Crushing the tabloid in his hand, Rhys felt a cold fury settle deep in his gut. The headline screamed, a venomous lie about his past, about Clara. His knuckles whitened, the paper crinkling into a ball. He had known Helena would retaliate, but this was a direct hit. A direct hit at Leo, at Clara, and at everything he had tried to protect. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, now burned with a dangerous fire. This was beyond business. This was personal. He would not stand for it. Quickly, he pulled out his phone. "Get me Elias Thorne," he barked into the receiver. "Now." Elias, Maxwell Global's head of legal, answered on the second ring, his voice already strained. He knew. Everyone knew. "Rhys, I'm already on it. The calls are relentless." "Shut it down, Elias," Rhys commanded, his voice a low growl. "Every single one. I want a full retraction, a public apology, and I want them to pay. Every penny." "We're preparing a statement, sir. Denying any truth to the rumors, emphasizing Leo's condition as unrelated to any 'secret family' drama." Rhys cut him off. "Not enough. I'm holding a press conference in two hours. Arrange it. I'll make the statement myself." Elias paused, then a sigh whistled through the line. "Understood, Rhys. We'll have everything ready." Hanging up, Rhys felt a tremor of pure, unadulterated rage. He wouldn't just deny. He would demolish. Walking into the hospital room, Clara looked up, her face pale, shadowed by worry. She held Leo's hand, her thumb stroking his small knuckles. A TV in the corner, muted, flashed images of their photo, the scandalous headlines scrolling beneath. "Rhys," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." Her eyes welled, her shoulders slumping. He crossed the room in three long strides, his presence a dark storm. Reaching out, he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Don't you dare," he said, his voice clipped, firm. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Clara." Her breath hitched, her gaze wide and trapped in his. "But if I hadn't come back, if I hadn't let you–" "No," he interrupted, his fingers tightening. "This isn't about you. This is about Helena. And it's about me. This is *my* mess to clean up." He released her, turning his attention to Leo, gently smoothing the hair from his forehead. Leo stirred, whimpering softly in his sleep. A protective instinct, fierce and primal, surged through Rhys. No one would hurt his son, not again. Not ever. Two hours later, the Maxwell Global conference room buzzed with a tense energy. Reporters jostled for position, cameras flashed, and microphones bristled like a metallic forest. Rhys walked to the podium, his expression unreadable, a stark contrast to the frantic energy around him. He didn't smile. He didn't offer pleasantries. He launched straight into it. "I am here today to address the malicious and defamatory rumors circulating in various tabloids and online publications." His voice was deep, resonant, cutting through the din. "Let me be unequivocally clear: the insinuations regarding a 'secret family' and 'rekindled romance' are baseless and utterly false." A murmur rippled through the crowd. Rhys ignored it, his gaze sweeping over the faces, daring anyone to challenge him. "The child pictured in these publications, Leo, is currently fighting for his life in hospital. His condition is critical, and these disgusting rumors serve only to exploit a vulnerable child and his grieving mother for cheap sensationalism." His words were a weapon, sharp and precise. "Maxwell Global takes the well-being of its employees and their families very seriously. We will pursue legal action against every single outlet that has published these lies. We will seek maximum damages for defamation, invasion of privacy, and the emotional distress inflicted upon an innocent child and his mother." He leaned into the microphone, his eyes blazing. "Let this be a warning. Anyone who continues to propagate these falsehoods will face the full force of Maxwell Global's legal team. We will not hesitate to protect what is ours." He concluded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "And we will not forgive." Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence that quickly erupted into a frenzy of hushed conversations. The message was clear. Unmistakable. The media firestorm, which had threatened to consume them, began to sputter. Editors, fearing the wrath of Maxwell Global's lawyers, scrambled to pull stories, issue retractions. Helena, watching the news from her luxurious penthouse, slammed her glass of champagne down, liquid sloshing over the rim. Her plan had backfired spectacularly. Rhys hadn't just denied; he had declared war. She knew his temper, but this was different. This was a raw, primal declaration. Later that evening, Clara sat beside Leo's hospital bed, a small lamp casting a soft glow. Rhys re-entered the room, the intensity from earlier still clinging to him like a second skin. He sat on the edge of the couch, watching her, his presence dominating the small space. "The storm is dying down," he stated, his voice calmer now, but still laced with steel. "They're retracting, apologizing." Clara looked at him, a complex mix of emotions swirling in her chest. Relief, yes, but also a profound unease. The ruthlessness he had shown, the sheer power he wielded, was both terrifying and undeniably captivating. "Thank you, Rhys," she said, her voice soft. "For Leo. For me." He pushed off the couch, moving to stand directly in front of her. His hands settled on the arms of her chair, caging her in, his gaze burning into hers. The air thickened, charged with an unspoken current. "You don't understand, do you?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly growl. "This wasn't just about protecting an employee, Clara." Her heart hammered against her ribs. She swallowed hard, searching his eyes, seeing a possessiveness she hadn't witnessed since before she left, raw and unapologetic. "This was about *mine*," he continued, his fingers flexing on the chair's arms. "My son. My–" He stopped, catching himself, but the implication hung heavy in the air. His eyes, dark and intense, held hers prisoner. "No one touches what's mine, Clara. Remember that."

Chapter 17: Rhys's Fury