Page 9 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

WREN

T he air is thick with tension the next afternoon as I stare down at my legal team, their faces arranged in varying expressions of concern. The table between us feels like an ocean. Legal pads, coffee cups, and printouts of hateful social media posts are scattered across the surface.

“We have two options,” Peter Wells, our head counsel says, flipping through a thick stack of papers. “We sue Camille and Marlowe for defamation. Or we wait it out.”

“Waiting is killing us,” Ava snaps, pushing her hair away from her face. Her laptop screen glows bright. “Every hour, there is a new headline. New hate posts. People believe this lie.”

I massage my temples.

“Let me get this straight. Half of you think we should sue, and the other half think we should let it blow over?”

Peter taps his pen against his legal pad. “Litigation has risks. The discovery could be messy.”

“Messy how?” My voice rises. “We have nothing to hide.”

“It's not about hiding,” Jessica chimes in. “It's about public perception. These cases drag on for months, sometimes years.”

“And in the meantime,” Peter adds, “the narrative becomes 'big company bullies small creator.' Even if we win in court, we could lose in the court of public opinion.”

I glance at the social media reports. Our mentions are a dumpster fire. Sales are slipping. Retail partners are getting nervous.

“So we just... take it? Let Marlowe and her puppet trash everything I've built?”

Silence.

“So all of you are telling me now that even after knowing that Marlowe Skye is behind this, we still have to wait with folded arms and watch Lemon LLC continue to suffer from these accusations?”

Peter sighs. “We’re not waiting with folded arms. We’re gathering evidence. After your impromptu visit, she might want to cover her trail.”

“Isn’t that why we should make this whole truth as public as they made the lie?”

Bailey shakes her head. “It might just seem like we’re lashing out against her without proper evidence.”

Jessica nods. “Pat is right. If we’re not careful this might force the public and media to support Marlowe even more and cause further damage to Lemon.”

“I understand that everyone’s upset but this is a delicate situation. Now that we know Marlowe’s an instigator, a major part of the puzzle has been solved. We have to tread carefully lest our evidence becomes useless before we can even use them. No matter how true they are.”

I lean back in my chair. My head throbs behind my eyes.

Talia, who's been quiet, speaks up. “We should delay the launch.”

“What?” I turn to face her.

“The Lemon Luminance serum. Push it back six months. Let this blow over first.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “No way. Why’s this still being brought up when I’ve made my stance clear on that? I’m disappointed it’s coming from you. The answer is no.”

“The market climate?—”

“Is why we can't delay. Good lord, you said it yourself, Talia. We need a win. A big one. If this product hits the way we know it will, investors will forget all about this garbage. We can fund our next phase projects.”

“And if it flops because of bad press?” Talia's eyes are sympathetic but firm.

“It won't.” I stand up, smoothing my skirt. “The formula is brilliant. The clinical results are better than anything on the market. We stick to the plan.”

The room falls silent. No one argues after that but I can feel their doubt like a physical pressure against my skin.

I sigh, looking into and holding each of their gaze.

“I need you all to trust me and trust in our work. This is the first scandal Lemon is facing and if we crumble now, how do expect to scale through whatever tribulations we may face down the road?”

Ava nods. “We trust you, Wren. We’re all in this together. If Lemon gets through this, I don’t think there’s anything in life that could shake me.”

A smile tugs at Talia’s lips. “Now, let’s not test the universe. I know someone who said the same and is dealing with a lot of crap at the moment.”

Everyone chuckles.

After a moment, I say, “Thank you all for your input. I'll take it under advisement.”

It's my way of ending the meeting without committing to anything they've suggested. As everyone files out, Talia lingers.

“You know I'm just trying to protect the brand.”

“I know. But sometimes protection means standing your ground.”

She sighs, gathering her notes. “I'll support whatever you decide. Just... be careful, okay?”

After she leaves, I collapse back into my chair, exhaustion washing over me in waves.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I allow myself to consider the possibility of failure.

What if I'm wrong? What if I can't fix this?

What if they're all right about postponing the new product launch? What if I fail and Lemon LLC crumbles?

My chest tightens and my eyes become blurry with tears. I blink them back. I will not cry over this. Crying is accepting the possibility of failure. I will not fail.

My phone buzzes. It's Sean, waiting downstairs.

The drive home is quiet. Rain patters against the windshield, creating a cocoon of white noise that feels peaceful after the tension of the day. Sean keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

His presence beside me feels both comforting and distant. I pick at my nails, feeling the pressure of the day build in my chest once again.

“Your meeting run late?”

“Yeah. Legal team. They're divided on how to handle the Camille/Marlowe situation.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don't know. I’m not sure anymore.” I stare out the window, taking little note of the blurring city lights as we drive past. “But I'm not delaying the launch. That much I know.”

He nods, not pushing further. It's one of the things I've come to appreciate about him. He doesn't fill silence with needless chatter. But tonight, the silence feels heavy. Oppressive.

“How’re you doing, Wren?”

Those simple words. That's all it takes.

They crack something open in me.

“I'm…” My voice cracks. “I'm not okay.”

Sean glances at me but says nothing, his attention returning to the road.

“My life was mine. And now, it’s a joke.

I had everything under control. Everything.

I built Lemon from nothing. I worked for years to do so.

Do you know how many rejected emails I received?

How many investor meetings I attended? I worked my ass off.

And now strangers spit on it. On me. And I can’t fix it. ” I take a shuddering breath.

“I carved out this life for Eric and me, and now…” I shake my head, biting my lower lip to stop the tears from coming.

“Now it's all slipping through my fingers. The accuser remains on an endless media tirade, gaining fame off my back. The hate comments keep coming. The investors are getting cold feet. And Eric asked me yesterday why we picked him up early that day and if something bad is happening to me.”

The tears come then, hot and fast.

“I can't even protect my son. I have this migraine that won't go away, Sean. I wake up with it. I go to sleep with it. And I just…” A sob escapes. “I feel so alone in this.”

Sean pulls the car over, puts it in park. He doesn’t move or say a word. Just lets me cry to my heart’s content. But his silence isn't empty, it's full of understanding. Or maybe, strength.

When the sobs subside to hiccups, he unfastens his seatbelt and turns toward me. His hand, large and warm, reaches for mine.

“You're not alone.”

Three words. So simple. So earth-shattering.

He leans across the console and pulls me into his arms. The awkward angle doesn't matter. His embrace is solid, real. I feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and sure. Then his lips press against my forehead, a touch so gentle it makes me want to cry all over again.

Time stops. The rain. The scandal. The fear. The migraine. Everything fades except for the feel of Sean's arms around me and the lingering warmth where his lips touched my skin.

My heart hammers in my chest at how safe he makes me feel.

But reality crashes back when he pulls away. What just happened? Heat floods my face. I've spent weeks projecting strength, and in five minutes, I've fallen apart in front of him.

He continues driving and I turn to the window for the rest of the drive

I don't wait for him to open my door. The moment the car stops, I'm out, rushing toward the house through the rain, fumbling with the key he gave me last week.

Inside the safety of my bedroom, I lean against the closed door, pulse racing. My forehead still tingles where he kissed me. It wasn't romantic. It couldn't have been. He was being kind. That's all.

But as I hear his car door close and his footsteps approach the house, I know I'm lying to myself.

Because for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel something besides fear.

I feel alive.

And that terrifies me more than any scandal ever could.