His chest tightened with fury. The narrative was calculated. This is no accident. His mind immediately landed on one name: Evans. The bastard had orchestrated this smear. Winn’s reputation was his empire.
"Motherf—" Winn cut himself off, pacing across the floor. "We need to do damage control immediately. If this spreads unchecked, I won’t be surprised if I get a call from the investors today."
"This isn’t good, Reese," Winn muttered, rubbing his temple. He hated being cornered. "And dammit, when is Joey’s vacation going to end?"
Finally, Winn straightened, resolve snapping into place. He slung his leather bag over his shoulder. "I’ll drive myself to work today," he said, steel replacing frustration. He jabbed a finger toward Reese. "You go pick up Miss Morales. Get her to the office now. It’s going to be a busy day." Check latest chapters at novelFirｅ.net
Reese gave a short nod. He knew how much Winn leaned on his secretary lately, how often her name lingered on his tongue.
"Yes, sir," Reese said crisply, already moving toward the door.
Sylvia sat back on the bar stool, swirling the last sip of coffee in her cup, her mind alive with thoughts she didn’t dare speak aloud. She doubted this entire scandal had much to do with Evans. Oh, Evans was an opportunistic snake, sure, but this had the stink of their father all over it. Tom Kane was a man who thrived on manipulation.
If Winn was drowning, Sylvia knew it was because their father had tied the stone to his ankle himself.
Her lips twisted into a faint smile as she considered the will. Grandpa. The old bastard. Everyone knew he had despised Tom, thought him weak, greedy, undeserving of the Orchard legacy. Sylvia often wondered if Tom had even been left anything at all, or if the will had skipped him entirely.
But she wasn’t innocent either. She had made a deal. A devil’s bargain, really. Tom had promised her Joey—the one man she wanted, the one she couldn’t get on her own. And all she had to do in return was hand Winn over. Serve her own brother on a silver platter.
She tapped her nails against the cup, wondering if Joey was worth betraying blood.
The week began in absolute chaos. It was carnage. The media latched onto the headline like starving wolves, gnawing at every piece of flesh they could strip from Winn’s reputation.
Talk shows debated his "instability," business blogs speculated on how "reckless bachelor energy" translated into risky investment behavior, and social media hashtags painted him as the corporate playboy who couldn’t be trusted.
Investors who had shaken his hand days ago now called for clarifications. Clients with long histories suddenly demanded "reassurance of stability." Even the Kane staff whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear.
The narrative was Winn Kane against the entire idea of family values. Thirty-seven years old, still unmarried, no children—every article made sure to include that damning fact. It painted him as a man detached, rootless, a billionaire untethered to anything but money.
How could Winn possibly explain to the world that once, years ago, he had been ready? That he had wanted it—marriage, kids. But then Evans had slithered into the picture, stolen the woman he had planned to marry, and shattered any faith Winn had in permanence.
He couldn’t tell them that story.
And Evans, the sly bastard, had no shame in seizing the opportunity. He paraded his sweet, storybook family, smiling wife, cherubic baby, even the damn Labrador in staged photos. Every magazine and financial journal that had once sung Winn’s praises now carried glossy spreads of Evans looking like the poster boy for stability.
Evans even worked a family-oriented slogan into one of his newest product advertisements. Investors ate it up, the public adored it, and Winn could practically hear the smug bastard laughing all the way to the bank.
Winn was fast losing the war. And then the knife twisted deeper. His phone buzzed with the dreaded call: the European investors. They were having second thoughts. Second thoughts about him. About his worth. About his damn singlehood. That was the final straw, the breaking of the camel’s already strained back.
His temples throbbed.
He grabbed his phone and called Joey. "Joey, get your ass back now! I am leaving for Europe today, and someone has to take charge," Winn barked.
"I’ll be on the next flight." There was the rustle of movement. "You heard from the investors?"
"Yes." Winn exhaled through clenched teeth. He tugged at his tie until it hung loose around his throat. "They’re thinking of backing out. I have to do something before they kill this deal completely." His other hand dragged through his hair, leaving it disheveled.
"Okay. Be there soon."
"I’ll be gone before you get here. Just handle things until I get back."
"Yes, boss." Joey hung up.
Winn didn’t even put the phone down before stabbing at the intercom. The secretary’s desk. The line clicked.
"Come in here, now," Winn ordered.
Ivy entered with her notepad and pen as usual.
The moment she stepped into his line of sight, he started speaking, voice clipped with urgency as he shoved his laptop into the bag waiting on his desk. "I’m leaving for the Netherlands now," he announced. "The COO will be here to take my place today. I need you to wait for him. He’s taking the next flight back."
"When will you be back?" Ivy asked, her pen poised.
"I don’t know how long it will take to convince these men not to pull out of the deal," Winn muttered, zipping the bag a little too hard. His frustration bled into every motion. "But I should be back by Monday."
"I’m so sorry this is happening," Ivy said.
"The corporate world is a world of sharks," Winn replied dryly. "I’ve always swum faster. But this—" He cut himself off with a shake of his head. His gaze softened just enough to give her a glimpse of the man under the armor before it snapped back into place.
"When Joey gets here, tell him I need him to check in on Sylvia every day after work. I know it’s an inconvenience for him, but he’s the only one I trust to do so."
(Thank you for all the engagement. I am truly grateful. Violam, take your flowers.)