Chapter 3

Kennedy's POV

After getting kicked out of the summit, Connor doesn't come home for three days.

He floods my phone with messages. One minute he's saying I made a scene, embarrassed him in front of everyone, brought personal drama into work. The next he's playing the victim, telling me it was just a moment of weakness, asking me to forgive him for the sake of five years together.

I don't reply to a single one. I'm too busy working with Dylan to lock down every piece of evidence that'll bury them both.

On the fourth morning, the PR director bursts into my office.

She hands me her tablet. "Mrs. Mitchell, you need to see this."

The screen shows a post blowing up on social media. The headline screams: Workplace Bullying or Scorned Wife Gone Crazy? Top PR Exec Abuses Power, Verbally and Physically Assaults Innocent Intern!

The post walks through what happened in the VIP lounge, but it's been completely twisted. According to this version, I'm some jealous, vindictive wife who framed a young girl and got physical with her. Willow, meanwhile, is painted as this poor student working her way through school, victimized by someone in power. 

There are even a few grainy photos showing Connor shoving me into the coffee table, captioned: Even her own husband can't take it.

The comments section has exploded. Everyone's tearing me apart and rallying around Willow. Some people are already doxxing me, digging into my personal info and the company's background.

"Mrs. Mitchell, someone's clearly orchestrating this. They're using bots to amplify it." The director frowns. "Should we put out a statement? Send a cease and desist letter?"

I laugh coldly.

"No. A statement now just turns this into he-said-she-said. People love watching someone at the top fall. The more we explain, the guiltier we look."

"So we just let this blow up? This is killing the company's reputation!"

"Let it play out." I lean back in my chair. "Tell everyone in-house not to comment on this. And reach out to the organizers of Friday night's industry gala. Let them know I'll be there."

The director nods and leaves.

The second the door clicks shut, I pull out my phone and call Dylan.

"You saw the post?"

"Yeah. Traced the IP. Posted by Willow's roommate. The bot farm pushing it? Run by one of Connor's drinking buddies." Dylan sounds almost gleeful. "Kennedy, I've got everything locked and loaded. When do we move?"

"Friday night." I glance at the calendar. "Connor loves playing the mentor who lifts people up, and Willow loves playing the innocent victim. Let's give them a stage. In front of the whole industry."

Friday night's industry gala takes place at a five-star hotel downtown.

Thanks to that post, the second I walk in, I feel eyes on me from every direction. People whisper. Some look at me with outright contempt.

I hold my champagne and move through the crowd like nothing's wrong.

Sure enough, Connor shows up with Willow in tow.

She wears a delicate white dress tonight, eyes red-rimmed, clinging to Connor's side. Several industry veterans spot her and offer sympathy. A few even go over to comfort her.

Connor sees me and strides over.

"Kennedy, don't take the online stuff personally. Willow was backed into a corner. That's why her friend posted it. Just apologize, clear up the misunderstanding from the other day, and I'll make sure she deletes it."

"Apologize?" I raise an eyebrow. "Connor, do you actually think I'm cornered here?"

"Aren't you? Your PR team hasn't said a damn word!" Connor looks smug. "Kennedy, you're too aggressive. Would it kill you to back down for once?"

I look at him for a long moment, then sigh and let my shoulders slump.

"Maybe you're right. I am exhausted. If it's come to this, let's just settle it privately. Half an hour. Room 208 on the second floor. Bring her. We'll talk compensation. And divorce."

At the word "divorce," panic flashes in Connor's eyes. Then Willow tugs gently on his sleeve.

"Fine. We'll be there." Connor bites the words out.

I turn and head for the elevator. The doors close. I pull out my phone and text Dylan.

Get the stream ready.

Thirty minutes later, I stand in the blind spot outside Room 208 and watch Connor and Willow push through the door.

They have no idea I'm not waiting for them inside.

What's waiting inside is a few high-def microphones I planted earlier and a hidden camera feeding directly to the main screen in the ballroom downstairs.

I glance at my watch and count down.

Downstairs in the ballroom, the screen that's been playing soft background music flickers.

Then the feed switches. Room 208 appears in perfect clarity for hundreds of industry elites to see.

"Where the hell is Kennedy? You think she's screwing with us?" On screen, Willow's innocent act shatters.

"She wouldn't dare. Her reputation's already trashed. What's she gonna do besides grovel?" Connor pulls Willow into his arms, hands wandering over her waist.

The ballroom goes dead silent.

I stand in the second-floor hallway, listening to the gasps rising from below, and push open the door to Room 208.

Connor has Willow already pinned against the couch.

Hearing the voice, he springs up, fumbling with his clothes, face still flushed.

"Kennedy! Ever heard of knocking?"