Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 26: Chapter 26

The world watched.
News channels across continents flashed Amara Cole’s name, accompanied by clips of the leaked exposé. The world now knew of Wolfe. Of Project Lynx. Of the manipulation that had quietly steered politics, media, and minds for years.
The Cole Foundation’s servers nearly crashed from the surge in traffic. Global citizens, journalists, whistleblowers, and frightened government insiders all reached out at once.
But inside the Lisbon safehouse, Amara was still.
She stared out the window as rain painted the city gray.
Her reflection was tired.
Her soul even more so.
Dominic walked in, holding two mugs of coffee. He handed her one without a word.
“Sleep?” he asked.
“No.”
He didn’t ask why. He knew.
The aftermath of Wolfe’s fall wasn’t peace—it was chaos.
Governments scrambled. Multinational corporations fired board members. Investors panicked. Some media outlets tried to twist the narrative.
But the people? They believed Amara.
Her calm, steady voice. Her detailed evidence. Her lack of agenda.
A global protest wave surged within days. People demanded oversight. Truth. Change.
And amidst it all, the Cole Foundation was no longer a quiet rebel outfit—it was a global institution.
Amara stood before a UN hearing in Geneva two weeks later, flanked by Dominic, Tamara, and Nolan.
The panel was a mix of icy skepticism and burning curiosity.
“You expect us to believe this wasn’t orchestrated for political gain?” one diplomat asked.
Amara’s voice didn’t waver. “I expect you to believe in facts. Not me. Look at the evidence. Decide for yourselves.”
Another leaned forward. “What do you want from us, Ms. Cole?”
“Nothing,” she said simply. “But I think your people want something from you—accountability.”
Her words echoed.
By the end of the session, several countries pledged to investigate local companies linked to Project Lynx. It was a start.
Back at the Foundation headquarters, Amara turned her attention inward.
“We’ve taken down Wolfe, but there’s a hole,” she said during a team meeting. “Lynx didn’t exist in a vacuum. There were beneficiaries. We need to follow the money.”
Nolan agreed. “And we need to protect our whistleblowers better. No more plane disappearances. No more bombings.”
Tamara nodded. “We should set up a mobile security arm. Something anonymous but powerful. A shield.”
Dominic looked at Amara. “You’re building a new world, Amara. Are you ready for that?”
She held his gaze. “No. But I’m doing it anyway.”
Three days later, she received a private message.
Untraceable.
A single sentence:
“Wolfe was just a branch. The root still lives.”
Attached: A blurred photograph of an elderly man in a silk suit, stepping out of a private jet. The name below sent a chill through Amara.
Darian Myles.
A name she knew well.
Because he was once listed as a silent investor in Hart Enterprises. Before Dominic took over.
Amara showed Dominic the photo.
He stared at it, lips tight.
“My father once mentioned Myles. Said he backed early AI surveillance tech. But I thought he died in a plane crash.”
“He didn’t,” Amara whispered. “He disappeared. Like Wolfe. Only he went higher, deeper.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “If he’s alive, he’s the one who taught Wolfe.”
Nolan entered with new intel. “That message didn’t come from the web. It was embedded in our main server. Someone inside sent it.”
“Leak?” Tamara asked.
“Possibly. Or a ghost. Someone playing both sides.”
Amara stood. “Then let’s find them.”
The team split into sectors. Nolan dug into server access logs. Tamara traced the source of the embedded message. Gideon—recovered now—examined the photograph’s metadata.
What they found unraveled everything they thought they knew.
The photograph was recent. Taken five days ago in Macau.
And the private jet? Registered to a subsidiary of a luxury real estate brand co-owned by a dummy corporation once linked to Hart Enterprises under Victor.
Dominic exhaled slowly. “It’s all connected. This is older than us.”
“But it’s also beatable,” Amara said. “Because it’s greedy. And greed leaves fingerprints.”
As night fell, the safehouse buzzed with activity.
Then, another breach.
The lights flickered. Gideon’s console froze. Nolan’s laptop shut down. Backup servers went offline.
Tamara shouted, “We’re being hacked!”
Dominic bolted to the server room. “Kill the main feed! Go manual!”
Amara stayed in the war room. Her screen glitched—then displayed a symbol.
An ouroboros. A serpent eating its tail.
A voice crackled through the speakers.
Deep. Calm. Male.
“You killed the branch. But the root feeds nations.”
Then silence.
The screens went black.
For the first time, Amara felt fear creep under her skin. This was no longer about one villain. No longer about one project.
It was a system. A legacy.
But she didn’t freeze.
She stood.
“Back up what we have. Pull the plug. We go dark until we can isolate the threat.”
Nolan activated hard drives.
Tamara made secure duplicates.
Dominic turned to her. “They’re coming for us harder this time.”
“I know.”
He reached for her hand. “You don’t have to keep being the face of this.”
She looked at him. “Yes, I do.”
By dawn, the Cole Foundation announced a digital migration.
“All public channels will go offline for restructuring,” the press release read. “We are not vanishing. We are evolving.”
Behind the scenes, Amara planned something bigger.
A network of invisible nodes. People, not platforms.
No single point of failure.
A movement that didn’t depend on her.
Because she’d learned something chilling: if you become the face of the revolution, they will always try to erase the face.
T
hat night, as they watched the sun rise over the Tagus River, Dominic asked, “What’s next?”
Amara took a deep breath.
“We build in the dark.”
She looked at him.
“And we let truth be the light.”