Page 45 of Tempting My Nemesis

I grip the windowsill until my knuckles turn white. Why does it hurt so much? I thought I was doing the right thing, but now… I’m not sure. I miss him. I miss us.

I turn away from the window and walk towards the kitchen, hoping that movement will chase away this gnawing ache. The notifications on my phone are relentless—emails, messages, news alerts—but one headline catches my eye:"Cyberattacks Targeting Major Tech Companies Continue."

I can’t help but wonder, is this Caleb’s doing? In the face of everything else I’ve discovered, I almost forgot what started the friction between us.

SilenceBreakers. Caleb said that it wasn’t what it looked like. If he was telling the truth about my father, was he telling the truth about that too? But if he won’t let me in, I guess I’ll never know.

For a moment, I let myself get distracted by work. Maybe if I dive into Archer Innovations with more fervor, I can numb this pain. But even as I scan through emails and updates about renewable energy projects, my mind drifts back to Caleb.

I slump into a chair at the kitchen table, resting my head in my hands. Every attempt to focus only sharpens the sense of loss. Caleb’s voice echoes in my mind—calm, controlled, with that undercurrent of vulnerability he rarely let show.

Why did he have to shut me out? We were starting to build something real. But then he built those walls higher than ever before.

The thought of him makes my heart twist painfully. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge between holding on and letting go. The tears I've been fighting finally spill over as I bite down on my lower lip..

"Why did it have to end like this?" My voice is barely a whisper in the empty room.

I try to push him out of my mind again by watering the plants that fill every corner of my apartment—a small piece of my father’s legacy that helps me stay grounded. But even this therapeutic routine does little to ease the turmoil inside me. Once my plants were a symbol of resilience and growth, but now it feels like they’ve been grown in poisoned soil.

The incessant buzz of my phone cuts through my concentration. I glance at the screen, my stomach dropping as I see it's my PR team calling. Something's wrong.

"Zoe, we've got a situation. There's been a leak. It's... it's bad."

My fingers tremble as I open the news articles they've sent. The headlines jump out at me, each one a dagger to my heart.

"Smoke and Mirrors: Archer Innovations' Success Tainted by Fraudulent Practices?"

"Archer Family's Legacy Built on Lies?"

I scan the articles, my breath catching in my throat. They're accusing my father of manipulating financial statements, inflating profits to attract investors. The implications are clear—they think I might have continued these practices.

"This can't be happening," I whisper, gripping the edge of my desk.

But it gets worse. Another notification pings, and I click it with shaking hands. My blood runs cold as I see the leaked document—the fake dating contract between Caleb and me.

"Billionaire Romance: A Calculated Business Move?"

The article is a vicious attack on my character, painting me as a desperate and manipulative woman willing to do anything to save her failing company. It claims I agreed to fake-date Caleb solely to improve my chances with investors, using my body as a tool for financial gain. The words sting like acid:

"Sources close to the couple reveal that Zoe Archer, desperate to save her crumbling empire, resorted to selling herself as arm candy to billionaire Caleb Steele. Like father, like daughter - it seems the Archers have a penchant for using illegitimate means to secure funding. But while her father cooked the books, Ms. Archer has taken it a step further, using her feminine wiles to seduce investors and save face."

Tears blur my vision as I read on, each word a dagger to my heart. The article speculates about how far I might have gone to secure Caleb's support, insinuating that our relationship wasnothing more than a transaction. It questions my integrity, my capabilities as a businesswoman, and even my self-respect.

The room spins. I struggle to breathe, the walls of my apartment closing in around me. Everything we've worked for, everything my father built—for better or worse—it's all crumbling before my eyes.

In a daze, I call an emergency meeting with my team. Their faces are grim as they file into the conference room. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before addressing them.

"I know you've all seen the news," I begin, my voice trembling slightly. "I want to assure you that these accusations are false. The contract with Caleb Steele was a strategic business decision, not... not what they're implying."

I scan the faces around the table, searching for signs of doubt or judgment. Instead, I see concern and support in their eyes. Laura, our HR manager, speaks up first.

"Zoe, we've worked with you for years. We know your character. Whatever this is, we're behind you."

A wave of emotion washes over me as others nod in agreement. Their trust in me is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the vicious attacks in the media.

"Thank you," I manage, blinking back tears. "We need to fight this. Our reputation, everything we've built, is at stake. I need your help and patience as we work to clear our name."

The room fills with determined murmurs of agreement. As we begin to strategize, I feel a glimmer of hope. We might be under attack, but we're not defeated.

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