Luca's Pov
"You're asking me if I care about bad press? I don't."
I said it with a smile sharp enough to cut glass, even though the boardroom air was thick with tension. Twelve pairs of eyes were locked on me, waiting for me to crack.
But I wouldn't, not here. Not in front of them.
"Mr. Marquez," one of the older board members began, his voice tight, "it's not just bad press. The government is opening an inquiry. Data leaks, privacy scandals. This could destroy us."
I leaned back in my chair, pressing two fingers against my temple. The headlines had been relentless for weeks. Users claiming we'd sold their private messages, leaked locations, broken trust. My empire, the billion-dollar social media giant my father built and I perfected, was suddenly being dragged through the mud and I was supposed to panic.
Instead, I adjusted the cuff of my charcoal suit. "Do I need to remind you that panic never saved a company? Strategy does. Image does. Control does."
Inside, though, I felt the weight, not of the board, not of the government, of my father's shadow. Miguel Marquez had run this empire like a war machine. Ruthless, feared, untouchable and now I was paying for the enemies he made.
I had spent years trying to prove I wasn't him. But every scandal dragged me back into his ghost's grip.
The meeting dragged on. Numbers, warnings, threats. By the time I left the office it was already evening.
My phone buzzed. Jordan, my COO and oldest friend.
"You need good press, Luca," he said without preamble. "Something bigger than headlines about leaks. A story that makes people forget."
"And what do you suggest?" I asked, stepping into the sleek black car waiting outside.
Jordan hesitated. "They're already talking about you and Chen."
"Chen?"
"Noah Chen. CEO of Chen Bioworks. You've been seen at the same charity events. The press spun it into rumors of a partnership. Maybe more."
I laughed, short and bitter. "The press thinks I'm dating the man whose father despised mine? That's rich."
Jordan's silence was telling. "Maybe it's not a bad idea. He needs investors. You need good PR. Think about it."
I didn't answer. But the thought lodged itself in my mind like a seed waiting to root.
********************
The next morning, I opened my news app with my usual coffee and there it was.
"Billionaire Rivals: Are Marquez and Chen the City's New Power Couple?"
The article wasn't long, but it was enough. Pictures of Noah and me, taken at two different galas, cropped to look like we were closer than we really were. A quote from a source "close to the Chen family" saying we'd been discussing a project.
My jaw tightened. Noah Chen was the last man I wanted in my orbit. But the more I read, the more I saw it: the perfect distraction.
The board wanted good press? The government wanted to believe in my goodwill? The public wanted a love story?
Maybe I could give them one.
***************
Later that week, I walked into a modest but buzzing office in Brooklyn. Chen Bioworks. The kind of place that looked more like a lab than a company, all glass doors and tired researchers.
At the far end, in a room lined with whiteboards, stood Noah Chen.
I'd seen him before, at events, in passing. But this was different. He was bent over a file, sleeves rolled up, dark hair falling into his eyes. Focused and determined. Nothing like the spoiled heirs I was used to dealing with.
When he finally looked up, his gaze locked on me with cool precision. "Luca Marquez. To what do I owe the honor?"
His voice was calm, but I caught the edge underneath.
"I think you've already seen the headlines," I said, sliding my hands into my pockets. "The world seems to think we're more than acquaintances."
Noah raised a brow. "And you came here to correct them?"
"On the contrary," I replied smoothly. "I came here to make them right."
His expression didn't falter, but I saw the flicker in his eyes. Surprise. Maybe even curiosity.
"You're suggesting…" He let the words hang.
"That we give the press exactly what they want," I finished. "A partnership. A relationship. Call it what you like. You get investors, I get good press. We both win."
Noah let out a short laugh, disbelieving. "You want me to fake-date you for the cameras."
I tilted my head. "Why not? Your company needs attention. Mine needs a distraction and don't tell me you haven't thought about how quickly this would get you funding."
His eyes narrowed. "You think my sister's dream is just PR for you?"
The sudden bite in his voice caught me off guard. "This isn't about your sister," I said carefully.
"It's always about her," he snapped. "Everything I do, everything this company does, it's for her. Don't stand there and pretend you're offering me charity when it's just another Marquez power move."
Silence pressed between us. His anger burned sharp, but beneath it I saw something else, desperation.
"You can hate me," I said finally. "You can hate my family. But you can't deny the reality. You need me, Chen and I need you."
Noah's jaw worked as if he wanted to argue. Instead, he looked away, staring at the glass window where his team worked tirelessly. His shoulders tensed, then dropped with a sigh.
"When the press destroys me, I'll blame you," he muttered.
I allowed myself the faintest smile. "So you'll do it?"
Noah's eyes met mine again, steady and cold. "I'll do it. But don't think for a sec
ond that I trust you, Marquez."
"Trust," I said, stepping closer, "was never part of the deal."