Chapter 87

Anna's POV

Morning slashed through the tent, wind humming soft. Adrian sprawled beside me, breath even, face pressed into my neck, arm locked around my waist like he'd meld me into him. I shifted, legs tangled with his—last night's heat clung, bite marks stinging my shoulder, scratches pulsing down my back.

I gazed at him, his sleeping face calm, lashes unreasonably long, and warmth flooded me, happiness surging like a tide. This was it—him, this tent, the wild—no one to shatter it. I smirked, brushing a kiss on his forehead, nose grazing his skin, soaking in the moment I'd hoard forever. He grunted, one eye cracking open, grin lazy.

"Morning," he rasped, hand sliding to my ass, squeezing. "Not done with you."

"Keep it up, I won't walk," I snapped back, shoving his shoulder. "Let go, slacker."

"Slacker?" He propped up, eyes blazing, snagging my wrist to yank me back. "Who begged me to keep going last night?"

I laughed, cheeks flaring, breaking free. "Liar." I grabbed my shirt, pulling it on. He watched, heat tracking every button, fingers grazing my waist.

"No paparazzi out here," he murmured, leaning in, lips brushing my ear. "One more?"

"Dream on," I said, swatting him, standing. "Tent collapses, your mess."

He chuckled, flopping back. "I'll risk it."

I shot him a glare, ducking out—air crisp, pine sharp. Happiness still bubbled in my chest, a glow from last night, until my phone buzzed in the bag—Mom. Brows knit, I answered. "Hello?"

"Anna," her voice quaked, rushed. "Reporters at the shop—they're everywhere. Where are you?"

"Shit," I muttered, signal cutting in and out. "Mom, calm down. You're inside?"

"In the back," she gasped. "They're banging the door, yelling about you and that CEO—I don't know what to say—"

"Listen," I cut in, voice steady. "Stay there. Don't open up, don't talk. I'm on the mountain—heading back now. Lock the doors, wait for me."

"Okay… okay," she paused, shaky. "Anna, be careful."

"Always," I said. "I'll fix it." I hung, chest lurching—happiness ripped apart.

Adrian poked out, brow raised. "What's up?"

"Reporters," I said, packing fast. "Swarming Mom's place. I'm going."

"Together—" he started, standing. I stopped him.

"No," I said, firm, slinging my bag. "I'll handle this myself. You don't need to step in."

He frowned, eyes darkening. "Anna, this—"

"I mean it," I said, meeting his gaze, calm but hard. "They're after me—Mom's freaking out. I'll deal with it solo. Can't have people thinking I need you to clean my messes."

His throat bobbed, then he nodded. "You've got a plan?"

"Get back," I said, voice cooling. "Calm her down, shoo the vultures off. Then figure out who's behind this—it's too slick, too fast."

"Alright," he said, low, eyes searing. "I trust you. Watch yourself."

The Tesla roared down the mountain, city looming. Adrian gripped the wheel, I stared out, pulse even. He glanced over. "Your mom okay?"

"She'll hold," I said, steady, checking my phone—no bars. "Someone's pulling strings—too neat for a day."

"Paparazzi are scavengers," he growled, knuckles tight. "I can call—"

"Don't," I cut in, voice sharp. "I've got this."

He looked at me, softening. "Always so damn tough."

"Born that way," I said, lip quirking. "Survive without crutches."

"You've got me if you want," he said, hand over mine, quiet. "I'd love it."

I smirked, slipping free. "I know. Not now."

He didn't argue, speeding up, silence thick. At the city's edge, I said, "Drop me here. I'll go alone."

"Anna—"

"I'm fine," I said, door open. "Go home, change. Stay low."

He nodded, eyes fierce. "Tell me when it's over."

Mom's diner sat at the corner, back door cracked. I slipped in—Mom by the sink, apron twisted, eyes red. "Anna, they're—"

"It's okay," I said, hugging her tight. "I've got it." 

Taking a deep breath, I walked alone to the shop entrance. Instantly, camera flashes surged like a tidal wave, and reporters' questions thundered in my ears:

"Ms. Rose, did you sleep your way to the director position?" "Are those mountain photos real?"

I forced myself to stay calm, my voice cold and firm: "No comment. All allegations of improper relationships are groundless. My credentials and capabilities speak for themselves. Focus on Next Robotics' future development, not these meaningless rumors. Now, please leave my mother's shop."

The flashes continued as someone tried to grab my arm. I stood straight, forcing my way through the crowd. "Rules changed for her?" "Another gold digger!" The malicious taunts kept coming.

I clenched my jaw, quickly retreating into the shop, locking the door and pulling down the blinds. Mom stood behind the counter, watching me with worried eyes.

"Are they gone?" she asked softly.

"For now," I tried to keep my voice steady, "Don't worry, I'll stay here with you until they leave."

Hot tags blazed on my phone—#CEORomance lingered, but Anna Rose: Seductress or Fraud? hit harder. A blurry shot—me against Adrian, tent aglow by the fire—caption vicious: CEO's Lover Caught in Wild.

Comments surged, jagged and wild:

"Drop-dead gorgeous—still fucked her way up."

"Policy shift's for her—can't hide it now."

"@TechBit: Screwing the boss since day one—pics don't lie!"

"@SiliconScoop: Relax, just noise—company's fine, she's legit."

"@GossipGrid: Stunner snags CEO—jackpot!"

"@NextFan: She's a badass—haters eat dirt!"

"@TechBit: @GossipGrid Who took that mountain snap? Shady af."

I gripped the phone, steady despite the bite, murmuring to Mom, "It's fine—just noise." She nodded. I stared out, mind racing. This trip was last-minute—only Charles knew. No one else at the company. Who spilled?

Faith's call cut through my thoughts. "Anna, you holding up? #CEORomance is exploding - someone dropped 'Lost Moments' photos. You and Adrian, backs to camera, intimate by the campfire. Twitter's having a meltdown!"

"I'm good," I said, cool. "Shot it down out there. You?"

"Fine," she said, then huffed. "Why's Adrian sitting this out? Leaving you to fight alone's shitty."

"He offered," I said, low, covering for him. "I told him no—I've got this."

She sighed. "You're too tough. But watch it—that photo's got someone's fingerprints."

"Got it," I said, frowning. Last night, his phone buzzing in the tent flashed back. Too perfect. Who's watching us?