if this story gets worse…"
"It won't."
"You can't promise that."
My phone rings again — sharp, urgent.
MOM.
I answer quickly. "Mom—"
"What the hell happened?" her voice is breathless, anxious. "I just saw the article. Is Hermione okay? Is that why she didn't answer my call?"
"She's here. She's shaken up, but she's safe."
"I know that look in her eyes, Dylan. She's trying not to fall apart."
I glance over. Hermione's rubbing at her temples like she's holding her thoughts together with sheer force.
"She's strong," I say quietly.
"But she shouldn't have to be this strong alone." My mother's voice softens. "Do you know who did this?"
"I will soon."
Her tone turns steely. "You need to make an example of them. The entire board, your enemies, the media — they're testing you. You show any weakness now, and they'll tear you both apart."
"I'm not backing down."
"Good," she says. "Because that girl… she's worth fighting for. And if you lose her because of politics and power games, it won't just be the press that blames you."
The call ends.
I set the phone down. Hermione is staring at the dark TV screen, expression unreadable.
"You know my mom just said you're worth fighting for?" I say.
She smiles faintly. "I've always liked her."
I crouch in front of her. "Look at me."
She does — barely.
"I don't care what they write. I don't care who leaked it. I don't care if I have to burn every media outlet from here to London. No one humiliates you. No one disrespects you. And no one gets to take you from me."
She reaches out, fingers brushing my jaw. "And what if I decide to walk away on my own?"
"Then I'll follow you." My voice drops. "Because I'm not letting you go."
She exhales shakily, eyes glassy with emotion. "What do we do now?"
"Now?" I rise slowly, pulling her to her feet. "Now I remind the world exactly who they're dealing with."