Bronson POV:
"Sir, it's everywhere." My assistant's voice was tight with barely suppressed panic. "The internet is in a frenzy. The news outlets are picking it up. It's a full-blown scandal."
He pushed his tablet towards me. The screen blazed with trending topics: #JusticeForElodie, #ClaytonFamilySecrets, #BridgettBentleyExposed.
I snatched the tablet, my eyes scanning the articles, the videos. My face burned with a mixture of disbelief and fury. There were the text messages, the bank transfers, the police reports – all outlining Bridgett' s calculated cruelty. The hazing incident, detailed with sickening clarity. My vasectomy, explicitly mentioned. The sham marriage, laid bare for the world to see.
"This is impossible!" I roared, slamming the tablet onto my desk. "Shut it down! Take it all offline! Now!"
My assistant hesitated, his gaze worried. "Sir, with the amount of evidence... it's irrefutable. And it's gone viral. We can't suppress it. It's too late."
"Find a way!" I bellowed, my voice cracking with desperation. "I'll sue every single one of them! Defamation! Slander! I'll ruin them all!"
Just then, two burly security guards, not my own, stepped into my office. "Mr. Clayton," one of them said, his voice clipped and formal. "Your father requests your immediate presence in his private study. And you are not to leave the estate without his permission."
My blood ran cold. My own family. Confining me. "What is the meaning of this?!" I demanded, my voice tight with indignation.
The guard remained impassive. "Family orders, sir. From Mr. Clifton Clayton."
I cursed under my breath, but I knew better than to defy my father. With a frustrated growl, I followed them to Clifton' s study, the very room where Elodie had overheard my entire life unravel.
Clifton sat behind his desk, his face a thundercloud. Anner was beside him, her eyes red-rimmed, but her chin held high. "You fool!" Clifton spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You absolute, unmitigated fool! How could you let this happen again?! We spent years covering up Bridgett' s depravity, protecting our name, and you let her expose us all!"
He slammed a thick legal file onto the desk. "The board is already calling for your resignation! The press is hounding us! This is a public relations nightmare, Bronson! A scandal that will stain our name for generations!"
I snatched the file. It detailed the legal repercussions: investigations into my law firm for obstruction of justice, potential disbarment, and a slew of civil lawsuits from Elodie's unknown allies.
"I can fix this, Father!" I insisted, my voice desperate. "I can control the narrative! I can spin it!"
"Spin it?!" Clifton roared, rising from his chair, his face inches from mine. "Spin the fact that you knowingly trapped an innocent woman in a fake marriage to protect a sociopath?! Spin the fact that you had a vasectomy to ensure she could never have your child, while she suffered through endless fertility treatments?!"
He pointed a furious finger at me. "You were complicit, Bronson! You were just as bad as Bridgett, in your own twisted way!"
"I did what I had to do!" I shouted back, my own anger finally bubbling over. "I was protecting the family! Protecting our image!"
Clifton slammed his fist on the desk. "Too late! The board has already voted. We're cutting all ties with Bridgett. Effective immediately. And a formal apology will be issued to Elodie Ryan, condemning Bridgett's actions and acknowledging our failure to seek justice."
Anner, who had been silently weeping, suddenly spoke, her voice laced with venom. "And Elodie knew, Bronson. She knew everything. She knew for days. She planned this."
My head snapped towards her, my mind reeling. "What? What are you saying, Mother?"
"She knew about the vasectomy," Anner continued, her voice cold. "She knew the marriage was a lie. She overheard everything. And she used it. She left you, Bronson. But not before she ensured Bridgett would pay, and our family would fall."
My world shattered. Pieces of the past few days clicked into place with sickening clarity. Her calm demeanor. Her request for Bridgett's medical files. Her insistence that Bridgett stay with us. Her silence as I tried to appease her. She hadn't been forgiving; she had been calculating. She hadn't been confused; she had been planning.
"She played you," Clifton stated, his voice devoid of sympathy. "She played us all. And she burnt everything to the ground before she walked away."
My hands, clutching the damning legal documents, slowly relaxed. The papers slipped through my fingers, scattering across the polished mahogany floor like fallen leaves.
My phone, in my pocket, began to vibrate frantically. Bridgett. Her name, a desperate plea, flashed on the screen.
I stared at it for a few seconds, then pressed silence. I placed the phone, face down, on the table.
It vibrated again, a relentless hum against the wood. Then a third time. I picked it up, my fingers cold.
"Bridgett," I answered, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"Bronson! Thank God! They're here! The police! They're trying to arrest me! You have to help me! You promised!" Her voice was a terrified shriek.
