Chapter 8: A Rose in the Crossfire
Elara sat in the silence Lucien left behind.
The tablet screen was still glowing, replaying the moment she'd spent years trying to forget—her mother's voice like ice, her own plea cracking in her throat.
> "You were never enough, Elara. Not for him. Not for me."
The door buzzed. She ignored it.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
Bastien's voice came through the intercom: "Elara. Open the door. You need to see this."
She let him in, face unreadable.
He handed her a folder. "They leaked it. The video. It's everywhere."
He opened his phone.
> #DelacroixScandal
#FallenHeiress
#LucienLeontisAffair
Headlines were burning through the media like wildfire. Elara's name, once revered in Parisian fashion and elite circles, was now bloodied with whispers of illegitimacy and moral failure.
Bastien added, "Lucien's name is being dragged too. Some are saying he knew. That he used it to manipulate Delacroix Holdings."
Elara's heart sank.
"I need to go to the press," she said.
"Not alone," Bastien replied. "And not without something stronger than a denial."
She met his gaze.
"I'm done with silence. They wanted war?"
She reached into the hidden safe beneath her bedroom floor.
"Then I'll give them proof."
---
Hours Later — Hotel de Crillon, Paris
A surprise press conference was called.
Flashes lit the air like lightning as Elara Delacroix stepped onto the stage, wearing black and silver—grieving armor, sleek and bold.
She looked straight into the camera.
"You've seen the video. You've read the lies. But here's what you don't know…"
She revealed documents that had never been seen before:
Her mother's embezzlement records.
The trust fund forged under Isolde's legal oversight.
Adrien's name linked to falsified medical records.
"This isn't a story about a fallen heiress. It's a story about a legacy stolen and clawed back through fire."
She paused, letting the silence speak.
"I loved my mother. But she betrayed me. And I won't hide behind shame anymore."
The room was stunned. But it wasn't over.
Bastien stepped forward next. "There's more. Adrien Saint-Pierre is currently under investigation for tax fraud and insider trading. Evidence has been submitted to Interpol."
Chaos erupted.
---
Meanwhile — London
Lucien watched the press conference from his office, jaw clenched.
Elara had faced it alone. Again.
But this time, not to protect herself.
To protect him.
Because if he had stood beside her in that moment, the press would have crucified them both.
"Sir?" his assistant asked. "Should I prepare a response?"
Lucien stood.
"No."
He picked up the phone.
"Tell the pilot to ready the jet. I'm going to Paris."
---
Late Night — Delacroix Estate Gardens
Elara stood beneath the old rose tree.
The same one from her childhood, where her father once told her that Delacroix blood was like a rose—beautiful, but armored in thorns.
She touched a bloom gently, her expression distant.
"You never liked being in bloom alone," a familiar voice said behind her.
She turned. Lucien stood there, rain misting over his coat, eyes tired but burning.
"I saw what you did," he said. "You burned the world and walked out unscathed."
"I was already scorched," she whispered.
He stepped forward. "Let me carry the ashes with you."
And this time, when he kissed her, she didn't pull away.
---