Chapter 117
We spent the next week in constant lockdown mode. New cameras, facial recognition, double-checking every staff member, new guards, and motion sensors on every floor. I barely slept; I barely left Alexander’s side. Xander was relentless, but even he couldn’t fix the fear gnawing at my chest.
Xander
I sat on the edge of the couch in my penthouse, empty glass in hand, staring at the city lights like they could somehow tell me what the hell just happened. My head was pounding, my stomach was tight, and my chest felt hollow. I’d built an empire, protected my family, survived attempts on my life, and dealt with killers, hackers, and corporate sharks. And yet, here I was, completely destroyed… by gossip.
Zia. My Zia. My wife. My life. She didn’t believe me. She refused to. Not because she didn’t want to but because someone had poisoned her mind, wrapped a lie up so tight she thought it was truth. And I couldn’t reach her. Not now.
“She’s sending me out,” I muttered under my breath. “Out of our house. Out of our home. To my own apartment like… like I’m a criminal.”
The apartment felt empty. My office was untouched, my phones all lined up, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I poured another drink actually, I poured three. I was too numb to care about the rules, the image, or the empire. Zia’s refusal to believe me hit harder than any bullet, any attack, or any market crash ever had.
I let the glass hang in my hand and let myself sink into the leather couch. I was broken. Heartbroken. Angry. Furious. And scared. Scared because whoever was doing this? They had a strategy. They had guts. And now they had leverage over my wife, over my family, over everything we’d built.
My men knew something was off the second I staggered out of the mansion. Marcus, my head of security, met me at the door with that tight, professional look he always got when things were serious.
“Boss… You okay?” he asked.
I laughed. Not a real laugh. A bitter, hollow sound that made him flinch. “Okay? No. No, I’m not. My wife thinks I’m a liar. My family’s looking at me like I’m some… cheating, irresponsible jerk. And I’m supposed to just… ‘be okay’?”
He swallowed. “We’ll find out who’s doing this. We’ll fix it.”
I tipped my glass at him and let the whiskey burn my throat. “I hope so. Because if I don’t… I don’t even know what happens. Zia’s out of the house, Marcus. She won’t even hear me. She won’t listen. She’s convinced it’s true.”
He gave me that steady look that always made me feel just a fraction better. “Then we’ll prove it. Don’t worry about that.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I slumped back onto the couch, letting the weight of it all crush me. My hands shook as I poured another drink. Three more. Four more. Hell, maybe the whole bottle. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.
The first night alone was… brutal. Alexander wasn’t there, Zia wasn’t there, and I could hear the mansion buzzing through my phone alerts from cameras, guards moving, and updates from the family. And every ping, every beep, every little noise was a reminder of what I’d lost. Temporarily, at least.
I called the team the next morning. Head of Intel, cyber security, field ops everyone.
“Listen,” I said, my voice tight but controlled. “We’ve got a problem. Someone is planting lies about me. Pregnancy rumors, rumors about the assistant, the works. Someone wants Zia to distrust me, and they’ve succeeded. So here’s the plan: we dig. We find every possible source, every clue, every whisper, and we trace it back. Whoever did this? They’re going down.”
Marcus and the team nodded. They knew me. They knew how far I’d go. But this wasn’t just business. This was personal. Too personal. And the fact that Zia, my Zia, my rock, my other half, didn’t trust me? That stung more than anything.
The next few days were a blur of coffee, empty bottles, and screens filled with digital trails. Every contact, every social media thread, and every email was scrutinized. I drank to steady my hands, to dull the ache of betrayal. Every time my phone buzzed with a new report, I felt like someone was stabbing me.
“She’s out of the house, boss,” Marcus said one night, leaning against the doorframe. “We’ve got eyes on everything. We’re covering all angles.”
“I know,” I muttered, downing another shot. “I just… I can’t believe she doesn’t even give me a chance. I’d die for her. I’d die for Alexander. And she doesn’t believe me.”
It was a rough, ugly feeling. I was supposed to be untouchable. I was supposed to be the guy who solved every problem, crushed every threat, and came out standing tall. And here I was, broken on my couch, drowning in whiskey, replaying every argument, every sideways glance, every hesitation from Zia.
And the assistant… I couldn’t even look at her name on the messages without my stomach twisting. She wasn’t pregnant. She wasn’t cheating. She was doing her job. But the rumors were alive, growing like weeds. And Zia had fallen for them. Then, the first breakthrough came.
I was sitting in my apartment, laptop open, Alexander asleep with his nanny back at the mansion. I didn’t care. I was alone. Just me, the team, and the endless streams of data.
A thread. Tiny. Almost invisible. But it smelled like… someone inside. Someone is feeding the rumors directly.
I froze. “Marcus… check this. NOW.”
Thirty minutes later, he came back. “Boss… this is serious. Whoever’s doing this… they’ve got access to internal comms. Not just the staff, but Madam’s private line, the mansion cameras, messages… someone close. Very close.”
I slammed my hand on the table. “I knew it. I knew she had help. She’s smart, but I know my enemy. And whoever this is… they’re about to regret it.”
I was shaking. Partly from anger, partly from whiskey, partly from heartbreak. I’d trusted everyone. I’d trusted Zia. And now… I had to rebuild everything. Not just the empire, not just the security, but trust. Zia’s trust.
I spent the next night on the phone with every possible contact, every insider. Following every whisper, tracing every digital footprint, and slowly, carefully, piecing together the puzzle. The more I dug, the clearer it became. This was calculated, patient, and designed to make Zia doubt me completely.
By morning, I had a plan. And I was going to execute it… sober, calm, ruthless.
She finally called that afternoon.
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Xander,” she snapped through the phone. “I don’t care what your ‘plan’ is. I don’t want to hear you lie to me. I need proof.”
I clenched the phone so hard my knuckles went white. “Zia… I am telling the truth. I swear to you. You just have to trust me. I’ll get you the proof. I’ll show you everything. But I can’t do it while you’re still treating me like I’m the enemy.”