Beneath Her Ice

The headline hit before sunrise.

"Crypto Chaos: Nonprofit Princess Linked to Blockchain Bad Boy"

Will read it three times before the words made sense.Then once more to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

A full-blown exposé. Lydia's name front and center, flanked by blurry photos of her tangled with none other than Colin Ashcroft — the self-proclaimed crypto "visionary" whose startup had recently been indicted for fraud.

Beneath the clickbait title was the real poison:Screenshots of flirtatious DMs.A tagged photo of Lydia at Colin's launch party.And worst of all, a fabricated quote attributing her support for his "vision of decentralized healthcare."

Will nearly dropped his phone.

"Lydia!"

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie, clutching her phone like it was a ticking bomb.

"I didn't say that," she blurted. "I swear, I didn't say any of it—"

"Did you go to his party?" Will's voice was quiet. Tired.

She flinched. "I thought it was just for networking. He said—he told me it was private. That I was helping bring attention to—"

"To a man who's under federal investigation."

Lydia's eyes filled. "I didn't know! I didn't think—God, Will, I didn't think it mattered!"

"It always matters."

The words came out too harsh. Too fast.

Jan stepped in before the silence crushed them both. "Okay. We're not solving this with yelling. Damage control first. Cry later."

—

By noon, the nonprofit's website was flooded. Donors pulling out. Social media turning against them.

Lydia was trending — for all the wrong reasons.

Jan handled PR. Will handled damage control. Lydia shut herself in her room and posted a vague apology story with a black heart emoji and the words "#lessonlearned."

It didn't help.

By 5 p.m., Will had spoken to three lawyers, two board members, and one bitter reporter.

He hadn't spoken to Eliza.

He told himself he didn't care what she thought of this mess.

But when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb outside the Bennett family brownstone, and Eliza Darcy stepped out in a slate gray coat, he didn't breathe for three full seconds.

—

"I didn't call you," he said, when she reached the steps.

"I know," she replied calmly. "I came anyway."

Will didn't invite her inside. But he didn't stop her either.

Eliza walked into chaos: papers, laptops, half-eaten takeout, tension heavy in the air. She took it all in with one glance — not judging, just… calculating.

"I can have my legal team issue takedown notices," she said. "And force a retraction. That article was slander, not reporting."

"We're handling it," he said stiffly.

"I can handle it faster."

Will hesitated. "Why would you do that?"

She met his gaze without blinking. "Because your work matters. And because your sister doesn't deserve to be collateral damage in a system designed to punish women for being naive while letting men like Colin sell lies for profit."

Will stared at her.

He didn't have a comeback for that.

Just a truth rising in his throat that felt too dangerous to say aloud.

Jan entered the room, holding her phone. "Eliza Darcy? The Eliza Darcy?"

"Yes," Eliza said. "I brought real lawyers and backup Wi-Fi."

Jan blinked. "Marry her," she muttered to Will as she passed.

He ignored her.

Mostly.

—

That night, Eliza stayed. Not to dominate or dictate, but to help. Efficient. Focused. Almost… gentle.

She sat beside Lydia, guiding her through a formal statement. She redlined Lydia's apology, crossed out three emojis, and said, "Use words. Not hashtags."

She made calls. Got results.

And when the worst of the storm passed, when the silence finally settled over the kitchen table at 1 a.m., Will turned to her and asked the one question that had haunted him since the day they met:

"Why are you really here?"

Eliza looked tired. Not defeated — just human.

"Because," she said softly, "I've been that girl. Screwed over by the wrong man. Watched everything I built fall apart in someone else's hands."

She looked at him then, bare and honest.

"And no one came for me."

Silence.

Then Will reached across the table — not to touch her, not yet. But to close the space between them.

"You're not no one," he said.

She didn't smile. But something in her eyes softened. Just enough.

Just barely.

But enough.