Adison’s POV
The laughter still echoes through the conference room, but my focus narrows to Violet standing near the back wall. Her posture is rigid, hands clenched at her sides, and I can see the tremor running through her shoulders even from here.
She defended us. Publicly. Against her own brother.
And Walter's going to retaliate.
I lean slightly toward the microphone, maintaining my composed exterior while my mouth barely moves. The words come out pitched low, meant only for the earpiece. "Zachary. Get Violet out of here. Now. Before this gets worse."
His response crackles back immediately. "Already moving."
I straighten, forcing my attention back to the journalists whose hands are still raised like weapons waiting to strike.
Walter's smile hasn't wavered. If anything, it's deepened into something that makes my stomach turn. He stands slowly, and the room quiets with anticipation that feels dangerous.
"I think my question represents a collective concern." His voice carries false reasonableness, wrapping cruelty in courtesy. "Many people here are wondering if this relationship is appropriate. The age gap. The power dynamics. Surely these are valid ethical considerations?"
Several heads nod. A journalist in the third row actually speaks up. "He raises a fair point, Ms. Ward. How do you address concerns that this relationship might be exploitative?"
The word lands like a slap. Exploitative. As if Jake manipulated me. As if I'm some helpless girl who couldn't possibly choose this for myself.
I feel Jake's hand tighten on mine beneath the table. His jaw is set, fury radiating through his carefully maintained composure.
I squeeze back. Draw strength from the solid certainty of his grip.
Then I lean forward, meeting Walter's gaze directly across the room. "What matters in any relationship is love and respect. Not arbitrary numbers calculated to manufacture scandal."
My voice carries steel wrapped in grace. Every word is deliberate. Controlled. "Countless same-age couples betray each other daily without warranting press conferences. Age doesn't determine character. It doesn't predict loyalty. It's simply a number people weaponize when they want to delegitimize choices they don't understand."
I pause, letting that settle. Then I gesture toward Jake without breaking eye contact with Walter.
"This man has shown me more genuine respect in many months than some people demonstrate in decades. That's what should matter. Not whether strangers approve of our timeline."
The room shifts. I feel it in the way some journalists lean back, in the softening of expressions that were sharp moments ago.
Walter's smile finally cracks. Just slightly. Just enough.
Zachary's voice hums through the earpiece, steady and reassuring. "Violet's out. She's safe."
Relief floods through me so completely I almost sag. But I hold my posture, hold my composure, hold the line we're defending together.
Jake’s touch is a reminder: I’m not alone in this.
Another hand rises. A woman from a financial publication, her expression neutral and professional. "Ms. Ward, how will this relationship impact your leadership of Ward Enterprises? Some shareholders have expressed concern about divided focus."
This question I can answer with absolute conviction.
"My relationship with Jake only strengthens my commitment to my father's legacy." The words come out certain. Final. "I am living proof that protecting what matters and building a future aren't mutually exclusive. If anything, having something worth fighting for makes me more determined to honor what my father built."
I lift my chin, Jake’s hand anchoring me in place. "Ward Enterprises will continue thriving under my leadership. That's not a promise. It's a guarantee."
The PR moderator stands, sensing the shift in energy. Her smile carries practiced gratitude as she addresses the room. "That concludes today's conference. Thank you all for attending. Any additional questions can be directed to our media team."
The room erupts into motion immediately. Cameras flash. Journalists shout follow-up questions we're not required to answer anymore.
Jake stands first, pulling me up with gentle insistence. His hand finds the small of my back, protective and certain, guiding me toward the door.
We step into the corridor, and the moment we're clear of the cameras, Jake turns to me with an expression that breaks something in my chest.
"I'm sorry." The words tear out of him rough and desperate. "That was unbearable. Having to justify what we are to strangers who don't deserve explanations. I hated every second of it."
I reach up, cupping his face between my palms. His beard scratches against my skin, familiar and grounding. "Jake. It went well. All things considered, we survived intact."
"Barely." He leans into my touch like he's drawing strength from it. "Adison, I never want to put you through that again."
"Then don't apologize for existing." I hold his gaze, willing him to understand. "We knew this would be hard. But we chose each other anyway. That's what matters."
Footsteps echo down the corridor. I turn to find Zachary approaching with Violet in tow, his grip firm on her wrist like he's preventing escape.
"Could have been worse." Zachary's voice carries grudging acknowledgment. "Though Violet's improvisation didn't help matters."
Violet's chin lifts defensively, but her eyes are red-rimmed. "I wasn't going to let Walter—"
"We'll discuss it later." Zachary cuts her off, though his tone lacks the fury I expected.
I step away from Jake, moving toward Violet with concern pulsing beneath my composed exterior. "Are you okay?"
She blinks at the question, surprise flickering across her face. Then she asks it back to me. "Are you okay?"
The absurdity of it hits us simultaneously. Two women asking each other the same question, both pretending we're fine when we're clearly not.
I laugh first. It escapes unexpected and genuine, cracking through the tension still coiled in my chest. Violet joins in, and suddenly we're embracing in the corridor while Jake and Zachary watch with expressions that suggest they're witnessing something they don't entirely comprehend.
Violet's arms tighten around me, and I feel her trembling. "Thank you," she whispers against my shoulder. "For asking."
"Thank you," I whisper back, "for fighting."
We pull apart, and solidarity settles between us like something tangible. Something the men standing beside us can observe but not quite access.
Jake's hand finds mine again, and Zachary clears his throat with uncomfortable precision.
"We should move." Zachary gestures toward the exit. "Before the journalists realize we're still accessible."
I nod, but I'm looking at Violet. At the girl who defended us despite everything it cost her. At the ally who's becoming family through choice rather than blood.
We survived the press conference. We survived Walter's attack. We survived intact.
And tomorrow, we'll figure out what comes next. Together. All four of us.