Chapter 11 : The Public Clause
Chapter 11: The Public Clause
The war didn't start with a press conference.
It started with a post.
One single post.
Lysandra, framed in soft lighting, tearful and vulnerable. A carefully edited video titled:
> **"The Truth I Never Wanted to Share."**
Within an hour, it had over 2 million views.
By morning, it had twenty million.
In the video, she spoke of betrayal, emotional trauma, and feeling "discarded" for her own sister. She mentioned being blackmailed. She talked about waking up every day wondering why **Leon Valen** never gave her closure—and why **Aria**, her "replacement," didn't say a word to stop it.
The world reacted quickly.
Empathy, outrage, pity, and suspicion.
But most dangerously—**division**.
> *#JusticeForLysandra* began trending.
> *#AriaKnew* followed.
> *#BillionaireLoveTrap* exploded across platforms.
Leon stood at the edge of the mansion's terrace, watching a city that once bowed to him now bristle in confusion.
"Do we respond?" his PR manager asked.
Leon didn't answer right away.
He turned and walked back inside.
And said simply: "Call Aria."
When she arrived, the tension in the room was thick.
The PR team looked at her like she was an exposed nerve.
Leon stood to the side, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her.
The PR manager cleared his throat. "We've prepared three options. Option one: a dignified silence. Option two: a legal statement and a temporary withdrawal from public life—no interviews. Option three…"
He hesitated.
Leon narrowed his eyes. "Option three?"
"Option three… we go public with the full story, from the start. Including the marriage contract."
Silence.
Aria slowly sat down.
"If we do that," she said softly, "we destroy every bit of privacy we have left."
"True," the manager replied. "But it'll win the war. Because truth wins sympathy."
Leon looked at her. "Your call."
That night, they didn't sleep.
Not together,
Not apart.
They just existed—in their own corners of the mansion, trying to decide if survival meant hiding or finally stepping into the fire Lysandra lit.
At 2:47 a.m., Aria walked to the piano room.
Leon was already there, sitting beside the keys, wine glass untouched on the floor.
He looked up as she entered.
"I used to think love was a contract," he said quietly. "Something you could outline, structure, and manage."
She sat beside him.
"It's not," she said.
"No. It's a gamble."
She turned to him. "Then let's gamble."
The next morning, the post went live.
Not through lawyers.
Not through the press.
But directly on Aria's verified account.
A plain black background with gold text.
> **"You've heard her story.
> Now here's mine."**
Then a link to a video.
Leon sat beside her in the frame.
No luxury. No edits. Just them, in the piano room, side by side.
Aria began first.
> "I never asked to marry Leon Valen. I was told to by my parents, to save them from disgrace after my sister left. I was twenty-three, scared, and confused. Somewhere inside me, I foolishly believed I could survive it."
> "Leon handed me a contract. I signed it, not because I wanted power, but because I thought pain was the price of keeping a broken family from shattering."
> "What followed wasn't a fairy tale. It was a negotiation of emotions, silences, and slow-burning hurt."
Leon spoke next.
> "I loved Lysandra once. But she chose someone else. I turned that heartbreak into a fortress. When Aria came in, I didn't see her. I saw my failure with her sister. I buried myself in control."
> "Aria didn't betray Lysandra. She saved her. From humiliation, from media destruction. From me."
Aria continued.
> "This marriage didn't start with love. But somewhere, between the silence and the storms, it became the realest thing I've ever felt."
> "And I refuse to be anyone's scapegoat anymore."
The internet lit up.
Actually exploded.
Because while Lysandra had told a *sad story*—
**Aria told the truth.**
And truth, when spoken in a trembling but steady voice, has a way of piercing through performance.
Later that day, Irene Cho—editor of *Luminate*—called Aria personally.
"You want your next column to break records?" she asked.
"Of course."
"Then title it: *'Clause of the Unwritten Wife.'*"
Aria smiled.
That evening, she found Leon on the balcony again.
The sky had gone purple.
He was watching the clouds as if they were a prophecy.
When she touched his shoulder, he flinched—just a little.
Still unlearning the reflex to guard himself.
"Come inside," she said.
"I don't deserve you," he replied softly.
"Maybe not," she said. "But you're still mine."
He turned.
There was something raw in his eyes.
Hope, fear, love—no longer buried under pride.
"I have something for you," he said.
He handed her a folder.
She frowned. "Another contract?"
He smirked. "Not exactly."
She opened it.
Inside: **Valen Foundation – Joint Ownership Charter**
A philanthropic branch.
Half of its board members chosen by Aria.
The mission: to support women navigating abusive marriages, forced deals, or family-induced contracts.
She blinked. "This is…?"
He stepped closer. "You were forced into a marriage to save your family. Maybe now, we can help others who never got out."
Her eyes filled.
This wasn't just a gesture.
It was *healing* turned into purpose.
Later that night, Aria drafted her next column.
She called it **"Clause of the Unwritten Wife."**
And in it, she wrote:
> "They said I was just a replacement.
> Just a shadow of a sister.
> Just a clause in a contract.
>
> But I am more.
>
> I am the unwritten part.
> The part they didn't expect to speak.
> The one who didn't fit into their terms.
>
> I was the fine print in his life.
> And now, I'm the bold headline of my own."
The video reached 100 million views by the end of the week.
Lysandra issued a tearful apology on a morning talk show.
She wasn't the villain.
She was just no longer the victim.
Because Aria?
Had taken her place—not as a substitute—
But as a woman who rewrote her role.
That night, Leon found her standing beside the piano.
"I'm done hiding," she whispered.
He reached for her hand.
This time, no terms.
No fear.
No escape clause.
Just skin to skin.
Truth to truth.
"Will you stay?" he asked.
"I'll *build,*" she said.
And with that—
The contract finally became a **vow.**
To be continued.....