Chapter 66: Changing Everything

Lisa’s POV

The notification hits my phone like a punch.

I’m in my bedroom, sitting at the edge of the bed with my laptop open, staring at drafts that suddenly seem meaningless. When the screen lights up, I almost ignore it. Almost. Something in my chest tightens before I even read the words.

ANDRE GROUP RESPONDS TO ALLEGATIONS — DENIAL OF ALL WRONGDOING

My stomach drops.

I tap it open with shaking fingers.

The statement is crisp. Calculated. Cold. Every sentence shaped by a legal team that knows exactly how to twist reality without ever touching the truth. Andre claims the accusations are “fabricated, defamatory, and driven by personal vendettas.” He insists his company is “fully compliant with all ethical and legal standards.” He even has the nerve to speak about integrity.

My breathing turns shallow. My hands grow cold.

He doesn’t say my name, but I feel it everywhere in the words, like he’s whispering them straight into my ear. Like he’s smirking on the other side of the screen.

“Liar…” I mutter, throwing the phone onto the bed beside me.

I stand up, pacing. The room feels too small, the walls closing in on me, memory pressing at every corner. My hard work. My evidence. The testimonies. The long hours. The risk. It feels as if he has dipped his hands into all of it and smeared it with doubt.

What if people believe him?

What if the momentum slips?

What if it all collapses before it even truly begins?

I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends as panic begins to rise. I cross the room, then turn back, pacing faster. The floorboard creaks under my bare feet. My heartbeat is loud in my ears.

“He’s doing this on purpose,” I breathe. “He’s trying to control the narrative. To choke it before it grows.”

The worst part is how familiar the feeling is.

Andre always did this — when we were married, when I questioned him, when I dared to step out of the version of me he preferred. He would make it seem like I was crazy, dramatic, unstable. He would twist reality until I was apologizing for wounds he caused.

And now he’s doing it to the entire world.

A knock on my bedroom door cuts through the spiraling thoughts.

I freeze.

Another softer knock follows. “Lisa?”

Leo’s voice.

I swallow hard. “Come in.”

The door opens slowly, and he steps inside. He’s no longer wearing his jacket, just a dark long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair is slightly messy, his expression full of quiet concern.

“You saw it,” he says gently.

“Yes.” My voice trembles despite my attempt to control it. “He released a statement.”

Leo exhales and closes the door behind him. “I just finished reading it. He’s trying to reframe the story.”

“He’s trying to erase me,” I whisper, my arms folding around my chest as if to protect myself. “He’s trying to make me look like the villain all over again.”

“You’re not the villain,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “And he doesn’t get to control this narrative.”

“But what if people believe him?” I ask, panic flashing in my eyes. “What if they think I’m lying?”

“Then we give them something stronger than words,” he replies. “We give them proof they cannot ignore.”

I stop pacing, turning to look at him more fully. His presence steadies something in me without me even trying to let it.

Always this way.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Then what do we do?”

His eyes hold mine. “We don’t rush. We don’t react emotionally. We move carefully. Strategically. One step ahead of him.”

He crosses the distance until he’s only inches away. “Let’s sit down.”

I nod, though my legs feel weak.

We sit side by side on the bed, knees almost touching, the tension in the air shifting from panic to intense focus.

“First,” he begins, “we don’t respond to his statement directly. Not yet. Let the world sit with his denial. Let him think he’s taken control back.”

“But I hate giving him that,” I mutter.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But silence makes people nervous. And nervousness makes them watch more closely.”

I look over at him. “Then what?”

“We gather everything we have. Every document. Every testimony. Every connection.” He turns slightly toward me. “And not just financial… personal. Witnesses. People he can’t sweep away with lawyers.”

The word personal twists in my chest.

I nod. “I can compile the files again tonight. Cross-check everything.”

“Good. I’ll reach out to our contacts and see who’s willing to go on record publicly if we need them.”

A silence falls between us, heavy but not empty. My eyes hang on the floor, my hands twisting in my lap.

Then his voice softens. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he murmurs.

Before I can stop him, his hand lifts and covers mine.

Warm. Solid. Real.

My breath catches instantly. His palm spreads over the back of my hand, his thumb brushing faint, calming circles over my skin. The world outside my body slows.

I don’t pull away.

The simple touch quiets something feral inside me. The panic recedes to a distant echo.

“You’re here. You’re safe,” he says, gentle but firm. “You’re not facing him alone anymore.”

A fragile truth settles in me.

I look down at our hands, the way they fit so naturally despite how new this feels. How intimate, how dangerous.

And how comforting.

“Leo…” I whisper, my throat tight.

His hand remains, steady. “Breathe, Lisa.”

I inhale slowly. And again.

His eyes meet mine. “You’re stronger than he ever gave you credit for.”

“No,” I whisper. “You’re making me stronger than I thought I was.”

The air shifts between us again. Tension coils, soft and charged and frightening.

He doesn’t remove his hand.

Instead, his fingers tighten slightly, as if grounding me, keeping me tethered to the present instead of letting me disappear into the past.

And I realize something then — something that terrifies me more than Andre’s threat ever could.

I’m starting to lean on Leo.

Not strategically. Not professionally.

Emotionally.

His presence is becoming a place my heart moves toward without permission. The thought scares me, makes me want to step away, create distance, protect myself.

But I don’t move.

I can’t.

“Lisa,” he murmurs quietly, pulling my focus back. “We’ll get through this. I promise you.”

My eyes shine suddenly, unshed tears burning behind them. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

He lifts his other hand and gently cups my cheek, the contact so careful it almost hurts.

“Then I’ll hold you steady until you are.”

A slow breath escapes me.

The world narrows down to the space between us, to the warmth of his touch, the quiet certainty in his words, the way my heart is betraying every wall I built to protect it.

I turn my face slightly into his palm before I can stop myself.

And in response… he doesn’t pull away.

His thumb skims softly beneath my eye, a silent comfort, a silent promise.

Neither of us moves closer.

But neither of us steps back.

But in this room — in this moment — there is only the two of us and the shifting, undeniable truth forming between our breaths:

I am starting to need him.

And that realization is both the most beautiful thing I’ve felt in a long time… and the most terrifying.