Two weeks later, the world of 'Nyx' imploded.
The lawsuit hit like a precision-guided missile. A little-known, aspiring writer, backed by a formidable and notoriously aggressive law firm, filed a suit claiming that Nyx’s debut novel, the very book that had made her a star, was a brazen act of plagiarism, stolen from a manuscript he had submitted years prior. The evidence was shockingly convincing—passages that were eerily similar, plot points that mirrored each other. It was, of course, a complete and utter fabrication, a masterpiece of corporate warfare orchestrated by Alexander Sterling.
The media erupted. The story was irresistible: the beloved, mysterious Nyx, a fraud? Her publishers panicked, threatening to freeze her royalties and recall her books. The literary world was in an uproar. Evelyn watched the empire she had painstakingly built over five years begin to crumble in a matter of hours. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, whose hand was behind it all.
She was sitting in her lawyer's office, the air thick with the scent of defeat and expensive leather, when her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
I hear you have a problem. Perhaps I can help. The rooftop bar at The Aviary. One hour.
There was no signature. None was needed.
Evelyn walked into the bar, her steps steady, her face a mask of calm. The Aviary was one of Alexander’s properties, a sleek, exclusive lounge with a panoramic view of the city he owned. He was sitting in a secluded corner booth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking not like a man who had just orchestrated her ruin, but like a king surveying his domain.
"Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Please. Sit. You look like a woman in need of a drink."
"I look like a woman who is being systematically destroyed by a man with too much time and not enough soul," she retorted, remaining standing.
His lips twitched, a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. "The world is a difficult place, Nyx. Reputations are fragile things." He took a slow sip of his whiskey. "I happen to have a controlling interest in the law firm that is representing your… accuser. I also happen to have a majority stake in your publisher's parent company."
He laid his trap bare, enjoying the cold fury that flashed in her eyes. This was the reaction he’d been craving. Not the cool composure of the gala, but this raw, fiery defiance.
"What do you want, Alexander?" she asked, cutting through the pretense.
"I want to help you," he said smoothly. "I can make all of this go away. With a single phone call. The lawsuit will be dropped. Your publisher will issue a public apology. Your name will be cleared. It will all be dismissed as a regrettable, baseless misunderstanding."
Evelyn stared at him, her mind racing. She knew this was it. The checkmate he had been planning. She saw the bars of the cage descending around her. To fight this legally would take years and millions, and she might still lose against his infinite resources. Her children’s security, the life she had built for them, was at stake.
"And the price?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.
Alexander leaned forward, his stormy eyes locking onto hers, pinning her in place. The predatory smile she remembered so vividly returned, slow and deliberate. He savored the moment, the absolute, intoxicating power he held over this brilliant, beautiful woman who had dared to cross him.
He wasn't going to ask for money. He wasn't going to ask for an apology. He was going to take something far more valuable. He was going to take her.
"I don't want your money, Nyx," he said, his voice a silken threat. "I want you." He let that hang in the air for a beat before delivering the killing blow. "Marry me."