Possession

The air between us crackled like lightning waiting for a strike.

Maverick's hands still gripped my hips, holding me against the cold glass of the penthouse window. The skyline below sparkled like a fallen galaxy, but his eyes — storm-gray and wild — were locked on me, searching for something raw and unspoken.

I had just whispered the truth neither of us wanted to face.

"Because I'm starting to forget the difference."

Fake. Real. Lines blurred. Words twisted. Touches lingered longer than they should. And now?

Now we were standing on a precipice.

He let out a slow, rough breath and leaned his forehead against mine. "Then forget," he murmured. "Just for tonight."

But tonight wasn't the problem.

Tomorrow was.

Morning After Mayhem

I woke alone.

The bed was cold on his side. Sheets ruffled. His cologne lingered in the air, a haunting scent of leather and citrus and trouble.

The clock read 6:12 a.m.

Outside, the city was already alive, humming with secrets and transactions. And somewhere in it, Maverick was already moving. That man didn't sleep — he strategized, even in his dreams.

I slid out of bed and reached for my robe, the silk brushing against my skin like another secret.

When I walked into the kitchen, Harper was already there. She looked… off.

Tense.

Her usual iced latte sat untouched beside her phone, which was buzzing nonstop.

"What happened?" I asked, instantly on edge.

She looked up, eyes heavy with something that felt like guilt.

"You need to sit down."

"Harper."

She pulled up a news report on her tablet and turned it toward me.

And there it was.

BREAKING: Ryder Heiress Rumored to Be Expecting — Ava Morales Caught in Scandal as Secret Baby Plot Emerges

A shocking report surfaced early this morning suggesting that Genevieve Moreau — socialite and former flame of billionaire Maverick Ryder — may be pregnant. The timing? Questionable.

Sources say the baby might be Maverick's. If true, this puts Ava Morales' engagement under scrutiny as mere damage control. With the Ryder charity gala still trending, public opinion is split on whether the influencer is a pawn… or a placeholder.

I froze.

The headline blurred.

A secret baby?

I heard my own voice, faint and cold. "This is a lie."

"I know," Harper said quickly. "It's probably Genevieve playing dirty. But the damage is already happening."

"Where's Maverick?"

"In meetings. Crisis control mode. He doesn't want you near the press today."

I blinked. "So he's hiding me?"

"He's protecting the investment. The image. You know how he operates."

That hurt more than I expected.

"Right," I muttered. "The brand must survive."

I stood up, blood rushing hot in my veins. "I need to talk to him."

Harper caught my wrist. "Ava… wait. There's more."

I stopped.

She hesitated — then showed me a text message on her phone. The sender's name was hidden, but the message was clear.

He'll always belong to me. You were never the plan.

And he knows it.

My stomach dropped.

"I got that thirty minutes ago," Harper whispered. "And I think it's Genevieve."

Confronting the Firestorm

By the time I reached Maverick's private office at the Ryder Corp headquarters, I was a storm in heels.

Security tried to stop me — they failed.

I stormed through the glass doors just as his assistant announced, "Sir, your fiancée is—"

He looked up, jaw tense.

"Out," he said to everyone in the room.

The room cleared fast. Only Maverick and I remained, the silence between us louder than the entire city.

I threw the tablet onto his desk. "A baby, Maverick?"

He stared at the screen for two seconds before dragging a hand down his face. "It's bullshit."

"Is it?"

"You think I'd lie about something that big?"

I didn't answer.

He stood. "Genevieve is playing a sick game. She knows how to manipulate public perception. You saw how she timed it — the night after the gala, while we're still trending."

"She texted Harper."

He didn't even flinch. "I'm not surprised."

"Why didn't you tell me about her before?"

He walked around the desk. "Because she was over. Done. I didn't think she'd crawl back."

"Well, she's not just crawling," I hissed. "She's winning. And now I look like a desperate pawn."

"You're not."

"I'm whatever the world says I am unless you fight for me."

His hands gripped my shoulders. "You want a fight? Fine. I'll give it to them. But you'd better be ready for the consequences."

I swallowed. "What kind of consequences?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing my ear.

"The kind that ruin people."

Damage Control

That afternoon, Maverick launched a full-scale counteroffensive.

His lawyers issued a statement. His media team spun the angle: The fiancée was blindsided. There is no baby. Ms. Moreau is pursuing her own PR agenda.

But it wasn't enough.

Ava Morales was trending for the wrong reasons.

My inbox was flooded with hate.

People called me a gold-digger. A liar. A fame-hungry manipulator using Maverick for status. Every post I'd ever made — from bikini shots to skincare routines — was suddenly being dissected like evidence in a courtroom.

And then it happened.

My brand sponsorships started dropping.

Not all of them. Just the big ones. Quiet emails. "We're reevaluating the partnership." "Not a good fit at this time."

They didn't even pretend to be sorry.

I stood in the massive penthouse closet that night, staring at racks of clothes I'd worn in photo shoots — the ones that had paid my rent, built my following.

Gone. All of it. In a flash of scandal.

And I hadn't even done anything.

Midnight War

Maverick found me sitting on the floor, still in the black dress from earlier.

"You should sleep," he said softly.

I didn't look at him. "Why? To escape?"

"No. To recover."

I finally turned. "I'm losing everything, Maverick. My name. My work. And for what? A fake ring and a penthouse I don't even own?"

"You'll get it back."

"How?"

He dropped a manila envelope on the floor beside me.

"What's this?"

"An offer."

I opened it.

Inside was a contract.

Ava Morales, Co-Founder and Creative Director of Phoenix Influence Group.

Joint Venture with Ryder Enterprises. 51% ownership. Full creative control.

Initial valuation: $12 million.

I blinked.

"This is real?"

He nodded. "You wanted power. I'm giving you the kingdom."

"Why?"

He crouched beside me.

"Because I want to build something with you," he said. "Something they can't tear down."

"And if I walk away?"

His jaw flexed. "Then I'll burn the offer. And maybe myself with it."

A Choice of Chains

I looked at him — really looked.

This man had played games with the world. With women. With me.

But now… now he was laying down the rules and offering to make me his equal.

And I had a choice.

Take the power and stay in the storm.

Or run, and wonder what might've been.

I took a deep breath.

"Fine," I said. "But if I'm doing this… I'm not your placeholder.

"You never were."

"I want press rights. My own office. My own budget. And I'm not giving up my last name."

He smiled.

"Deal."

And then he kissed me — hard, unapologetic.

Not like a billionaire.

Like a man finally claiming what was already his.