I wanted it to be over.
The last few weeks had been a slow-motion collapse. Every strategy my team rolled out—statements, “community outreach,” polished press releases—had failed. Not just failed. Backfired.
Every attempt to control the narrative only reinforced the public’s favorite storyline:
Enrico Ferrara is punishing a small town because a woman rejected him. Dreamland is revenge.
Two minutes to go, the production assistant said, smiling like we weren’t about to step into a public execution.
“We’re live in two minutes, Mr. Ferrara.”
I nodded once and adjusted my cuff—an unnecessary gesture meant to occupy my hands.
I knew the script. I’d rehearsed the answers until they tasted like cardboard. Calm. Professional. Visionary. Community-focused. No personal conflict. No scandal.
But the unease didn’t leave.
Because what was at stake wasn’t just my name.
It was Dreamland. Ferrara Corp. The board. And the international capital that didn’t forgive instability.
“Live in three… two…”
The anchor across from me smiled into the camera.
“Good evening. Tonight we’re joined by Enrico Ferrara, CEO of Ferrara Corp and the man behind the Dreamland project—now at the center of a growing controversy. Mr. Ferrara, thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for having me,” I replied, voice steady, expression neutral.
The anchor leaned forward slightly, shifting into that practiced tone—polite, but predatory.
“Mr. Ferrara, your company has promised jobs and investment for the region. But the public conversation has moved away from the project and toward your private life.” Hiseyes didn’t blink. “Is it true you have a personal history with the community leader opposing Dreamland—Valentina Muniz—and that you share a child?”
The question landed clean.
No softening. No room to dodge.
I took a controlled breath.
“I understand there’s been confusion,” I said, calm. “But there is no personal conflict between myself and Ms. Muniz. Dreamland is a professional initiative. It will generate employment, stimulate the local economy, and create sustainable opportunities for the region.”
The anchor’s eyebrow lifted, unimpressed.
“Then why is your name showing up in court alongside hers?” he asked. “Why was there a sealed hearing? And why are there reports—multiple reports—of a custody dispute?”
For a fraction of a second, my jaw tightened on reflex.
I corrected it immediately.
“Family matters involving my daughter are being handled privately, as they should be,” I said. “They are not tied to Dreamland.”
He tilted his head.
“But you understand how that sounds,” he pressed. “A CEO brings a billion-dollar project into a town where the main opposition leader is a woman he almost married—and the mother of his daughter. Then he appears in court. Then he says there’s no conflict.”
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t need to.
