Page 34 of Bastian

Thylane and Marla were the most recent ones.

All these women signed NDAs, but they clearly didn’t pay attention to the fine print.

It was stated they were not to talk or mention my name in any public form, especially cooperate in stories to publish in the media, yet they did.

Thylane’s statement surprised me.

I thought she was smarter than the rest, but clearly, I was wrong because what I got from her interview, makes me look like a heartless bastard who left her for a younger girl.

I make note of contacting my lawyer to handle these women accordingly.

Then I read where she mentions Arianna and my blood becomes hotter. She has no right to talk about shit she knows nothing about.

Holding my composure, I carry on reading when I land on photos of that day. Photos of Arianna dressed in all white while the rain fell harshly around us. I close my eyes as shame washes over me, and I allow it because I deserve it.

Her face fuck.

Countless articles were written back then about what happened but this is the first time I read one of them. I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my mistake back then, but now I see for myself what she experienced. What I did to her. The image of Arianna looking so small and broken would shatter the nonexistent heart of Satan himself.

“Fuck,” I whisper, not caring that my men are sitting in front of me and might overhear.

I keep reading, and it feels like a blow to my heart. One of the many I deserve. This is my track record with women exposed for the whole world to read.

If she could live with what I did, then I can take this.

I can take all she’ll throw my way.

The article was written by Nessa Adams.

The girl from the last press conference.

Before I can give much thought, another message from Baron pops up.

Baron: Viola L. Conti. Washington Weekly CO.

The name.

I asked him to find me the name of the person in charge of Miss Adams and the newspaper she works for.

I let my mind loose to the countless possibilities and the many coincidences.

The journalist asked the same questions Arianna asked me the first night we met.

Men like you always win, yes?

Then I think about the other articles dirtying my name these past few weeks.

The haunt.

Trying to expose me to the public.

This is a mission, not most new media outlets would consider because it would be a suicide mission and pointless. Yes, this not-so-known newspaper is targeting the president of the United States.

A suicide mission indeed.

A vendetta.

War.

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