Bound to the calloway's heir

NOAH. "Oh shit" I exclaimed as the roar of the press corps hit me as soon as Audrey and I stepped into the Atlas HQ lobby. Flashes popped from a dozen cameras, with microphones thrust forward while their voices overlapped in a cacophony of demands. "Mr. Bennette, is it true Atlas is a front for cartel operations?" "What do you say to the allegations of money laundering?" "Have the authorities been contacted?" The air was thick with the scent of their freaky desperation, the kind that clung to reporters chasing a career-making scoop. I scanned the crowd, all of them, circling what they thought was a fresh kill. Harvey's story had dropped, painting us as the villains. Zane at the helm of a criminal syndicate, me as the shadowy enforcer, Damian the strategist with blood on his hands, Ethan and Liam the muscle making it the story that could bury us. Now, the building buzzed with the chaos of employees whispering in corners, our phones ringing off the hook, and the security team barking orders to keep the horde at bay. Audrey Movitch stood beside me, her posture straight in her tailored blazer and skirt, her hair pulled into a tight bun. As Atlas's PR head, she had been Zane's first call when the shit hit the fan. "Follow my lead," she'd murmured in the elevator. I nodded, shoving down the storm in my gut. Where was Harvey now? I'd tried her number three times on the drive-over, and it went straight to voicemail because the line was disconnected. The guys watching her apartment had radioed an hour ago, informing me that they had lost sight on her. She slipped out the back. All I could think of was to know if she was safe. Or running from the fallout she had ignited? We pushed through to the podium Zane had hastily set up in the lobby, a makeshift barrier against the onslaught. Audrey stepped up first, her smile professional, disarming. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. I'm Audrey Movitch, Director of Communications for Atlas Group. We'll address the baseless allegations circulating online." Baseless. That was the party line we had hammered out upstairs, already plotting digital countermeasures. Harvey's evidence was damning, consisting of leaked emails from old employees and anonymous sources, photos of shipments that looked innocuous but screamed cartel to anyone who knew. But I could twist it, hack the narrative. I'd done it before. A reporter shoved forward, a wiry guy with a press badge from some tabloid rag. "Ms. Movitch, the report details specific ties to underground operations. Care to comment on the cartel connections?" Audrey didn't flinch. "The article in question is a fabrication built on hearsay and manipulated data. Atlas Group is a legitimate investment firm with a proven track record in luxury brands and high-stakes ventures. We've already initiated legal action against the publisher for defamation." Her voice carried that perfect blend of authority and warmth, defusing the tension like a pro. I stood behind her, arms crossed, my presence a silent warning for them not to push too hard, and things get ugly. Inside, my mind was racing. Harvey. The exposé painted targets on all our backs. If someone grabbed her to silence the source... My fists tightened at my sides. Another question lobbed our way, this from a sharp-eyed woman with a network logo. "What about the named individuals? Zane Calloway and Damien Pierce as alleged cartel leaders. Any response?" I stepped forward then, as planned. "I'm Noah Calloway," I said. "Those 'allegations' are fiction. We've cooperated with the authorities in the past and will again if needed. This is a smear campaign, nothing more." We had cooperated, usually by buying silence or hacking records. But the press ate it up, scribbling notes, cameras whirring. The barrage continued for what felt like hours, questions piling on and Audrey fielded most. Her responses were polished, deflecting with facts about our "community initiatives" and "economic contributions." I chimed in when muscle was needed by staring down aggressive types. All the while, my phone buzzed in my pocket on updates from Rico on security sweeps, Zane demanding status. But there was no word on Harvey. Her apartment was empty, the line was dead. Was she at a safe house? Or worse? Finally, the frenzy ebbed as Audrey wrapped it up with her closing word "We'll provide a full statement soon. Thank you." We retreated through a side door, security holding the line as flashes chased us. The hallway echoed with our footsteps, the chaos muffled behind us. In her office, Audrey collapsed into her chair, exhaling sharply. "That was brutal." I shut the door, leaning against it, arms crossed. "You handled it like a pro. Kept them off balance." She rubbed her temples, her composed facade cracking. "Thanks. But Noah... I'm sorry. This is partly my fault." I raised an eyebrow, pushing off the door to perch on the edge of her desk. "How do you figure?" "Harvey, we met at that gala. I thought she was genuine, a fellow journalist type. We hit it off over drinks, talked shop. I didn't realize she was pumping me for info on Atlas." Her voice wavered, eyes meeting mine with genuine regret. "She seemed like a friend. Betrayed doesn't cover it." Betrayed. The word twisted in my chest, I knew that sting intimately. "Don't beat yourself up," I said, keeping my tone even. "She fooled me too." The admission hung there, heavy, but I clamped down on the details. No need to confess the intimacy, the way I'd let her in deeper than anyone. I had slept with her, trusted her, loved her? Close enough to burn now. Audrey's eyes widened slightly. "You? How?" I shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "Ran into her a few times. Thought she was just... interested. Turns out it was all agenda." She nodded, leaning back. "Well, misery loves company. Let's shut this down." We dove into work mode, her on the phones coordinating retractions, me at her computer terminal, fingers flying across the keys. Hacking was my domain since Atlas's digital fortress was built on my code. I infiltrated the publisher's servers first, making subtle alterations, timestamps and metadata, making sources appear fabricated. Then the evidence files Harvey had uploaded of photos, just enough to scream Photoshop, documents altered with inconsistencies. Deepfakes of "anonymous" audio clips, voices mismatched. As I worked, my mind wandered back to her. Where was she? The security feed from her block showed her slipping out the back alley, hood up, bag slung over her shoulder. Was she running scared? Was her line off deliberately to ghost me? Pain lanced through me, sharper than expected. I had sent that watcher for her protection, not surveillance. The threats were real after Eden's fire, and Vanessa's hit, If she was out there alone... "Noah?" Audrey's voice pulled me back. She was on call, mouthing " Progress?" I nodded, hitting enter on a script that seeded doubt across forums, bots posting "hoax" analyses, influencers we had bought retweeting skepticism. By midday, national networks pulled the story for "verification," others issued a correction. "We'd hit that by the end of the day, easy." I smiled. We took a break for lunch around three, since the initial panic was subsiding. Audrey ordered some iced coffee and sipped hers black, staring out the window. "Think it'll stick? The doubt?" "Long enough," I said, leaving my own cup untouched. "We'll bury it in countersuits, NDAs. But Harvey... she's out there with the original files." Audrey set her cup down. "We'll find her. Zane's got people." We pushed on, Audrey charming editors into spikes, me orchestrating digital sabotage. By five, that day, CNN dropped it from rotation, Fox called it "unsubstantiated." Half the outlets went silent on the exposé. Zane texted me and I read it for Audrey 'Good work team. Keep vigilant." As the workday wound down, Audrey stretched, smiling faintly. "We make a hell of a team." "Yeah," I agreed, but my mind was elsewhere. Harvey. That's when the intercom buzzed. "Press ambush in the garage. They slipped past the gate." Shit! We grabbed our things and headed down. The garage was dim, concrete echoing our steps. And there they were, a cluster of reporters, maybe ten, cameras ready, mics out. The wiry tabloid guy from earlier led the pack, smirking. "Mr. Bennette! Ms. Movitch! A few more questions?" Audrey tensed beside me, but stepped forward. "This is private property. Leave now, or..." He cut her off. "The public deserves answers! Is Atlas really clean, or are you covering up murders? The fire at Eden, was it arson tied to your 'brothers'?" I felt heat rise, stepping in front of Audrey. "You heard her. Get out." Another reporter, the sharp-eyed woman, rushed, "Harvey's resources are solid! Emails, photos, how do you explain them?" "Manipulated," I growled, "Your 'sources' are lies. Push this, and you'll regret it." The wiry guy laughed. "Threats? That's cartel talk! Admit it, Atlas is dirty!" Audrey's turn, her voice slicing sharp. "No threats. Facts. We've provided evidence of fabrication. Air it, and face lawsuits that'll bankrupt you." The woman sneered. "Hiding behind lawyers?" What about the bodies that dropped dead after crossing you?" My control snapped. "Rival death? Not on us. But keep digging graves, you might find yours." Gasps rippled. Audrey shot me a look, that was too far, but the wiry guy pressed: "Recorded! That's admission!" "No," Audrey fired back, fiercely. "All speculation. Leave, or security drags you." Security arrived then, herding them out amid shouts of "Censorship!" "Truth will out!" As they vanished, Audrey turned to me, eyes blazing. "What the hell, Noah? 'Find yours?' That's fuel!" "They needed scaring," I muttered, "Excuse me," I said, walking away to my car, knowing she was staring at me with unbelieving eyes. I wasn't bothered about a random news crew quoting me. I needed to find Harvey. I must find her, I had to.