Anthony's Pov
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"The kiss doesn't matter," I told myself countless times after I spoke those words to her. Whatever I had said was the truth.
Whatever that kiss was—it was all fake.
"It doesn't matter."
Yet a pang of guilt crept in, I felt that spark when I did touch her. Christ, I only met her yesterday so why did I recognize the smoothness of that body. When I kissed her, it felt like I have been looking for her all my life.
I leaned against the door and shut my eyes and that was when I heard her muffled sobs.
Unknowingly, my feet moved and I walked out of my room. I reached her door. The sobs had grown louder. I raised my hand to knock.
"What am I doing?" I pulled my hand back and frowned at it. "Was I just about to reach for her?"
"This is madness." I fully stepped away and headed straight for my room, slamming the door and ruffling my hair..
That's when the call came through.
"What?" I picked it up, My voice was as cold as the wind, but I knew Marcus don't care. Our relationship has always been strained.
"Congratulations. You're now on the news," he said, his tone dark.
I paused mid-step, a frown pulling at my brows. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, isn't this what you wanted? If you're that curious, maybe you should check it yourself."
The news? Great timing.
"You know," Marcus added, "I know how badly you wanted to be on the news. You wanted your engagement out there for everyone to see. But I wonder if your fiancée is used to it."
He let out a low chuckle. "She didn't look like the 'kind Anthony.'"
The line went dead. I quickly scrolled through the news—and then I saw it.
What was meant to be positive had somehow attracted so many negative comments.
I kept scrolling through the article. Eventually, it confirmed what I suspected—it was about my engagement.
Not like I was surprise since I brought this on myself. But I never expected it to come out so quickly.
That's when I saw it. That's when I understand what Marcus meant. The comments were mostly about her:
> "Oh, who is this new lady? She doesn't seem to fit in."
> "Oh my God, it's Anthony—but who is this cheap chick next to him?"
> "She better watch it. Anthony will get tired of her just like he did the others."
I slammed the phone down on the desk. A low curse slipped from my mouth.
"This damn internet."
Then I thought of Alicia.
Marcus was right.
I had dragged her into this—without giving her space to breathe, without even knowing how much she could take.
"Go to her, dammit."
But I didn't. I couldn't. Comfort wasn't part of the game.
The only thing I could do was make sure every article filled with those hateful comments got taken down.
She didn't have to endure that. Itwas the least I could do.
So I called my assistant.
"Eric," I said into the phone, voice low, "Who are the ones spreading such words against Alicia?"
Eric—always casual, no matter how cold I sounded—said, "Heyy Tony, how do you expect me to know who exactly? Over a billion people use the smartphone—and topping with how popular you are... come on."
I rubbed the lines forming on my forehead. "See that those articles are brought down."
"Why, boss? You wanted everyone to know about your engagement, right?"
"I know. But the negative comments could affect her."
"Ahh." Eric chuckled.
Huh. Did he not see how serious this was?
"You know one thing about the internet?," he said casually, "people are going to say what they like, do what they like. Even though we take it down, there is a possibility that they are still going to come back and talk about it."
"Also", he added, "Your pictures are everywhere. The more we take them down, the more articles will pop up about you"
"She is not used to this, don't you see? She will not understand"
"Oh very well", Eric clicked his tongue, "perhaps this is the time you stay by her side"
"You know this is fake", I rubbed the invisible lines on my forehead, aside Alicia and I, Eric is the only one I allow to know about this fake engagement, "how can I even think to comfort her"
"You know what Tony", Eric's voice was low on the other end, like he was whispering, "Perhaps that is what she wants. Go to her, comfort her".
"Dammit, Eric!" I roared into the phone.
Silence stretched for a beat before Eric spoke again. "Alright. I can't guarantee they'll all be taken down, but I'll make sure most of them are."
"Good."
I cut the line and sat down on my bed.
I heaved a deep breath.
It was odd—I had never felt this way before.
I was always calm, never yelled at Eric, no matter the situation… until she came.
My gaze swept to the family portrait on the wall.
Dad stood in the center with that wide, easy smile. Beside him was my mother, tucked into his embrace like she belonged nowhere else.
In front was me—grinning, a smile I no longer wore—cradling my little brother, who was squirming to break free.
I was ten. He was eight in that photo.
My jaw clenched. Still, I stood and walked toward the portrait.
I stared at it in silence for a long minute. Then I turned, moved to the table where a bottle of wine sat waiting.
I poured myself a glass, eyes still fixed on the photo.
The ache I always felt when I looked at it returned—sharp and hollow.
I downed the harsh alcohol, hoping it would drown the ache.
Then my eyes darkened, my gaze still locked on the picture—mostly on my father's eyes.
"You made me this way," I muttered. "So don't expect me to change."