Chapter 291: Viral News

\[Sarah\]

"Your arm seems to be healing nicely," Mike commented over lunch, his eyes carefully assessing my bandaged wound. He pushed the bowl of soup closer to me. "Are you taking all your medications?"

I pushed the food around my plate, the sight of it turning my stomach. Even the aroma that would normally have been appetizing made me feel queasy. My fingers trembled slightly on the spoon as memories of the crystal coffin flashed through my mind.

"I don't need them," I replied, my voice hollow. "The wound is healing fine on its own." I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, avoiding Mike's penetrating gaze. The truth was, I welcomed the dull throbbing pain in my arm—it distracted me from the sharper ache in my chest.

Mike sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping with defeat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone, sliding it across the table toward me.

"Your phone's been fully charged," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. "William's teacher called twice asking when he'll be back in school."

My throat constricted painfully at the thought of both my children. I couldn't bear the thought of them continuing to see me like this—hollow-eyed, broken, a shadow of the mother they knew.

"Mike," I said, finally looking up from my untouched meal, my fingers curling around the edge of the table for support. "I think you should take William and Emma back to America first. I'll follow in two weeks."

His fork clattered against his plate, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen. His eyes widened with alarm.

"Absolutely not." He shook his head vigorously, leaning forward. "I'm not leaving you here alone. After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"I'm perfectly capable of caring for myself," I insisted, straightening my spine despite the pain that shot through my injured arm. My voice came out stronger than I'd expected, a flash of my old self breaking through the fog of grief. "I need some quiet time to recover. Just me, myself, and nobody else."

"Sarah, be reasonable—" Mike's voice rose with frustration, his hand slicing through the air in a sharp gesture.

"I am being reasonable," I cut him off. "I need space. The children need their routines. You need to get back to work." My voice softened as I added, "I promise I'll follow soon."

Mike's expression cycled through concern, frustration, and finally reluctant acceptance. The muscle in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth, clearly unhappy but recognizing the determination in my eyes.

"Two weeks," he conceded finally, pointing a finger at me. "Not a day longer."

That night, alone in my room, I curled up in the window seat, drawing my knees to my chest as I stared out at the starlit sky. The same stars were shining over Theodore, over my children, so close yet impossibly far away. The thought sent a pang of loneliness through me so sharp it stole my breath.

With trembling fingers, I finally powered on my phone after days of neglect. The screen lit up my face in the darkness, casting blue shadows across the room as notifications flooded in. Dozens of missed calls and messages, most from Liv, her texts growing increasingly frantic:

*Sarah, are you okay? I heard something happened in Europe.*

*Please call me as soon as you can.*

*I'm really worried. Just let me know you're alive.*

My vision blurred with unexpected tears. I blinked them away, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat as I typed a quick response: *I'm fine. Will explain everything soon. Love you.*

I set my phone aside and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The sheets felt cold and empty without Theodore's warm presence beside me. I pressed my face into the pillow, inhaling deeply as if I might catch some lingering trace of his scent, though I knew it was impossible. Sleep came fitfully, haunted by fragments of nightmares—crystal coffins, severed fingers, gunshots echoing in darkness, and Theodore's face, twisted with hurt as I pushed him away.

Morning light was streaming through the curtains when I checked my phone again, squinting against the brightness. My head pounded from another night of broken sleep, eyes gritty and swollen. Liv had responded during the night:

*Thank God! I've been worried sick! There's something you need to see...*

She'd attached a link to an article. I clicked it, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion as the headline loaded:

**PIERCE TECHNOLOGIES CEO SPENDS $1 BILLION TO RESCUE SCAMMER FIANCÉE!**

My heart stuttered in my chest, then began to race wildly. Blood drained from my face so quickly I felt lightheaded, spots dancing at the edges of my vision. My fingers turned numb, nearly dropping the phone as I scrolled through the article, each word more horrifying than the last.

According to this "report," I had orchestrated my own kidnapping to extort money from Theodore. It claimed I had deep connections in Europe that could have resolved the situation, but I deliberately manipulated Theodore into spending his fortune on me.

My stomach lurched violently. I clapped a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat. One billion dollars? Had Theodore really spent that much to save me?

I threw off the covers and stormed downstairs, still in my pajamas, hair wild around my face, to find Mike preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The scent of coffee and toast turned my stomach as I burst into the room.

"Did Theodore spend a billion dollars to rescue me?" I demanded, my voice cracking with emotion, hands shaking so badly I had to press them against my thighs to steady them.

Mike turned, spatula in hand, his expression instantly guarded. His eyes widened at my disheveled appearance. "Sarah—"

"Just tell me the truth!" I slammed the phone on the counter, the offensive headline glaring up at us. My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, tears threatening to spill over. "Did he?"

Mike's shoulders slumped in defeat. He set down the spatula and turned off the stove, buying time as he formulated his response. "He hired a European Security. They're... expensive."

I sank into a kitchen chair, my legs suddenly unable to support me. The room tilted and swam before my eyes as the magnitude of what Theodore had done for me—and what it had cost him—sank in. My throat constricted painfully as I stared unseeing at the marble countertop, fingers pressed to my lips to hold back a sob.

Theodore had spent a fortune to save me, and now his reputation was being dragged through the mud because of it. Because of me. Another person I'd hurt, another life I'd damaged simply by being in it.

"I need to go out today," I said finally, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. 

"Sarah, you're still recovering—" Mike started, alarm flashing across his face.

"There's something I need to confirm," I cut him off, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. I lifted my chin, determination hardening my features.

During my days of enforced rest, a troubling question had been forming in my mind: Who had exposed my connection to the professor? How had the silver-haired man known to target me specifically? Daniel hadn't revealed my identity under torture—I was certain of that.

Which meant someone else had provided that information. Someone who knew about my past. Someone who wanted to hurt me.

\[Theodore\]

I woke Monday morning with my head pounding like a jackhammer and my mouth tasting like something had died in it. Sunlight stabbed through the gaps in the blinds like daggers, sending spikes of pain through my skull. I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eye sockets, trying to block out the relentless brightness.

The weekend was a blur of expensive whiskey and dreamless sleep—my preferred method of not thinking about Sarah. Empty bottles littered the floor beside my bed, silent witnesses to my pathetic attempt at self-medication. I hadn't even bothered to undress properly; my dress shirt was wrinkled beyond salvation, tie hanging loose around my neck like a noose.

Dragging myself into the shower, I let scalding water pound some life back into my body. I stood there until the water ran cold, forehead pressed against the tile, watching rivulets stream down the drain. Two days of solid drinking and sleeping hadn't helped clear my mind at all. If anything, Sarah's absence felt more acute than ever, a phantom limb I couldn't stop reaching for.

At the office, Alex followed me into my private elevator, fidgeting nervously with his tablet. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my appearance—the bloodshot eyes, the slight tremor in my hands, the day-old stubble I hadn't bothered to shave.

"What?" I growled, noticing too late that I'd forgotten my phone at home. After two days of unconsciousness, my brain still wasn't firing on all cylinders. The elevator felt too small, the air too thin.

"Theodore, about yesterday's news..." Alex began hesitantly, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"What news?" I squinted at him, the elevator lights suddenly too bright, sending fresh waves of pain through my skull.

Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You haven't seen it?" His voice rose an octave, fingers clutching his tablet like a shield.

"Seen what?" Irritation crept into my voice, my patience wearing dangerously thin. "Just spit it out, Alex."

By the time we reached my office, Alex had given me the broad strokes. Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of my stomach as I dropped into my chair, massaging my temples as I powered up my computer. The headline blazed across my screen almost immediately:

**PIERCE TECHNOLOGIES CEO SCAMMED OUT OF $1 BILLION?! THE BEHIND-THE-SCENES TRUTH WILL BREAK YOUR HEART!**

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building behind my eyes, the pressure intensifying until I could almost hear my pulse throbbing in my ears. "How long has this been circulating?"

"Since yesterday morning, sir," Alex replied, his expression pained as he took a small step back, perhaps sensing the volcanic rage building within me. "It's gone... viral."

Of course it had. Nothing sold like a scandal involving a billionaire being duped by a beautiful woman. I picked up my desk phone and punched in the extension for Legal, the plastic cracking slightly under my grip. "It's Pierce. I need you to handle a defamation issue immediately." I outlined the situation in clipped sentences, then hung up without waiting for a response, slamming the receiver down harder than necessary.

My hand hovered over my cell phone, fingers twitching with indecision. I should call Sarah. Warn her about the article. Assure her that I was handling it. The need to hear her voice clawed at me, a physical craving more intense than any alcohol withdrawal.

But then what? What would I say after that? My jaw clenched as I remembered her words, each one a knife twisting in my gut.

A bitter laugh escaped me, the sound harsh and foreign in the quiet office. Well, here I was—back in my world. Back to being Theodore Pierce, CEO of Pierce Technologies, the man who existed only for his company. The man who had no heart, no feelings, no vulnerabilities. Isn't that what she wanted?