The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 29

29 Rewriting the Story

Ryan’s POV

Ryan’s pulse was still hammering by the time he slid behind the wheel of his black sedan, slamming the door himself and yanking the engine to life. The car lurched into the city’s restless traffic, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

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The flashes of the reporters’ cameras hadn’t faded from his vision. Each burst of light had burned itself into his retinas, followed by the echo of Steven Reynolds’ voice: What did you do to my daughter, Ryan? Did you silence her to be free of her?

Murder.

That was what the world was going to believe.

Ryan’s grip tightened, tendons straining beneath his skin. He wanted to rip Steven apart. The man was cunning, playing his crocodile tears for the cameras, using public sympathy like a weapon. And the worst part was, people would buy it. They always did.

He forced his gaze back to the road, jaw clenching. He had already spoken to his lawyer earlier that day, already laid out the bones of his plan. He would pivot, turn the narrative from theft to disappearance, from accusation to plea. He would use the media Steven had unleashed against him to draw Eve out, to make her see his face and hear his words.

He had decided before this ambush that he would file a missing person report. Now it would not just be a report. It would be a spectacle. A press conference. A stage big enough to reach

her wherever she was.

Not yet, he thought fiercely. Not if I can turn this around.

When he strode into his office fifteen minutes later, Carter was already waiting, phone in hand, tie loosened, his brow slick with sweat. Two members of the Ashbrook PR team trailed behind him, faces pale, as if they’d just been told the company’s stock had crashed.

“Ryan,” Carter said without preamble, “we have a problem.”

Ryan laughed bitterly, tossing his blazer onto the back of the chair. “You don’t say.”

“Steven Reynolds staged the whole thing,” Carter said, his voice sharp, quick. “Reporters, cameras, it was a trap. He’s pushing the narrative that Eve didn’t leave you, didn’t steal a dime, but that you made her vanish. And now, instead of being painted as the victim of theft, you’re the suspect in her disappearance.”

The words landed like blows, but Ryan kept his face hard. “And what do you suggest?”

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One of the PR women stepped forward, her voice tentative. “Damage control, Mr. Ashbrook. You need to get ahead of this before it spirals. Right now, the public is eating up Steven’s performance. Headlines are already up. If we wait, this could take root. We need to reposition you, quickly.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Reposition me as what?”

Carter answered. “Not as the cold, scorned billionaire. As the grieving husband. The man whose wife ran away, who’s worried sick for her safety, who’s begging the public to help find her. We turn the theft narrative into a disappearance narrative. You don’t accuse. You don’t retaliate. You plead.”

Ryan stiffened. The thought of begging the world for Eve felt foreign, humiliating. But then, a darker thought followed.

If he positioned himself as the grieving husband, then she would see it. Wherever she was, she would see his face, hear his words. And maybe, just maybe, it would draw her back.

The plan sparked like fire in dry wood. It was exactly what he had told his lawyer he would do, but bigger, louder.

“Yes,” Ryan said, his voice hard but certain. “We’ll do it. A press conference. Today. By tonight, I want her face on every screen in this city again, but this time as missing, not wanted. Offer a reward, something obscene. Enough to shake people from their seats.”

The PR woman blinked. “How much are you thinking?”

“Five million,” Ryan said without hesitation. “Cash. To anyone who brings her to me alive and

safe.”

The room stilled. Carter’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly. “That will certainly make

waves,”

Ryan leaned forward, bracing his hands against the desk. “I don’t care what it costs. I want her found. I want her back.”

His voice cracked on the last word, but no one dared to comment.

The hours that followed blurred into a frenzy of activity.

Draft statements were written, edited, rewritten. Lines were rehearsed. Carter hovered at his side, coaching him on tone, expression, posture.

“You can’t look defensive,” Carter said, pacing the office. “No sharp edges. No coldness. You need warmth, grief, vulnerability. You need to look like a man in pain, not a CEO managing optics. The public will only believe it if you bleed a little.”

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Ryan almost scoffed; bleed was the one thing he had done since Eve left.

“I can do that,” he said quietly.

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The PR woman adjusted her glasses nervously. “And we suggest you emphasize that you don’t blame her. That you only want her safe. That you’ll forgive everything if she just comes

home.”

Ryan’s throat tightened. Forgive everything? There was nothing to forgive. She hadn’t stolen. She hadn’t betrayed him. She had only left, and even now, he couldn’t hate her for it.

“Yes,” he said, his voice heavy. “That’s exactly what I’ll say.”

As the sun dipped lower, the press conference was set. The atrium of Ashbrook Tower was transformed into a stage, rows of chairs for journalists, cameras stationed in every corner, the company banner looming behind the podium.

Reporters buzzed like hornets, their whispers slicing through the air: murder, theft, disappearance, scandal.

Ryan stood in the wings, his tie knotted, his hair slicked, his hands flexing at his sides. Carter murmured in his ear one last time.

“Remember, heartbroken husband. Plead, don’t posture. Vulnerability sells. And don’t mention Steven by name. He wants you rattled. Don’t give him that satisfaction.”

Ryan nodded once, his face a mask.

But inside, chaos raged.

He wasn’t doing this for the cameras. He wasn’t doing this for the shareholders, or even for his reputation. He was doing this for her. For Eve.

Wherever she was, whatever hell she had been pushed into, he needed her to see that he was reaching. That he was calling her back. That he wasn’t letting her go again.

It was a lie, in its way. Not the words themselves, but the framing. He didn’t just want her

safe. He wanted her here, With him.

The announcer’s voice rang out, silencing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, Ryan Ashbrook.”

The cameras flared to life. Reporters shifted in their seats, pens poised, microphones thrust

forward.

Ryan stepped out, the weight of every gaze pressing down on him. He approached the podium slowly, his jaw tight, his heart pounding.

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He looked at the cameras. At the sea of faces waiting to carve him open.

And then, with all the control he could summon, he let his mask slip just enough.

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