Three days later, I stood beneath the chandelier of the Rosewood Ballroom… every major outlet in the UK seated before me, hushed like children waiting for a bedtime story. But I wasn’t here to tuck anyone in. I was here to burn lies.

I stepped up to the mic in a navy pantsuit so sharp it could gut a man, my diamond collar glinting beneath the lights.

“I won’t waste your time. You’re all here for one reason: because Lavenia Jones opened her mouth and vomited a carefully packaged fairy tale of betrayal, blood, and dead dogs.”

A few reporters choked. I didn’t pause.

“Let’s clarify. Yes, I was in a relationship with Jacob Wright. He was charming and a narcissist. And yes, Lavenia fucked my boyfriend and his brother while pretending to be my best friend.”

Cameras clicked furiously.

“That dog she claims I killed? It was mine. Sasha was my baby. Lavenia lost her in my garage. She killed her. She blamed me. Like she always does.”

I took a slow breath, feeling Sebastian’s eyes lock onto me from the front row. Steady. Unshaken. Mine.

“The truth? I was stabbed. I almost died. Left on a blood-slick road while Jacob and Luther ran off to console Lavenia because—get this—a lightbulb broke, thief whatever, and she cried. That’s who she is. A snake in sheep’s mascara.”

Some reporters gasped. Others just typed faster.

“So let’s end the guessing: Lavenia is a liar. Jacob is a coward. And Sebastian Montgomery? He’s the man who stood by me when I couldn’t stand at all.”

My voice lowered. Cool. Precise.

“He is the reason I’m alive. And the reason I’m stronger. With him, I’m not broken. I’m brilliant. I’m not perfect. But I’m powerful. And I will not be silenced.”

The room exploded. Flashbulbs. Applause. Murmurs of “Velvet Blade” spread like wildfire. I walked off that stage like a woman walking away from her own funeral, resurrected.

By morning, Lavenia’s camp had gone silent. Because Sebastian had sent the wolves. His legal team filed a defamation suit so brutal, so exact, the press called it “a corporate decapitation.”

Within hours, financial outlets leaked Jacob’s ransomware scandal… complete with receipts, encrypted logs, and confidential memos signed by his own damn hand. And still, Jacob had the balls to text me. Some weak apology. Some twisted version of “You know you still love me.”

Sebastian read it over my shoulder, silent for a beat. “You picked a fight with a Montgomery,” he muttered. “Now you’ll learn how we bury.” He turned to me, jaw like granite, voice low and final. “If he comes near you again, my lawyers will finish him. If they don’t, my gun will. Stay away from my wife, motherfucker.” He kissed my temple. Not soft, claiming.

And I knew then: I had a king who made the wolves kneel. And I wasn’t scared of fire anymore. Because I was the flame.

JACOB’S POV

I watched her on screen, standing there like she owned the goddamn world, like she hadn’t once sobbed in my bed, like she hadn’t begged me not to leave her. Pearl. She said my name like venom in front of the press. Spit it out like it was beneath her. “Lavenia fucked my boyfriend and his brother.”

Luther chucked a whiskey glass across the penthouse. “She just nuked your entire name in five minutes flat, bro.”

“Shut the fuck up, Luther,” I growled, jaw tight. My fist connected with the glass of the bar mirror. Shards flew, blood streamed down my knuckles, and I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. She wasn’t supposed to win. Not like this. Not standing in a navy pantsuit with the whole goddamn country calling her the Velvet Blade while I looked like some… psycho ex with a mommy complex.

She was supposed to crack. To disappear. Like she always did. Pearl was fragile, easy to wind up. That was the fun of it. But this? This was war. I could still hear her voice, even now. Somewhere in the static of my mind. “You’re pathetic, Jacob.”

I downed the rest of the whiskey in one shot. “She still loves me,” I muttered.

Luther scoffed behind me. “She looked like she wanted to spit on your grave.”

“She was emotional. Always has been. She’s just angry now.”

I turned to him, eyes wild. “You think she’d stand up like that if she didn’t still feel something for me?”

Luther raised both brows. “I think she stood up because she finally figured out you’re a piece of shit, man.”

I lunged. My fist hit his jaw before I could stop myself. He stumbled, blood on his lip. “That’s your fault,” I hissed. “All of it. You and Lavenia. You two ruined everything.”

He wiped his mouth, glaring. “You’re the one who thought playing gods with women was a fun hobby.” He stormed out. I didn’t follow.

The interview was scheduled for the next day. Some big-time network wanted my “response.” I figured I’d charm my way back. Like I always did. I had the face, the legacy, I knew how to talk. Or… I used to.

The lights were too bright. The studio too quiet. The makeup girl was scared of me—I could see it in her eyes when she powdered over the bruise on my hand. I sat down, camera rolling. The anchor asked about the ransomware. I deflected. Asked about Lavenia’s post. I smirked. Then the Pearl questions started.

“Were you in love with her?” “Did you leave her bleeding in the street?” “Why did she say you let her die?” “Are you obsessed with her?”

I snapped. “I’m not obsessed with Pearl,” I said. “She’s obsessed with me. She made her whole fucking press tour about me.” They didn’t cut the feed. I kept going. “She always needed saving, and I gave her that. She liked it. She liked being broken.”

By the time I got off that stage, the internet had a new name for me: Jacob Wright, the obsessed narcissist ex. Sponsors pulled out. My PR team walked. The head agent texted me “Good luck” and blocked me.

Chapter 17