Lines drawn in quiet places were never meant to stay there. They were promises made without witnesses, decisions reached in lowered voices, in rooms where the world could not intrude.
Keigh had thought perhaps, foolishly, that some boundaries, once drawn, would be respected simply because they were deliberate. He had chosen restraint and Nara had chosen distance and for a brief, fragile moment, it had worked.
The city moved on. The rumours softened. The anniversary whispers faded into the background noise of speculation that followed the powerful wherever they went.
Nara returned to her work, burying herself in schedules and designs, choosing capability over comfort. Keigh watched from a careful distance, honouring what they had agreed upon even when every instinct urged him to pull her back into the safety of his orbit.
Quiet, however, unsettled those who thrived on chaos, it always did. The first crack appeared without warning. A photograph, not staged, not intimate, just careless enough to be dangerous.
By the time it reached Nara's phone, it had already been shared thousands of times. A grainy image of her stepping out of a car, Keigh beside her, his features blurred by motion but his presence unmistakable. The caption did the work the image could not.
Dynamite heir spotted again with H&N Events CEO. Anniversary rumours resurface.
The quiet they had built fractured instantly.
By nightfall, commentary flooded in from every corner, some curious, others cruel. Questions that had once been whispered were now asked openly, whether proximity had played a role in success, whether H&N Events stood on merit or borrowed power, whether Nara's rise had been earned or granted.
Nara read it all without reacting, Keigh watched something darker take shape because speculation alone would never have been enough. Someone had decided to push.
And by morning, the Alarics had begun to speak carefully, anonymously, and with the practiced ease of people who believed the world still owed them obedience. They did not name Nara, they did not need to. They suggested distraction, influence and seduction.
They implied that Keigh's refusal of the marriage arrangement was not a choice, but a failing and in doing so, they crossed the line that had been drawn quietly.
The implication was clear and cruel. Nara didn't respond, not publicly. She went to work, held meetings, reviewed proposals, corrected designs, spoke to her staff with the same calm authority she always had. If she felt the weight of being questioned, she did not let it bleed into her work.
By the next morning, the Royal Family issued their statement. It was not emotional, it was precise. They commended H&N Events for its execution of multiple high-profile projects, citing Nara's leadership, innovation, and professional excellence.
They acknowledged her not as an extension of anyone but as a woman whose reputation was earned independently. No mention of Keigh, no defence of romance, just recognition of skill and it was enough.
The conversation shifted. Slowly, reluctantly, but unmistakably. If the Royals who had no reason to involve themselves in corporate gossip were willing to vouch for Nara's work, then the narrative cracked.
People began revisiting old projects, rewatching interviews, noticing how often Nara had been the one carrying rooms long before Keigh ever stood beside her. Still, the damage attempt lingered.
Keigh had not spoken yet and hus father noticed.
"You're letting this go too far," the man said during their confrontation. His voice was clipped, restrained, but the disapproval was naked. "The family is being discussed. Your judgment is being questioned."
Keigh stood by the window, hands in his pockets.
"By people who don't matter," he replied.
"They matter when they shape perception."
His mother, seated quietly nearby, looked between them.
"He doesn't need to answer noise," she said calmly. "He needs to end it."
Keigh met her eyes briefly. He already had a plan. He just hadn't decided how brutal it needed to be. The Alarics made that decision for him. Their press conference was meant to reclaim dignity but it did the opposite.
Fiona Alaric stood at the podium, polished and trembling with rehearsed sincerity, speaking about betrayal, morality, and the sanctity of family arrangements. She never said Nara's name but she didn't need to.
By the time the conference ended, Keigh was already moving. He didn't issue statements, he didn't confront them directly.
He disappeared and then, forty-eight hours later, the leaks began.
The first was subtle. Financial journalists picked up irregularities, small, easy to dismiss if viewed alone. Offshore accounts tied to shell companies, misallocated funds, charitable donations that never reached their destination. Then came the personal exposure. Screenshots, time-stamped messages, overlapping timelines.
Fiona Alaric hadn't been a wronged bride.
She had been involved with multiple men during the same period the marriage negotiations were supposedly sacred. Some of them influential, some of them married, all of them indisputable. No commentary accompanied the releases, no name attached, just evidence.
The story collapsed inward, questions replaced accusations. Why was Fiona speaking about morality when her own conduct contradicted it? Why were the Alarics accusing seduction while hiding financial crimes that predated the arrangement? Why, suddenly, was the marriage proposal starting to look less like an alliance and more like a desperate consolidation attempt?
Keigh watched it all from his office, unmoved. This was not revenge born of emotion, this was correction. His refusal had never been about temptation, it had been about character.
When the final blow landed, it wasn't loud.
Authorities announced investigations, partners distanced themselves, invitations dried up. The Alarics' name, once spoken with deference, became something people avoided in conversation.
By the end of the week, they were finished.
Nara learned about it the same way everyone else did. She read the headlines in silence, then she closed her laptop and exhaled slowly.
That night, Keigh found her sitting on the balcony at Helen's place, city lights reflecting softly in her eyes.
"You didn't tell me," she said without accusation.
"I didn't want you carrying it," he replied.
She turned to him then. "You destroyed them."
"No," he said quietly. "I let the truth breathe."
There was a pause.
"You didn't do it for me right," she said slowly. "You did it because they tried to rewrite you right."
Keigh smiled faintly. "They tried to make it sound like I was weak enough to be led," he said. "I needed them to understand.....I choose."
She reached for his hand and in that moment, with the city still buzzing outside and the pressure not entirely gone, Keigh realised something unsettling and permanent.
Anyone who came for Nara would not be met with noise. They would be met with silence and then consequences.