The second leak hit harder than the first.
This time, a witness statement from the night of the crash surfaced online. A bartender from a roadside pub. He'd seen a young Damon Sinclair that night, his hands shaking, a cut above his brow, whiskey still burning on his breath.
It wasn't just damaging.
It was destructive.
Damon's lawyer had already called him twice before noon, the PR team five more times after that. The board was panicking. One sponsor dropped their pending partnership.
But Damon was focused on something else.
> "The leak isn't random," he told his assistant. "It's someone who has access. Someone close."
His eyes scanned names—people with files, history, old connections.
Then they stopped.
On Elina Rivers.
She had access to the guest house. She'd been with him every night. She was there when the first news dropped. She'd asked questions that now echoed too perfectly.
But even as suspicion crept in, part of him resisted it.
He needed her.
And he was starting to believe he might actually love her.
---
Elina sat in her studio, watching her inbox light up with headlines.
> "Damon Sinclair's Youthful Sins: New Evidence Points to Hidden Crash Cover-Up"
> "Rich. Reckless. Untouchable?"
She should've felt victorious.
But instead… her chest ached.
Last night, Damon had opened up to her. Told her about the guilt. The fear. She'd watched him unravel, piece by piece, and something inside her cracked.
She still hated him.
But she was beginning to hate how much she felt again.
---
That evening, Damon returned home early.
He found her sitting by the window, sketchbook forgotten on her lap, lips parted like she'd just come back from somewhere far away.
"Elina," he said, voice low. "Can we talk?"
She turned. "Of course."
He didn't sit. Just paced.
"Someone's leaking things," he said. "Things no one should have. Not unless they were there. Not unless they… wanted to hurt me."
Her stomach turned.
"You think it's me?" she whispered.
He stopped. Looked at her—so long, so hard, it felt like a cut across the room.
"I don't know what to think," he said. "But I need the truth."
Elina stood slowly.
Her voice barely wavered. "Then ask me. Properly."
A pause.
"Did you leak it?"
Another pause.
"No," she said.
A lie.
But a necessary one.
---
That night, Elina cried.
Not for her parents.
Not for justice.
But for herself.
Because for the first time since she planned this…
She wasn't sure she wanted to finish what she started.