Chapter 8: Between Lies and Leaks

Ren hadn't slept properly.

When morning light seeped into his room, his eyes were already open, glued to the ceiling. The note from the night before still sat on his desk, the words etched into his mind.

"The cracks are starting to show. Be careful — not all truths are quiet."

What truth? And who was watching?

He hadn't spoken to anyone about the notes. Not even Zeyan. Especially not Zeyan.

There was a time Ren would have marched straight into the CEO's room and demanded answers, throwing sarcasm like knives. But now, everything felt... delicate. Like one wrong word could make this whole illusion collapse.

He got up, splashed cold water on his face, and stared at his reflection. There were faint shadows under his eyes. Not enough to notice under makeup, but enough to know he wasn't the same person who stepped into this mansion days ago.

Downstairs, the house was eerily quiet. Even the staff seemed to tread lightly. Zeyan wasn't in his usual seat at the breakfast table, and for a moment, Ren wondered if he'd left already.

But as he walked into the sunlit living room, he stopped.

Zeyan stood by the window, arms crossed, staring at a tablet. His jaw was clenched. That alone was a red flag.

Ren approached carefully. "Morning."

Zeyan didn't respond. Just turned the screen around.

A headline blared across it.

"Li Zeyan's Secret Marriage Exposed? Mystery Partner Identified at Midnight Gala."

Underneath, there was a blurry photo of them standing close at the gala. The shot was grainy but damning — Ren's hand on Zeyan's arm, their faces inches apart.

Ren froze. "Where did they get that...?"

"Someone leaked it," Zeyan said, voice flat. "Probably someone at the event. Or one of my competitors."

Ren felt his throat tighten. "Is this bad? Like... legally bad?"

Zeyan looked at him then. For the first time, his expression wasn't cold. It was calculating. Quiet. Dangerous.

"It's not illegal," he said. "But it wasn't supposed to happen yet. Now I have to clean it up."

"Clean it up?" Ren asked slowly. "What does that mean? You're not—planning to deny it, are you?"

Zeyan narrowed his eyes. "What do you expect me to do? Confirm we're married and let the press hound us for details? Risk the board questioning everything?"

Ren stepped back. "So you're going to make me the villain?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you didn't deny it either."

Zeyan exhaled. "You're not thinking straight. This is business."

"No, it's my life!" Ren snapped. "You dragged me into this deal. You used me as a shield at the gala. And now that things get messy, you're acting like I'm just... disposable."

Zeyan's expression didn't shift. That made it worse.

Ren turned on his heel. "I need air."

Outside, the morning sun felt too bright. Too fake. Ren paced the driveway, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Everything was spiraling. This wasn't just a fake marriage anymore. Now it was a public story. A lie turned viral.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Unknown number.

He hesitated, then answered.

A voice, disguised and calm, spoke: "How does it feel? Being the puppet?"

Ren's breath caught. "Who is this?"

The voice chuckled. "You're not the first. You won't be the last."

The line disconnected.

Ren stood frozen, phone still pressed to his ear.

What did that mean? Not the first?

Was Zeyan hiding more than he'd let on?

Later that day, Zeyan called him into his office.

Ren entered stiffly, expecting another lecture, or worse — a contract termination.

But Zeyan simply slid a tablet toward him.

On the screen was a drafted press release.

"Li Zeyan Confirms Partnership: Clarifies Personal Rumors Regarding Gala Companion."

Beneath the title, there were sanitized phrases like "mutual understanding," "privacy," and "no further comments at this time."

Ren read it in silence. "You're not denying it."

"No," Zeyan said. "But I'm controlling the narrative."

Ren looked up. "Why?"

"Because you're not disposable," Zeyan said simply. "And because damage control isn't about lies. It's about timing."

Ren didn't know what to say. It wasn't an apology, but it was... something.

He nodded slowly. "Thanks."

Zeyan studied him. "Who called you earlier?"

Ren blinked. "How did you—?"

"I have call logs monitored for unknown numbers to your phone. It's part of the security agreement."

Ren stared at him. "Of course it is."

"Do you know the voice?"

"No." That part was true.

Zeyan looked unconvinced but didn't push. "From now on, any message, any letter, any contact — you tell me first."

Ren raised an eyebrow. "Even if it's a love letter?"

Zeyan didn't smile, but something flickered in his eyes. "Especially then."

That night, Ren returned to his room and collapsed on the bed.

He didn't feel better. But he didn't feel powerless, either.

The leaked photo, the anonymous call, the growing cracks in Zeyan's mask — everything was getting more complicated.

And yet, there was a strange warmth in his chest when he remembered Zeyan's words.

"You're not disposable."

It shouldn't have meant anything. But it did.

He glanced at the folded notes in his drawer. Three now. All from the same hand.

The warnings were becoming louder.

And for the first time... he wanted to dig deeper.