Chapter Four: Storms and Stillness
Alina sat in her office—the real one this time—twelve floors above the city, surrounded by tall glass windows and the steady hum of computers. It had been four days since the press conference. Four days since she told the world her side of the story. Four days since Jay's lies were pushed into the light.
And yet, her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
Interviews, requests, opinions—some praising her honesty, others twisting her words.
She had expected noise. She hadn't expected the way it would wear her down.
"Another journalist wants a follow-up interview," her assistant Claire said, walking in with a tablet.
"Tell them no."
Claire paused. "You sure? It's from The Morning Post."
Alina looked up. "I said no."
Claire nodded and left.
Alina leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She had fought so hard to be seen as more than her title—and now that the world saw her differently, she wasn't sure she liked the view.
That night, she met Liam at his apartment for dinner. It was small, cozy, and smelled like garlic and fresh bread. They sat on the couch, eating spaghetti off mismatched plates while a jazz record played softly in the background.
"I like it here," she said.
He smiled. "It's quiet."
"That's what I like."
She took a bite, then hesitated.
"Things are… getting loud again," she said. "After the press conference. It's like people either want to cheer for me or tear me apart."
Liam set his plate down. "Do you want to disappear again?"
Alina thought about that. About the weeks she had spent walking without a name, laughing without pressure, breathing without cameras.
"I don't think I can," she said. "Not forever."
"You could slow down," he said. "Not run. Just walk. With me."
She looked at him. "I'd like that."
They finished dinner, then sat on the floor, sketching together. Liam handed her a pencil and a piece of paper.
"Draw something real," he said.
Alina drew a house. A small one, with a garden. A tree in the back. A swing.
He looked at it and smiled. "Yours?"
"Someday."
Liam leaned over and kissed her—softly, gently. The kind of kiss that didn't need fireworks to mean something. Just warmth. And choice.
But peace didn't last long.
The next morning, Alina's company was hit with a small scandal—someone leaked old emails from years ago, twisting them to make her look careless and out of touch. It wasn't true, but it spread fast.
"Damage control," Claire said, storming into the office. "You need to release a statement. Now."
Alina sat still.
"Or," Claire added, "you could just lie low and let PR handle it. Like before."
"No," Alina said, standing. "I'll talk."
She held a press meeting the same afternoon. Calm, direct, no anger.
"Those emails are real—but out of context," she explained. "They were early planning notes from a team brainstorming session, not final decisions. We've grown since then. I've grown. And I'm not afraid to face mistakes, even ones I didn't personally make."
The storm began to settle.
That night, Liam found her sitting on the rooftop of her building, legs crossed, hands cold.
"You okay?" he asked, handing her a coffee.
She nodded. "Just tired."
He sat beside her, quiet for a moment. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Alina. You've already done more than most would."
She looked at him, her voice soft. "Then why does it still feel like I'm not enough?"
"Because you're human," he said. "Not a machine. Not a headline. Just someone trying to live."
She leaned into him, eyes closed.
"I like that you never ask me to be more," she whispered.
"I like that you don't pretend to be less."
They stayed there for a long time.
But just when things started to feel steady again—Jay came back.
This time, not with gifts or apologies.
But with legal threats.
Claire brought the papers in the next morning, eyes wide.
"He's suing for defamation. Claims your press statement damaged his business reputation."
Alina stared at the papers. Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with disbelief.
"He dragged my name through the dirt," she said. "I spoke the truth."
Claire nodded. "But he's using the attention to stir drama. To stay relevant."
Alina rubbed her temples. "We'll fight it."
"You sure?"
She looked up. "I've fought harder things than this."
Later, she told Liam everything.
He didn't get angry. He didn't panic.
He just listened.
Then he said something simple.
"We'll get through it."
We.
Not you.
Not I.
We.
And that was what made all the difference.
Over the next few weeks, the legal team stepped in. The public grew tired of Jay's games. His lies started to fall apart when old videos and messages were uncovered, showing how he'd bragged about using Alina for her status.
By the time the case reached court, he had already lost in the eyes of the world.
Alina stood tall as the judge dismissed the case.
She didn't smile. Didn't smirk. Just nodded—and walked out, free.
Outside the courthouse, Liam was waiting.
He pulled her into a hug, not caring about the cameras or the crowd.
"You did it," he whispered.
"We did it," she said.
She turned to the reporters, spoke one last time.
"I didn't step away from my life to hide. I did it to find something real. I found myself. And I found someone who loves me for who I am, not what I own. That's the story I choose."
And then she walked away.
With Liam's hand in hers.