The heavy door of the Maybach slammed shut, instantly killing the chaotic noise of the paparazzi. The dark, bulletproof windows completely isolated them from the flashing lights outside.
The car glided away from the curb, moving with silent, terrifying power.
The interior was massive. Alaia leaned back against the plush leather seat. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright started to fade, and the sharp, throbbing pain in her lower back flared up again. She shifted uncomfortably, her brow furrowing.
Gabriel sat next to her. He reached for the crystal decanter in the built-in console and poured two glasses of bourbon. He slid one across the small, polished table toward her.
Alaia didn't hesitate. She picked up the heavy crystal glass and took a sip. The liquid fire burned down her throat, chasing away the lingering chill in her bones.
Gabriel swirled his glass. The ice clinked sharply in the quiet cabin. He turned his head, his piercing eyes scanning her face.
"The angle of that video was flawless," Gabriel said, his voice a low rumble. "Almost like a perfectly executed assassination. Did you set the camera?"
Alaia met his gaze. She didn't blink. "Doesn't Mr. Alvarado appreciate an early escape from a bad investment?"
Gabriel let out a short, dark laugh. The sound was dangerous. "I do. But I don't like being played for a fool."
He leaned closer. The physical distance between them vanished. His broad shoulders blocked out the dim streetlights passing by the window. The sheer dominance rolling off his body made Alaia's fingers tighten around her glass.
"Using me as your shield comes with a price," Gabriel warned, his voice dropping an octave. "I don't do charity."
Alaia didn't shrink back. She met his intensity head-on.
"It's a trade," Alaia said, her voice steady. "I will completely annihilate Austen's public image. You will slaughter the Montgomery family in the market."
She leaned in slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "I overheard Austen and his father panicking in his study a few months ago. They were terrified because you've been circling their theater chains like a starving wolf for two years, planning a hostile takeover. This scandal is the perfect catalyst to tank their stock. I just handed the wolf a very sharp knife."
Gabriel's eyes darkened. The casual amusement vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp calculation. He hadn't expected this actress to know anything about his corporate war room.
He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers. Clink.
"Deal," he murmured. The devil's bargain was struck.
Alaia pulled back and set her glass down. She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. The screen was a chaotic mess of notifications.
Austen's PR team was already moving. They had flooded Twitter with statements claiming the video was a deepfake, an AI-generated smear campaign.
Simultaneously, thousands of bot accounts and rabid fans were swarming Alaia's mentions, calling her a manipulative bitch who set Austen up because she was jealous of his success.
Alaia stared at the screen, a cold sneer twisting her lips. In her past life, this exact type of cyberbullying had driven her to a breakdown. Tonight, she was going to make them bleed.
She opened her camera app. She didn't fix her hair. She didn't wipe the smudged mascara from her fake crying. She held the phone up and snapped a raw, unfiltered selfie.
She deliberately angled the camera so the distinct, custom lapel of Gabriel's suit jacket was clearly visible draped over her shoulder.
She opened X and attached the photo. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, typing a single, lethal sentence.
Yes, I was cheated on. The video is real. My heart is broken, but my eyes are finally open.
She hit post. The tweet launched into the digital war zone without a single PR filter.
Within sixty seconds, the retweet counter exploded past one hundred thousand. The raw emotion in her face, combined with her direct confirmation, instantly crushed Austen's "AI deepfake" defense.
Gabriel watched her thumbs fly across the screen. He raised an eyebrow. "You're a natural manipulator."
Alaia didn't look up from her screen. "When you're dealing with scum, you have to hit them harder and faster than they can breathe."
Suddenly, her phone screen changed. An incoming call popped up. It was Austen's manager. They were trying to buy her silence.
Alaia's thumb hovered over the red button. She pressed decline, then immediately blocked the number. She was severing every single tie to her past weakness.
The cabin fell silent again, save for the rapid, continuous buzzing of her phone as the internet tore Austen apart.
The Maybach smoothly decelerated. Mitch's voice came through the intercom.
"We've arrived at Ms. Dudley's apartment in West Hollywood, sir."
