Chapter 23 Chapter 23
My destination was clear: Buenos Aires, Argentina. It was far, complex, and had a massive, sprawling population where a new face could drown safely. The longest possible distance from New York and from the terrifying claim of My Owner. I walked up to the counter, pulled out a stack of money, and bought a one-way ticket for the earliest flight out. I was leaving North America. I was leaving my life. And I was praying that this new name, this new destination, was far enough away that the stalker wouldn't reach me. I knew the game wasn't over, but maybe, just maybe, I could get a few weeks of breathing room before he caught up to his property.
Zaiel
The air in my office was thick enough to chew a real mess. My entire life, the expensive leather, the stale coffee, and the whole damn place—it all smelled like a five-alarm corporate fire. It has been three days since I deliberately dropped that photobomb: the grainy shot of me and Tessa in the elevator, my face clear, my head tucked into her shoulder, anonymous. Her choppy, blonde hair made her look vulnerable, which was perfect for the narrative.
My phone hadn't stopped buzzing since the thing went viral. The board was having a collective stroke, Clarissa’s father, I knew, wanted to call me every name under the sun, and the PR team was practically weeping in the conference room. I sat behind my desk, looking out over the city I essentially paid rent for, and I was just… satisfied. It was finally done. The engagement to Clarissa was off; my mother was breathing down my throat. She tried threatening, but that wouldn't work. I just shut them out.
And Tessa. Fuck, she was the perfect fuse for my escape. I paid her a fortune, a million, in cash, no receipts, delivered by Carlo. Why? Because she was the only one I trusted, she didn't have ulterior motives; she was just Tessa, who could convincingly flip the switch on my "perfect heir" image.
The short connection we had in the elevator, that desperate kiss after It was impulsive, sure, but I instantly realized its tactical value. The image of the powerful CEO kissing a woman who wasn't his fiancée? Scandal gold. The board wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole. That million dollars was the cheapest, easiest way I’d ever bought my freedom.
The heavy door to my office slammed open. I didn't need to look up. I could smell the expensive perfume and the high-octane rage.
"Zaiel! What in God's name is the meaning of this?!" Clarissa yelled; she didn't walk, she stomped, slamming a newspaper on my desk. The headline screamed about the "Rhyland Scandal." She looked fantastic, of course. Clarissa always looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine, a platinum blonde ice sculpture. She was exactly what the Rhyland name demanded and exactly what I was done with.
"Morning, Clarissa," I said, taking a slow sip of my coffee. "You mean the photo? Seems pretty obvious, doesn't it? Bad timing for the engagement."
Her face went from furious red to pale, then to a dangerous white. "This isn't just cheating, Zaiel! This is a deliberate, calculated attempt to sabotage everything! My father thinks you've gone completely mental!" I set the mug down with a small clink, enjoying the moment of pure, honest conflict. It was way better than the cold, polite faking. "Your father can think what he likes," I replied, leaning back. "The fact is, the engagement is off."
She stared at me, her composure finally shattering. "You... you set this up? That little blonde slut was a prop? IT WAS THAT FUCKING CARETAKER BITCH."
The word "slut" was cheap trash talk, and it hit me wrong. Yeah, Tessa was a prop, but she was also someone who’d been through hell. She did the job I paid her for.
"Watch the language, Clarissa," I warned, my voice dropping an octave. "She is not involved in this."
I remembered the feel of her in that elevator, the warmth of her mouth. It was the only genuinely unplanned moment of my entire week, and it made for a damn good photograph. I had to keep telling myself she was just a transaction. Clarissa pulled the CEO mask back on, her face hardening. "Fine. You want a scandal; you'll get a scandal. I’ll deal with that bitch."
"Do your absolute worst, Clarissa," I said, leaning forward on my elbows. "But remember who you’re messing with. I have five layers of firewalls protecting my assets. If you try to ruin me, I'll ruin your father's textile deals in Asia. Don't mistake my desire to end the engagement for weakness. It was a tactical retreat, nothing more. Try me." She gave me one last toxic look, then spun on her heel and marched out, the heavy door thudding shut behind her. Total silence returned.
I finally let myself relax. The main pressure was off. The goal was achieved. Now, it was just damage control, and I was damn good at that. The board would grumble, but the Rhyland name was too big to fail. They'd swallow the scandal and move on.
I remembered Carlo confirming the money drop at her place. That was risky, but necessary to make sure the deal was sealed. A full million dollars in exchange for one small thing. Then that weird, cold feeling hit me again. It wasn't about the money or the scandal. It was about her. The flash of pure defiance in her eyes even when she was terrified. The feeling of her slight body against mine in that elevator, the shocking warmth of her mouth. It was the only genuinely human thing that had happened to me in months. It was confusing and a distraction I definitely didn't need. She's a problem solved. A transaction closed, I told myself.
I even looked at the uncensored elevator footage again, zooming in on her face moments before the kiss. The cut on her forehead I’d cleaned up.
I wonder what she'll do with all that money I just gave her.
I put the phone down, grabbed my jacket, and headed out. I had a full day of board meetings and apologies to deliver. I needed to look like I regretted the scandal. I didn't. I just regretted having to drag her into my mess. I told myself the money gave her a better life than she could ever have had stuck in Irvington; she could hide from her stalker or jail him. That made the transaction clean. As I stepped onto the elevator, heading down into the corporate chaos, I briefly wondered where Tessa was. I felt a tiny, unsettling flicker of panic. Would she disappear? I pushed the thought aside. She had the money. She had to take care of Christine.
My lead crisis manager, Janice, was waiting for me in the conference room. She had the composure of a statue carved from ice.
"The statement is ready, Mr. Rhyland," she said, tapping her tablet. "It confirms the dissolution of the engagement due to 'irreconcilable differences' and 'unforeseen personal complications.'"