No flowers for the dead - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

The fallout from the press conference was immediate.
Some outlets spun it as a final act of desperation.
Others called it genius.
But the ones that mattered—the ones with teeth and reach—called it what it really was:
A declaration of war.
For the first time, Elias Vale wasn’t just the reclusive heir with too much power and too many enemies.
He was a man in love.
And no one knew how to fight that.
⸻
Behind the scenes, Matteo scrambled.
He’d banked on Elias self-destructing. Banked on Alina leaving, or Elias caving.
But now they were a unit.
Now they were public.
Now they were untouchable in a way no asset, no bank account, no blackmail ever could be.
Still, power didn’t slip quietly.
Matteo doubled down.
Bribed politicians. Called in favors. Set up a trap.
One final blow.
⸻
Three nights later, Elias and Alina were invited to a gala—a peace gesture, allegedly, thrown by one of the oldest Vale investors.
Alina hesitated. “It feels too convenient.”
Elias agreed.
But they went anyway.
Not because they trusted it.
But because they were done hiding.
⸻
The event was held at a glass museum on the river’s edge, the skyline glittering in every direction.
Elias arrived in a midnight-black suit.
Alina, in a backless silk gown, red as a warning flare.
They looked like a curse and a promise walking hand in hand.
People whispered. Watched.
Some smiled too politely.
Some stared too long.
But Elias kept his hand at her back.
And Alina never flinched.
Until she saw him—Matteo—across the room, smirking like the devil in disguise.
⸻
It happened fast.
The lights flickered once.
Then again.
Then out completely.
In the dark, someone screamed.
Glass shattered.
Security shouted something unintelligible.
A body dropped.
Alina felt the crowd swell around her—and then hands, grabbing her.
Elias wasn’t beside her anymore.
She fought. Clawed. Bit down on a wrist that smelled of expensive soap and gunpowder.
And then—
Bang.
One shot.
Just one.
Silence crashed over the room like a wave.
When the lights came back, Elias stood at the center of the chaos.
Blood on his cuff.
Gun still warm in his hand.
A man on the floor.
Dead.
And in the hush that followed, Elias turned his head, found Alina through the blur—and said only one thing:
“Don’t. Let. Go.”
⸻
Police arrived.
So did headlines.
Elias was arrested.
But not charged.
The footage proved it was self-defense.
The man had drawn first.
A setup.
A failed hit.
But the damage was done.
Not to Elias.
To the board.
To Matteo.
The public turned.
And when the empire cracked?
The world saw who really bled.
⸻
Alina didn’t leave the penthouse once during Elias’s 48-hour hold.
She sat with his coat over her shoulders.
She took calls from lawyers, security, even foreign investors.
And when he finally walked through the door again, rumpled and tired, she said nothing.
Just rose from the couch, walked to him, and pressed her forehead to his chest.
He held her like a man who knew what it meant to almost lose everything.
⸻
And when dawn came, he whispered against her hair:
“They know now. We’re not going anywhere.”