The world had already chosen its story.
By eight a.m., every newsfeed pulsed with the same headline:
"Lucan & Hart: The Alliance Behind the Glass."
Ava watched from the back seat of the town car as the screens outside Lucan Tower repeated her own face — still, composed, a few seconds of footage from last night when she'd walked through the reporters.
They had slowed the clip to half speed.
Turned silence into theater.
She shut the tablet and looked out the window.
The city was moving faster than her pulse, and that wasn't saying much.
Inside the building, Natalie met her at security.
"Upstairs is chaos," she said. "Vanessa's called for an emergency communications meeting. Richard's demanding a board session by noon."
Ava smoothed her jacket. "And Ethan?"
"He hasn't left his office since five. He's waiting for you."
The executive floor felt different today — louder, though no one was talking.
Phones rang behind closed doors. Assistants moved like whispers.
Every light felt slightly too bright, as if the building itself was bracing.
When Ava entered Ethan's office, he was standing by the window, back to her, jacket off, sleeves rolled.
The skyline reflected across the glass in front of him — a second city made of shadow and light.
"You've seen it?" she asked.
"I've seen everything," he said.
"Of course you have."
He turned then, eyes sharper than sleep would allow.
"The board is calling for a vote to restrict external communications. They want you silenced until the quarter closes."
Ava let out a slow breath. "That's not a restriction. That's a muzzle."
"Exactly."
He stepped closer, voice even.
"You need to decide whether you want to fight them in the room or in the press."
"I'd rather not choose."
"You don't have that luxury anymore."
She met his gaze.
"They think if they cut my voice, yours stays clean."
"They're wrong," Ethan said quietly. "If they cut you, the entire narrative collapses. We built too much on transparency."
"So what do we do?"
For a long moment he didn't answer. Then:
"We give them more transparency than they can handle."
Two hours later, the top floor conference room filled again.
Vanessa was already at the head of the table, Richard to her right, both radiating authority polished to a sheen.
Ethan entered without a word. Ava followed, tablet in hand.
Richard began.
"Given the recent coverage, we propose a freeze on all media interaction until a formal review—"
Ethan interrupted, calm but absolute. "Denied."
Richard blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You don't freeze evolution," Ethan said. "You direct it."
He turned to Ava. "Proceed."
Ava connected her tablet. The wall screen came alive — live social analytics, rising sentiment charts, investor reactions trending upward.
"Public engagement has doubled in twenty-four hours," she said evenly.
"Half of that growth cites authenticity. People don't see scandal. They see alignment."
Vanessa's voice cut through. "Alignment or manipulation?"
"Perspective," Ava said. "You call it manipulation when you're losing the narrative."
A murmur slid across the table. Ethan said nothing. He didn't need to.
Vanessa leaned forward. "So what's your proposal, Miss Hart?"
"Simple," Ava replied. "We stop pretending the alliance isn't real. We show it."
Richard frowned. "Show it?"
"Joint interviews. Shared strategy briefs. Public unity. If they think we're hiding something, we give them nothing to expose."
Vanessa laughed once, quiet and sharp. "You'd risk reputation for theatrics?"
Ava looked at her. "I'd risk comfort for control."
That silenced the room.
Ethan broke it. "Motion accepted. Implementation begins this week."
Richard's jaw tightened. Vanessa's eyes flashed — a look that promised this wasn't over.
When the meeting ended, Ava stayed behind as the others filed out. Rain had started again, tapping faintly against the glass.
"You just declared war," she said.
Ethan's reply was calm. "I declared clarity."
"Same thing."
He looked at her then — really looked, the kind of gaze that measured not weakness but endurance.
"You handled them."
"I mirrored you," she said.
"No," Ethan answered, almost softly. "You exceeded me."
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then he turned back to the window. "Press wants a quote by six. Give them something clean."
Ava hesitated. "Any preference?"
"Surprise me."
By dusk, the official statement went live on every major outlet.
Lucan Corp Statement:
"Partnership isn't risk. It's evolution." — Ava Hart, Chief Vision Officer.
The headline changed again.
"Lucan Corp Redefines Power as Partnership."
The comments section flooded — curiosity, admiration, fury, awe.
Ava watched the feed from her office, the city lights reflected in the glass behind her.
Her phone buzzed once.
E. Lucan: That was the right move.
She typed back:
Then we're even.
E. Lucan: Not yet.
She stared at the message, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.
Outside, the storm kept building.
Inside, the noise was only beginning.