We spend the next while going through his draft. He's kept it focused and sharp. Acknowledges the footage exists. Condemns the leak as another violation of privacy. Emphasizes that this is evidence in a federal criminal case that should never have been made public. Makes it clear that whoever leaked this footage is following Armand Deveraux's playbook of using illegal surveillance to damage her.
Simone approves it with minor edits. Henry sends it out within the hour.
By late that night, the story is everywhere. Every major news outlet is running coverage. Social media is exploding with commentary. Legal analysts are debating whether leaking evidence from a federal case crosses ethical or legal lines. Business reporters are speculating about the impact on LaCroix Petroleum. Conservative commentators are using the footage to moralize about leadership and judgment.
And underneath it all, the lifestyle angle. BDSM. Private clubs. Alternative sexuality. Every article manages to work insome reference to Fifty Shades, some attempt to explain kink to a mainstream audience, some barely veiled judgment about her choices.
Simone reads through the coverage methodically. Not flinching. Not reacting. Just cataloging the damage.
"We should get some sleep," I tell her late that night. "Tomorrow's going to be worse."
"How can it be worse than this?"
"Because tomorrow the vultures show up in person." I close her laptop. "Media camped outside your penthouse, outside the estate, outside LaCroix Petroleum headquarters. Reporters shoving microphones in your face every time you move. That's when it gets worse."
She doesn't argue. Just starts toward the stairs.
"Wrong way."
She stops, turns. "What?"
"You're sleeping in my bed." I stand, move toward her. "From now on."
"Luc—"
"Not negotiating." I scoop her up before she can finish the protest. She makes a startled sound but doesn't fight it. I carry her down the hall to the primary suite, push the door open with my shoulder, and dump her on my bed.
She lands with a small bounce, looks up at me. "Bossy."
"Yeah." I strip off my shirt, drop it on the floor. "Get used to it."
I follow a few minutes later after checking the security feeds one more time. The perimeter is clear. The estate security is handling the media presence on the public road. There are no immediate threats. Not yet.
By dawn, the vultures have returned.
The media vans line the public road outside the estate. There are satellite trucks, camera crews, reporters doing stand-upswith the Pascal mansion in the background. They can't breach the property line, but they don't need to. They just need to be visible, ready to capture any movement.
Simone's phone hasn't stopped ringing since dawn. I answer it once to tell the caller no comment and to contact Henry Castellanos. After that, I just let it ring.
"They're going to follow me everywhere," Simone says, staring out the window at the media presence. "Work, home, gym. Everywhere."
"Not everywhere. Just public spaces." I hand her coffee. "And we'll make sure you're not alone when they do."
Her phone buzzes with a text. She glances at it, then shows me the screen. Margot.
Need to talk. Dominion members concerned about background footage. Can you come by the club this morning?
Simone texts back:
On my way soon.
"Want me to drive you?" I ask.
"Yes. And I want you in the meeting with Margot. This affects your security protocols as much as it affects Dominion."
We take the armored SUV, one of my security team following in a second vehicle for additional coverage. The media presence thickens as we approach the Warehouse District. There are news vans parked near Dominion, reporters clearly staking out the club hoping for footage of members entering or leaving.
"They're going to make this impossible," Simone says quietly.
