Chapter 17 His shield
Damien’s POV
The morning headlines bleed red across my desk.
My phone, two laptops, and a dozen printed tabloids all of them carry the same poison. Elara’s name. Her face. My name beside hers, twisted into filth.
THE ICE KING’S JOURNALIST WIFE.
GOLD-DIGGER JOURNALIST SNARES BILLIONAIRE.
THE FAILED JOURNALIST MARRIED TO THE MAN WHO DESTROYED HER CAREER.
WHO IS ELARA? SECRETS OF A SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE REVEALED!
Each word feels like acid, searing through the last shreds of my patience.
I scroll through the digital feed seeing hundreds of comments, thousands of reposts, hashtags trending in thirty cities. Every photo of her is dissected, mocked, analyzed. They’ve turned her into a circus act. My wife, my liability, my…
I close my fist around the phone so tightly I hear it crack.
Adrian stands across the room, silent, waiting for instructions. He knows better than to speak when I’m like this.
I look up slowly. “Names.”
He doesn’t ask which ones. “The first site to post the story was CityStream Media. The rest followed within minutes. The leak came from a verified account. Someone with access to the Cade public registry.”
“So it’s internal,” I say.
“Yes, sir.”
The words hit like a gunshot. My family’s rot runs deep, but this feels personal, surgical, designed to hit her, not me.
I stand, straightening my tie with deliberate calm. “Get my legal team on a conference call. Now.”
Adrian hesitates. “Sir, the optics—”
“Optics are for men who ask for permission. I don’t.”
He nods and leaves the room.
The moment the door shuts, I let the mask slip just for a breath. My anger burns hot, but beneath it, something colder coils. Fear for her not for me.
Because this isn’t just about gossip. This is war. And they’ve made the mistake of dragging Elara into it.
\---
By the time I arrive at Cade Tower, the building hums with tension. My employees part like waves as I walk through the lobby, eyes down, whispering my name like a warning. The entire 56th floor is already in lockdown.
In the boardroom, my lawyers, PR heads, and media liaisons all sit waiting with their faces pale, and screens glowing.
“Talk,” I command.
The head of PR, a young man named Vaughn, clears his throat. “Sir, the narrative is spreading too fast to contain. We’ve issued a preliminary statement denying the claims, but the public’s—”
“Stop talking.” I step closer, my shadow falling across the table. “We’re not denying. We’re defining.”
I swipe the tablet from him, scanning the feeds. “Pull every ad from CityStream. Terminate all Cade contracts with any platform that runs the story. And get me a press slot in two hours.”
“Sir, if you go public, it will…”
“Stir more attention?” I cut him off. “Good. Let them look at me in the eye when I burn them.”
No one argues after that.
\---
Two hours later, I stand in front of a bank of microphones. Reporters swarm the hall like vultures, but I don’t flinch. Cameras flash, as I give them what they came for. My voice and my anger.
“Elara Cade is my wife,” I say, each word precise, controlled, lethal. “She is not a gold digger, nor a scandal. She is a woman of integrity who deserves better than the cowardice of anonymous attacks.”
The murmuring starts, but I hold up a hand.
“To the media outlets that published lies your sponsors will hear from me within the hour. To those feeding these rumors enjoy your moment. It’ll be your last. Because I will find every name behind this, and when I do, there won’t be a career left to bury.”
The flashes explode like gunfire, but I don’t stop.
“You want a story?” I finish, voice low. “Here’s your headline: The Cade Empire Protects Its Own.”
Then I turn and walk off the stage, leaving chaos in my wake.
\---
The rest of the day moves like a machine wound too tight.
I make calls to media moguls, to advertisers, to every executive who’s ever shaken my hand in fear or respect and one by one, they fold. They cancel their campaigns and articles begins to vanish from homepages. Accounts starts to go dark.
By evening, CityStream Media issues a formal apology, and every other outlet scrambles to follow suit. The tide turns, fast and ugly.
Adrian updates me as we move. “You’ve just cost half the city millions.”
“Good,” I say. “Let them remember what happens when they touch what’s mine.”
He glances at me, something wary in his expression. “You’re not just defending your name this time, sir.”
I pause, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m not.”
\---
By nightfall, silence returns. The mansion is a fortress again, cameras pushed back, the air eerily calm after the storm.
I stand in my study, sleeves rolled, watching the muted news on screen. The anchors have changed their tune. The same mouths that called her a fraud now praise our “devotion,” our “united front.”
It should feel like victory but it doesn’t.
Because every word I spoke today wasn’t a strategy. The threats, the power plays all came from a place of instinct. Raw, reckless instinct.
I protected her like she was mine in more than name.
The realization lands like a blow. My grip on the glass tightens until the stem snaps, shards slicing my palm. Blood drips down my wrist, dark against the whiskey I never drink.
Adrian finds me minutes later, his voice careful. “It’s done. They’re backing off.”
“Not enough,” I murmur. “Someone started this. Find them.”
“Yes, sir.” He hesitates at the door. “And, Damien… the public statement—it changed things. People see you differently now.”
I stare at the fractured reflection in the window. “Let them.”
“Your enemies will see it too.”
I smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “Then they’ll know where to aim.”
\---
When Adrian leaves, the house falls silent again.
I walk through the halls, past the flicker of light, until I reach her door. It’s slightly open, and through the gap, I see her sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, eyes red but defiant.
For a long time, I just stand there, watching. The light paints her face in gold and shadow, fragile and fierce all at once.
I should leave, keep my distance, keep the walls intact. But I can’t.
Because for the first time in years, I fought for someone not out of power or pride but out of fear.
Fear of losing her.
I step back before she sees me. The door closes with a quiet click.
My reflection in the polished wood looks nothing like the man I was yesterday.
Because today, I didn’t just defend my empire.
I declared war f
or her.
And as I stare into the darkness, the truth settles in, cold and undeniable.
Protecting her might have just painted a target on us both.