The Ex Who Became His Obsession - Chapter 29: Chapter 29
You are reading The Ex Who Became His Obsession, Chapter 29: Chapter 29. Read more chapters of The Ex Who Became His Obsession.
Alyssia finally understood the old saying "The squeaky wheel gets the grease".
If she'd known sooner, she wouldn't have wasted years pretending to be a good girl. She could've thrown tantrums, stirred up drama every other day—cried, threatened to leave, made a mess of the Rivera household—just to earn a chance to see him more often.
She thought bitterly, 'He hates me either way. Whether I behaved or not, I never got a kind word from him. I tiptoed around him for years, and what did that ever get me?'
But understanding that truth now was too late. She couldn't use it anymore.
Alyssia stared at the black window of the Maybach across the street. It shut her out completely, just like Leonard always had. She had never been able to see through those cold eyes of his, never been allowed inside his world.
However, the Clairmonts didn't believe in turning back. That kind of pride in their bones shaped the tragic silence of thirteen years ago.
Alyssia thought, 'I'll never learn from that lesson. Loving Leonard is the only thing I gave up halfway through. Once is enough. I'm already 23. There's no space left in my life for mistakes like this again.'
While Joseph prayed silently that she might give in, Alyssia had already turned and walked past him without a word. She continued down the sidewalk in quick, steady strides.
"Ms.—" Joseph called after her, but didn't dare reach out again because he saw the Maybach across the road suddenly move.
It pulled forward, made a sharp turn, and cut across the street at an angle, coming to a stop right beside Alyssia.
"Get in the car," ordered Leonard, his voice loud and clear.
Her lashes fluttered, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to glance at him. This time, she wouldn't give him a single glance.
"Block her," Leonard said to the driver.
With a sudden hiss of tires, the car veered onto the sidewalk, cutting Alyssia off completely. It loomed in front of her like a wall.
The door swung open halfway. Leonard repeated, "Get in"
Now, Alyssia had no choice but to look at him. She saw his sharp, angular profile, chiseled like it had been carved in stone. His skin was pale, his lips faint in color.
To Alyssia's disappointment, he still didn't look at her. He was still the same old Leonard—cold, arrogant, and untouchable.
"If there's something you want to say, Mr. Rivera, then say it here," she said evenly, knowing she couldn't leave anymore.
She turned to face him, her expression calm.
"Resign from Vanguard Media. Retract the article. Apologize." Leonard turned his face toward her fully. He looked tired, but no less stunning than always. "Apologize to Milena."
Alyssia bit down on her lip, thinking, 'So that's why he's come looking for me again and again. It's all for Milena. He just wants to protect her from the gossip, from being labeled the 'other woman' when this lawsuit goes public.
'I was stupid enough to think I'd finally figured out how to get his attention.'
But then, she smiled, "I thought Rocco has explained things clearly enough to you."
She said firmly, "I can resign, but retract the article? Not a chance."
She thought, 'At least, not unless Vanguard Media itself decided to retract it. If Leonard thinks I'll do it, he's dreaming.'
As for his request to apologize to Milena, Alyssia spoke up, "Also, I'll never apologize to Milena. You know better than anyone, Mr. Rivera, whether or not I fabricated anything."
Leonard turned his head back, and Alyssia saw clearly that he clenched his jaw.
He said through gritted teeth, "Alyssia, I'm giving you one last chance."
Alyssia snapped, "You've never given me any chances, so don't pretend like you've been generous."
There was a flicker in Leonard's eyes—frost spreading outward like ice on glass.
But Alyssia was already bowing her head slightly, her tone formal and distant. "I have somewhere to go. I'm sure you're incredibly busy as well. I bet you don't wanna waste more time with me."
She turned sharply and walked away, cutting through a side street that allowed no U-turns.
To her relief, Leonard didn't follow. Maybe there was no legal way to drive that direction, or maybe he didn't see the point anymore. The negotiation had failed. There was nothing left to chase.
Alyssia finally exhaled a sigh of relief. She had too much on her plate right now. Everything was urgent, and everything demanded her focus. She didn't have the luxury of being distracted.
She now understood a little of how Leonard must've felt back then.
She thought bitterly, 'I was too idle and empty back then. So I poured everything I had—all my love and attention—into a man. The tragedy was, I offered everything, yet it only made him feel cheap about me.'
The in-depth interview with Archer was scheduled for three days later.
Coincidentally, he would be flying to Elmbrook for a commercial shoot, and his team carved out a rare three-hour window just for Alyssia.
When her colleagues caught wind of it, they looked at her with noticeably cooler eyes.
Ever since Archer became popular, he'd earned a reputation as a tireless workhorse—his schedule packed to the minute. He had impeccable style, striking looks, impressive professionalism, and a drive that left most in the dust.
He was constantly hopping from city to city, running on little more than transit time to rest.
To be granted three whole hours? In the eyes of Alyssia's colleagues, there could only be one explanation: someone powerful pulled strings for her.
Someone whispered, "Charlie really spoils her so much."
"Sure, he spoils her. But that's not always a good thing. If she can't handle the kind of access he's giving her, she's not the only one who's going to look bad," another girl scoffed.
Another one added, "She's out of her depth. Let's just wait and see."
Alyssia heard the whispers behind her back, yet she didn't bother responding.
After thirteen years around Leonard, no more cruel words could hurt her.
Since someone she'd once treasured that deeply couldn't destroy her with insults and contempt, why would she lose sleep over what a few passersby thought?
When Alyssia arrived at the hotel where Archer was staying, he had just wrapped up his previous shoot. His assistant asked her to wait about thirty minutes before giving her the green light to go upstairs.
Just before entering, Archer's manager, flanked by an assistant, carefully inspected Alyssia's credentials. Then, he held out a clear plastic ziplock bag. "Ms. Clairmont, please place all electronic devices, like your phone and recorder, into this bag."
Alyssia was caught off guard, thinking, 'Who even does interviews without a recorder?'
She said, "You didn't mention that earlier."
Archer wasn't some highly sensitive political figure. He previously declined interviews citing a lack of time, not diva behavior.
The manager explained with a smile, "That's on us. We should've communicated it earlier. To be honest, Archer has a bit of social anxiety. Seeing microphones or recorders tends to make him nervous. He's afraid of saying the wrong thing and getting misinterpreted."
He didn't seem to lie. Alyssia watched a few of Archer's interviews and variety show appearances. He didn't talk much and visibly tensed up when it was his turn to speak.
His fans even praised him for it—called him an honest, down-to-earth guy.
"That's fine," Alyssia replied. "I'll take notes by hand." She slipped both her phone and recorder into the bag without protest.
The manager handed it back to her and said, "You can just leave it to the side. We don't keep them."
When Alyssia was finally about to step inside, the assistant scanned her body for hidden electronics with a detection device.
"Sorry about this. You know, Archer's gotten so popular. We have to be cautious. Hope you don't mind," the assistant said sweetly.
Alyssia nodded without protest. Archer's fame had clearly upset some powerful interests, and a bit of extra caution was understandable.
Following the assistant's lead, she made her way into the presidential suite, then down a hallway into a smaller sitting room inside one of the adjoining chambers.
The assistant poured her a glass of water, asked her to wait, and stepped back with a polite smile.
Alyssia pulled out her pen and notebook. The lack of a recorder was inconvenient, but thankfully, her shorthand was still sharp.
It was a good thing that Archer wasn't talkative, and it would make note-taking easier.
Three hours was enough for the interview. She'd steer the conversation, and that was her strength.
Soon, the room fell into a heavy silence. Only the soft scratch of her pen against paper broke the quiet air, along with the distant sound of running water somewhere deeper in the suite.
Minutes ticked by. Alyssia reviewed her interview outline again. However, Archer hadn't appeared.
It was another sunny day. Sunlight poured in through the large windows. Inside, the temperature started to rise.
The sealed windows turned the room into a kind of glass jar, left to slowly bake in the sun.
Alyssia waved a hand lightly in front of her face, then looked up at the AC vent on the ceiling.
A few seconds later, she lifted her hand, feeling around near the vent. She could feel that cold air was blowing, yet she still felt hot.
She turned her head and said, "Excuse me, could we adjust the tempera—"
Somehow, the sitting room was now empty. The door was shut, and Archer's assistant was nowhere in sight.
A slow, creeping tension started to wind tighter and tighter inside Alyssia's mind.
She rose from the sofa and walked over to the wall-mounted control panel, which showed 73°F. It wasn't exactly chilly but a temperature that should've felt comfortable. And yet, it was stiflingly hot in the room.
Alyssia thought to herself, 'Either the AC is broken, or there's something wrong with me right now.'
Suddenly, a man's voice came right behind her without warning. "What are you looking at?"
Alyssia's mind snapped to full alert.
If she'd known sooner, she wouldn't have wasted years pretending to be a good girl. She could've thrown tantrums, stirred up drama every other day—cried, threatened to leave, made a mess of the Rivera household—just to earn a chance to see him more often.
She thought bitterly, 'He hates me either way. Whether I behaved or not, I never got a kind word from him. I tiptoed around him for years, and what did that ever get me?'
But understanding that truth now was too late. She couldn't use it anymore.
Alyssia stared at the black window of the Maybach across the street. It shut her out completely, just like Leonard always had. She had never been able to see through those cold eyes of his, never been allowed inside his world.
However, the Clairmonts didn't believe in turning back. That kind of pride in their bones shaped the tragic silence of thirteen years ago.
Alyssia thought, 'I'll never learn from that lesson. Loving Leonard is the only thing I gave up halfway through. Once is enough. I'm already 23. There's no space left in my life for mistakes like this again.'
While Joseph prayed silently that she might give in, Alyssia had already turned and walked past him without a word. She continued down the sidewalk in quick, steady strides.
"Ms.—" Joseph called after her, but didn't dare reach out again because he saw the Maybach across the road suddenly move.
It pulled forward, made a sharp turn, and cut across the street at an angle, coming to a stop right beside Alyssia.
"Get in the car," ordered Leonard, his voice loud and clear.
Her lashes fluttered, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to glance at him. This time, she wouldn't give him a single glance.
"Block her," Leonard said to the driver.
With a sudden hiss of tires, the car veered onto the sidewalk, cutting Alyssia off completely. It loomed in front of her like a wall.
The door swung open halfway. Leonard repeated, "Get in"
Now, Alyssia had no choice but to look at him. She saw his sharp, angular profile, chiseled like it had been carved in stone. His skin was pale, his lips faint in color.
To Alyssia's disappointment, he still didn't look at her. He was still the same old Leonard—cold, arrogant, and untouchable.
"If there's something you want to say, Mr. Rivera, then say it here," she said evenly, knowing she couldn't leave anymore.
She turned to face him, her expression calm.
"Resign from Vanguard Media. Retract the article. Apologize." Leonard turned his face toward her fully. He looked tired, but no less stunning than always. "Apologize to Milena."
Alyssia bit down on her lip, thinking, 'So that's why he's come looking for me again and again. It's all for Milena. He just wants to protect her from the gossip, from being labeled the 'other woman' when this lawsuit goes public.
'I was stupid enough to think I'd finally figured out how to get his attention.'
But then, she smiled, "I thought Rocco has explained things clearly enough to you."
She said firmly, "I can resign, but retract the article? Not a chance."
She thought, 'At least, not unless Vanguard Media itself decided to retract it. If Leonard thinks I'll do it, he's dreaming.'
As for his request to apologize to Milena, Alyssia spoke up, "Also, I'll never apologize to Milena. You know better than anyone, Mr. Rivera, whether or not I fabricated anything."
Leonard turned his head back, and Alyssia saw clearly that he clenched his jaw.
He said through gritted teeth, "Alyssia, I'm giving you one last chance."
Alyssia snapped, "You've never given me any chances, so don't pretend like you've been generous."
There was a flicker in Leonard's eyes—frost spreading outward like ice on glass.
But Alyssia was already bowing her head slightly, her tone formal and distant. "I have somewhere to go. I'm sure you're incredibly busy as well. I bet you don't wanna waste more time with me."
She turned sharply and walked away, cutting through a side street that allowed no U-turns.
To her relief, Leonard didn't follow. Maybe there was no legal way to drive that direction, or maybe he didn't see the point anymore. The negotiation had failed. There was nothing left to chase.
Alyssia finally exhaled a sigh of relief. She had too much on her plate right now. Everything was urgent, and everything demanded her focus. She didn't have the luxury of being distracted.
She now understood a little of how Leonard must've felt back then.
She thought bitterly, 'I was too idle and empty back then. So I poured everything I had—all my love and attention—into a man. The tragedy was, I offered everything, yet it only made him feel cheap about me.'
The in-depth interview with Archer was scheduled for three days later.
Coincidentally, he would be flying to Elmbrook for a commercial shoot, and his team carved out a rare three-hour window just for Alyssia.
When her colleagues caught wind of it, they looked at her with noticeably cooler eyes.
Ever since Archer became popular, he'd earned a reputation as a tireless workhorse—his schedule packed to the minute. He had impeccable style, striking looks, impressive professionalism, and a drive that left most in the dust.
He was constantly hopping from city to city, running on little more than transit time to rest.
To be granted three whole hours? In the eyes of Alyssia's colleagues, there could only be one explanation: someone powerful pulled strings for her.
Someone whispered, "Charlie really spoils her so much."
"Sure, he spoils her. But that's not always a good thing. If she can't handle the kind of access he's giving her, she's not the only one who's going to look bad," another girl scoffed.
Another one added, "She's out of her depth. Let's just wait and see."
Alyssia heard the whispers behind her back, yet she didn't bother responding.
After thirteen years around Leonard, no more cruel words could hurt her.
Since someone she'd once treasured that deeply couldn't destroy her with insults and contempt, why would she lose sleep over what a few passersby thought?
When Alyssia arrived at the hotel where Archer was staying, he had just wrapped up his previous shoot. His assistant asked her to wait about thirty minutes before giving her the green light to go upstairs.
Just before entering, Archer's manager, flanked by an assistant, carefully inspected Alyssia's credentials. Then, he held out a clear plastic ziplock bag. "Ms. Clairmont, please place all electronic devices, like your phone and recorder, into this bag."
Alyssia was caught off guard, thinking, 'Who even does interviews without a recorder?'
She said, "You didn't mention that earlier."
Archer wasn't some highly sensitive political figure. He previously declined interviews citing a lack of time, not diva behavior.
The manager explained with a smile, "That's on us. We should've communicated it earlier. To be honest, Archer has a bit of social anxiety. Seeing microphones or recorders tends to make him nervous. He's afraid of saying the wrong thing and getting misinterpreted."
He didn't seem to lie. Alyssia watched a few of Archer's interviews and variety show appearances. He didn't talk much and visibly tensed up when it was his turn to speak.
His fans even praised him for it—called him an honest, down-to-earth guy.
"That's fine," Alyssia replied. "I'll take notes by hand." She slipped both her phone and recorder into the bag without protest.
The manager handed it back to her and said, "You can just leave it to the side. We don't keep them."
When Alyssia was finally about to step inside, the assistant scanned her body for hidden electronics with a detection device.
"Sorry about this. You know, Archer's gotten so popular. We have to be cautious. Hope you don't mind," the assistant said sweetly.
Alyssia nodded without protest. Archer's fame had clearly upset some powerful interests, and a bit of extra caution was understandable.
Following the assistant's lead, she made her way into the presidential suite, then down a hallway into a smaller sitting room inside one of the adjoining chambers.
The assistant poured her a glass of water, asked her to wait, and stepped back with a polite smile.
Alyssia pulled out her pen and notebook. The lack of a recorder was inconvenient, but thankfully, her shorthand was still sharp.
It was a good thing that Archer wasn't talkative, and it would make note-taking easier.
Three hours was enough for the interview. She'd steer the conversation, and that was her strength.
Soon, the room fell into a heavy silence. Only the soft scratch of her pen against paper broke the quiet air, along with the distant sound of running water somewhere deeper in the suite.
Minutes ticked by. Alyssia reviewed her interview outline again. However, Archer hadn't appeared.
It was another sunny day. Sunlight poured in through the large windows. Inside, the temperature started to rise.
The sealed windows turned the room into a kind of glass jar, left to slowly bake in the sun.
Alyssia waved a hand lightly in front of her face, then looked up at the AC vent on the ceiling.
A few seconds later, she lifted her hand, feeling around near the vent. She could feel that cold air was blowing, yet she still felt hot.
She turned her head and said, "Excuse me, could we adjust the tempera—"
Somehow, the sitting room was now empty. The door was shut, and Archer's assistant was nowhere in sight.
A slow, creeping tension started to wind tighter and tighter inside Alyssia's mind.
She rose from the sofa and walked over to the wall-mounted control panel, which showed 73°F. It wasn't exactly chilly but a temperature that should've felt comfortable. And yet, it was stiflingly hot in the room.
Alyssia thought to herself, 'Either the AC is broken, or there's something wrong with me right now.'
Suddenly, a man's voice came right behind her without warning. "What are you looking at?"
Alyssia's mind snapped to full alert.
End of The Ex Who Became His Obsession Chapter 29. Continue reading Chapter 30 or return to The Ex Who Became His Obsession book page.