Whitewood Enterprises was even more intimidating in daylight.
Its towers sliced the sky with their mirrored sharpness, sleek and untouchable. Inside, the lobby gleamed in sterile silence. Crystabella stepped in with steady strides, ignoring how the eyes of the receptionist trailed up her slightly rumpled blouse and down to her scuffed heels.
She didn't have an appointment. She didn't care.
"I'm here to see Leo Whitewood," she said.
The receptionist blinked, slow and condescending. "Do you have a meeting booked?"
"No. But he'll want to see me."
The woman's fake smile sharpened. "Mr. Whitewood is a very busy man. You can schedule something for next week. Or the week after."
Crystabella drew in a breath. "Please tell him I'm here."
"I'm sorry, miss. No walk-ins."
Crystabella nodded slowly, then turned, just enough to mask the sting behind her eyes. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe coming here, heart still sore and desperation simmering, wasn't strength. It was foolishness.
But then
"Crystabella Brooklyn?"
The voice was warm, crisp with recognition.
She turned.
A woman with sleek black hair and intelligent eyes stepped forward from the hall. She wore a dark blouse, an earpiece, and a badge clipped to her side: Mara Lin, Executive Assistant.
"I thought I recognized you." Mara's gaze flicked toward the receptionist. "She's cleared for immediate access. Always."
The receptionist's mouth dropped open. "I... I didn't know"
"Now you do," Mara said smoothly. "Anytime she walks in, you call me. Personally. Understood?"
The receptionist muttered an apology. Crystabella blinked, caught between gratitude and disbelief.
Mara turned back to her, smiling gently. "Come. He's in his office."
Crystabella followed, still gathering her words as they bypassed the main elevators and headed to a private glass one tucked behind security. Her hands were cold, but her spine was straight.
"You're important to him," Mara said quietly as they rose.
"I was engaged yesterday," Crystabella replied, voice flat. "Today I'm not."
Mara only nodded, as if she already knew.
Leo's office was at the very top.
The elevator opened into a minimalist space. A wall of windows, a mahogany desk, and the man behind it, turned away, staring out over the city like he owned every building in it.
He didn't turn at first.
"I said no interruptions, Mara."
Crystabella stepped forward.
"It's me."
Leo stilled.
Then, slowly, he turned. His tie was off, shirt sleeves rolled. His eyes, when they met hers, were sharper than she remembered. Like the storm he'd tried to keep buried had finally broken through.
"Crystabella."
Her name in his voice almost undid her.
"I'm not here for pity," she said, holding her ground. "And I'm not here to reopen the past either."
His eyes narrowed. "Then what?"
She exhaled.
"I'm here with a proposition."
That caught him off guard. He stepped closer. "Go on."
She walked past the desk, standing by the edge of the windows, where the city pulsed beneath them. "You already know the engagement is broken. And you know what that means for my family."
He nodded once. "Your father's merger with Romano's family relied on the marriage being finalized. Without it, he loses his leverage."
Crystabella turned to face him. "Exactly. And Romano will make sure we're swallowed up, slowly and humiliatingly. He'll position us as the broken party. The ones who failed. That kind of weakness in business isn't forgotten."
Leo folded his arms. "You came to me because I'm the only man who might stand in Romano's way."
She didn't flinch. "I came because I know you can. And because I have something to offer."
He watched her closely. "And what is that?"
Crystabella raised her chin. "Marry me."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Leo's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Not yet.
"This wouldn't be for love," she continued, voice steady now. "It would be a contract. One year. Public. Legal. Enough time to stabilize both companies. Mine through protection, yours through leverage. A merger by marriage, same as before, just with a different name."
His eyes darkened. "You're offering yourself in a business deal."
"I'm offering us both a way forward. I can't let Romano ruin my family, and I know you won't let him win."
Leo walked to her slowly, every step deliberate. "You don't love me."
"I never said I did."
"But you know I love you."
She hesitated. Then nodded once. "Yes."
His hand lifted but didn't touch her. It hovered, trembling slightly.
"This marriage, would it mean nothing to you?"
"No," she said softly. "It would mean survival."
Silence hung between them.
Then Leo said, "And when the year ends?"
"We walk away," she said. "Unless one of us doesn't want to."
He studied her for a long, weighted moment.
Then, slowly, Leo Whitewood smiled. But it wasn't the boyish smile from their past. It was sharper now. Older. Broken in the way only a man in love, and war, could be.
"Alright, Crystabella. Let's give them something they'll never see coming."
This wasn't love.
But it wasn't defeat either.
And somewhere between those truths, Crystabella Brooklyn was about to rewrite everything.
She stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind her with a hiss. As the glass capsule descended, she pulled out her phone. Five missed calls from her father. Two from board members. And one text from Alice, unread and instantly deleted.
Let them talk.
Let them guess.
By the time they realized what was happening, she and Leo would already be two steps ahead.
She didn't return to her apartment. Not yet. She needed a different kind of preparation. The kind the public would see and photograph. Within an hour, she was seated in the back room of a private stylist's lounge in the business district, surrounded by quiet attendants who took her measurements, her instructions, and her silence.
A new wardrobe. Clean lines. Bolder colors.
Nothing soft. Nothing vulnerable.
The woman stepping into this marriage wouldn't be the one who walked away barefoot from Romano's lies. She would be steel wrapped in silk. And she would look the part.
By evening, news of the broken engagement had started to leak online. Speculation bloomed across business blogs and social pages. Romano was painted as the grieving heir. A victim of last-minute cold feet.
Crystabella stared at the headline on her phone as she sipped her drink on the rooftop of her building.
Romano DeLuca, Left at the Altar? Sources Say Brooklyn Heiress Called It Off Days Before Wedding
She laughed, a bitter sound. If only they knew.
She didn't call Leo. Didn't need to. Instead, she sent a message to Mara.
We'll need a joint press statement. And a photo. Tomorrow morning. Something that says we're not hiding. That we're winning.
The reply came fast.
Understood. I'll have the PR team draft something for review. We'll shoot at 10. Wear power.
Crystabella leaned back in her chair. The city pulsed beneath her again, but now, she didn't feel so small inside it.
This wasn't the life she thought she'd have. But maybe that was the point.
Tomorrow, the world would wake up to something new.
Brooklyn and Whitewood.
Two names they never expected to see together again.
And this time, they wouldn't just be surviving the headlines.
They'd be writing them.