Chapter 65 Hard Launch

Chapter 65 Hard Launch
I haven’t been to the office in days because the scandal has exploded into something I can’t escape.
It’s everywhere.
Every gossip site, social media timeline, or news notification that lights up my phone is about “Billionaire CEO Lawrence Moore’s Secret Office Romance Exposed".
It's trending like it’s the only story in the world. Nothing major has happened in months, so once the gossip sites got wind of it, they clung to it like hungry wolves.

My mum had to be moved to a different location because paparazzi kept camping outside her building. Even I’ve been trapped here, hiding in Lawrence’s suite for days.
Outside feels too vicious.
Pulling my knees up to my chest on the large couch, I stare at the TV across the room. Another segment about us is playing. My face is blurred in the thumbnail, but I still feel exposed.
Why won't it? They’ve stripped away every piece of privacy we tried so hard to protect.
The comments are the worst part, especially the ones on TikTok.

Gold digger.
She’s just using him.
How long until he gets bored and throws her away?
She's not even fine enough for him.

I close my eyes and let out a breath.
The sound of the bedroom door opening makes me look up. Lawrence steps out, towel-drying his damp hair. His eyes, sharp and green without his glasses, flick to the TV, then settle on my face.
His expression softens.
“Babe,” he scolds gently. “I told you to stop watching that shit.”
He walks over and takes the remote from the centre table, switching the channel to something else.
I don’t even care what it is.

“I can’t help it,” I mutter, resting my head against his shoulder when he sits beside me. “I’m sorry.”
He stays quiet for a moment before exhaling sharply.
“You know what? Fuck it.”
I straighten up, searching his face. “What do you mean?”
“We should address this head-on,” he says. “Let’s make our relationship official. You’re not my mistress or some secret I’m ashamed of.”
I stare at him, my heart thumping fast.

“The only reason this circus keeps going is because we’ve been silent,” he continues. “We face it together… own it publicly, and everyone else will eventually move on with their lives.
“You really want to do that now? Go public? Like officially?”
Lawrence nods. “Yeah. Why not?”
He presses a soft kiss to the top of my hair. “By the way, I’m very close to finding the bastard who did this.”
I blink. “Oh, you’re still on that?”
I really didn’t see the point. It was obviously just some greedy paparazzo chasing a payday. That’s what they do, right?

Except this time, my reputation is being shredded to pieces online, and I'm the one paying the price.
“Baby, maybe you should just let it go,” I say gently. "It doesn’t matter anymore. The news is already out there.”
Lawrence goes quiet. When I tilt my head up to look at him, his green eyes are hard.
“It matters to me,” he growls. “Because it hurt you. Because they dragged your name through the mud and made you hide in my penthouse like some kind of criminal.”

His hand comes up to brush a loose strand of hair from my face. “Loving a billionaire like me isn’t a fucking felony, Scarlett.”
I sigh and nod. “So, when do you want to do this?”
Lawrence reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening the camera app.
“Say cheese.”
“Lawrence, what are you…”
The camera clicks before I can finish.
“Hey!” I laugh, swatting his arm. “I wasn’t prepared!”

“And whose fault is that?” he teases, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s take it again.”
This time I smile properly, leaning into him. He snaps a few more shots, then lowers the phone slightly.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Post them on your page? The only things on there are motivational quotes and pictures of the London office.”
“Exactly,” he says simply. “The moment I post a picture of us, they’ll know we’re serious. You should do the same on yours.”
“I will.”

“One more thing,” Lawrence adds, still holding the camera up. His voice drops to something heated. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“Okay? You do that all the time.”
“And I’m going to record it.”
I freeze. “Whoa, wait…”
“That’s what they want, right?” He shrugs. “Let’s give it to them. On our own terms.”
“Lawrence…” I blush furiously, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not sure about this.”
“Why not?” He leans closer. “We let them see the truth. We let them see how serious we are about each other.”

“Fine.” I whisper, my eyes dropping to his bare chest. “Shouldn't you wear a shirt or something?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He pulls me into the kiss, and I hear the beep of the recording button.
Our kiss lasts for a short while, but it's a filthy French kiss.
I pull away, out of breath while Lawrence's thumb caresses my lower lip with a little smirk.
His eyes drop to my mouth, then lift to mine.
"That'll do," he murmurs.

Lawrence reviews the video with a focused expression. I lean over to peek and immediately cover my face.
"Oh God, delete it," I groan, blushing.
"Nope."
"Lawrence…"
"You look beautiful." He says it simply, without looking up, like it's just a fact he's stating. “That's all that matters.”
I shut up.
He posts it without showing me again, using a single love emoji as the caption.
Then he sets his phone down and briefly turns his attention to the TV.
"So, that's it?" I ask.

"That's it."
He stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Now, I'm going to make you some food so you feel better.”
I brighten immediately, watching him walk to the kitchen and pull open the fridge.
"What are you making?" I ask curiously.
“Not telling you.” He replies in a sing-song voice.
I smile and pick up my phone, opening Instagram.
Lawrence's post already has a notification spiral going, the numbers climbing too fast to read.

I open my own profile and scroll through my gallery until I find one of my favourite couple pictures of us from London.
Biting my nails nervously, I post it before I can second-guess myself, then go into settings and switch my account from private to public.
There. Done.
Leaving my phone on the cushion, I stand up before the notifications can start, because if I sit here and watch the numbers climb, I will absolutely lose my mind.

I pad over to the kitchen island instead, sliding onto one of the stools.
Lawrence has the fridge open, pulling things out quietly: two salmon fillets still in their wrapping, butter, a lemon and an asparagus he squints at suspiciously.
"Need help?" I ask.
"Nope." He sets a pan on the stove without looking at me. "Go sit somewhere else and do something, woman."
"I can't sit. I'll hyperfixate on the posts."
Lawrence glances at me, then crosses his arms briefly.
I really like his forearms.

“Fine. Then you get to watch me cook.” He winks at me, patting the salmon dry with paper towels.
“Lucky me," I tease, leaning an elbow against the counter.
“Yes, lucky you.”