Chapter 4 - The Viral TrapNora woke up the next morning to the relentless, high-pitched buzzing of her phone on the nightstand.
Groaning, she rolled over, tangled herself in the duvet sheets of the guest suite bed, and swiped blindly at the screen.
It was her phone. And it was exploding.
Notifications were cascading down the screen in a waterfall of red dots: Instagram tags, WhatsApp group messages, missed calls from her mother, and a dozen texts from Claire.
“NORA BENNETT! EXPLAIN THIS IMMEDIATELY!” followed by three laughing-crying emojis and a link to a local Manhattan gossip blog.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Nora tapped the link.
The page loaded to reveal a grainy, high-contrast photograph taken from across the dimly lit dining room of the West Village bistro. In the photo, the candle was casting a golden glow over their faces. Adrian’s hand was clasped firmly around Nora’s, their fingers intertwined across the table, while they looked at each other with an intensity that could melt steel.
The headline blazed in bold, aggressive letters: REUNION IN TRIBECA? Real Estate Tycoon Adrian Whitmore Spotted Locking Hands with Sister’s Wedding Planner! Are Old Flames Rekindling?
“Oh, God,” Nora breathed, throwing the duvet off and bolting upright.
Before she could even process the PR nightmare unfolding across New York social media, her bedroom door swung open without a knock.
Adrian stood in the doorway, fully dressed in a black pullover and dark jeans, holding a tablet in one hand and his phone in the other. His expression was a dark, thunderous storm.
“Did you see it?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“Every single notification on my phone is screaming at me, Adrian. Yes, I saw it.” Nora leaped out of bed, still wearing her oversized cotton sleep shirt. “Who takes a picture of people having dinner in a private corner booth? Who does that?”
“Someone tipped them off,” Adrian said, striding into the room and tossing the tablet onto the bed. The screen displayed the full article, complete with a timeline of their past connections dug up by some ruthless investigative blogger. “And I’ll give you three guesses who.”
Nora stared at him, her mind racing. “Claire.”
“Claire,” Adrian confirmed, his jaw tightening into a hard line. “She’s orchestrating this entire thing. She wants us back together so badly she’s turning our private lives into public tabloid fodder.”
“This isn't a joke, Adrian!” Nora threw her hands up, pacing across the hardwood floor. “I’m trying to run a professional wedding coordination business. Your company is bidding on major municipal development projects right now! What do your investors think when they see you splashed across gossip columns with your sister’s wedding planner?”
Adrian crossed the room in two long strides, grabbing her by the shoulders and stopping her frantic pacing. His hands were firm, warm, and utterly grounding.
“Look at me, Nora.”
May you like
She looked up, breathless.
“I don’t give a damn about what my investors think about my personal life,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a fierce, steady register. “And neither should you. But if Claire wants a show... maybe we should give her something real to talk about.”
