The Deal We Never Made

Madison POV

There was an unnatural silence that filled the whole newsroom, except for the occasional shuffle of papers and old computers making silent noises. My coworkers were trying not to look at me, but I couldn't help but feel their eyes slowly perching around me. Some were pitying me, others accusing. My phone couldn't stop vibrating on my desk, and I know what it was all about. I couldn't see the need to check it. The buzzing was annoying, and it matched the unease in my chest. I felt like everyone was watching me, and it was hard to sit still. The silence was uncomfortable, and I just wanted it to end.

The article had gone live barely an hour ago.

I took a deep look at the headline again, bold and accusatory across the screen:

"Ethan Blackwell: The Billionaire Behind the Curtain of Corruption."

I felt my chest tighten. I had double-checked every source, every quote, every lead. Months of work poured into exposing the truth. And yet, I couldn't help but have doubts, as sharp and cold, and the weight of what I had done began to sink in. Ethan Blackwell wasn't just a billionaire, he had all the security assets

And I'd just painted a target on my back.

My editor, Harold, had barely looked me in the eye when I pitched the story. He'd mumbled something about treading carefully, but his reluctance only fueled my determination. Blackwell's empire needed to be exposed for the rot that lay beneath its polished surface.

Now, the reality of my choice pressed down on me.

The double doors to the newsroom flew open with a bang, and a man stormed in, his towering frame exuding fury. Ethan Blackwell.

The room immediately turned dead silent as he walked in, his expensive suit that proved his influence despite the anger in his dark eyes. His presence was intimidating as it got everyone's attention drawn to him. Conversations died, fingers froze over keyboards, and every head turned toward the Ethan Blackwell.

I stood, willing my knees not to buckle. He was larger than life, even more intimidating in person than I remembered.

"Madison Russo," he said, his voice a low growl that carried across the room.

I squared my shoulders. "Mr. Blackwell."

He stalked toward me, each step measured and lethal. He stared right into my face as soon as he stopped in front of my desk.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked, in a calm tone, too calm. And it scared me but I couldn't back out now.

"I reported the truth," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

Ethan's laugh was sharp and devoid of humor. "The truth? You've published lies and rubbish. Baseless accusations with the intention to destroy my reputation." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Do you have any idea what I can do to you for doing this to me?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I refused to flinch. "Every word in that article is backed by evidence."

"Evidence," he spat, straightening to his full height. "You wouldn't know evidence if it hit you in the face. This is reckless, amateur journalism at its finest."

The room watched in stunned silence as he made me feel low of myself, his words like knives. I felt the sting of humiliation, the heat rising to my cheeks, but I held my ground.

"You'll take down the article," Ethan continued, his tone sharp and final. "Or you'll regret why you chose to be a journalist in the first place."

I lifted my chin. "I won't take it down."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, his composure slipped, revealing a sense of raw anger.

"You're making a mistake," he said, his voice like ice.

"Maybe," I said, swallowing hard. "But I stand by what I wrote."

Ethan's gaze lingered on me for a long moment, a silent war of wills. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Everyone in the newsroom started whispering, but I didn't let it bother me at the moment . My hands were shaking as soon as I sat down, but I refused to let anyone see it. I looked at the white screen of the word document waiting for my thoughts to be put into some kind of order.

---

A shadow loomed over my desk. It was Harold, my editor looking uncomfortable, his tie slightly loosed.

"Madison," he started with his deep voice.

I knew what was coming.

"I have just been speaking with the board," he went on to say. "They're not happy. I have been informed that Blackwell's team is consulting its lawyer and, as you can imagine, that we cannot afford to do that here".

I rose slowly; the noise of the chair against the tiled floor was loud. "So you're.. you're firing me?"

"It's not personal," Harold muttered, avoiding eye contact with me. "Madison, you're a good journalist, but this ... this is beyond us. We can't stand behind you on this one."

I immediately flared up with anger. "So you're giving up because the pressure is too much? Letting him have say in what we can and can't report?"

Harold sighed. "This is bigger than you, Madison. Bigger than me."

I grabbed my bag and turned toward the door, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You're making a mistake," I said, echoing Ethan's words.

Harold didn't respond.

I marched out of the newsroom and with that heated feeling of being wronged that almost felt liberating. They could fire me. Ethan Blackwell could intimidate me. But I wouldn't back down.

---

Outside, the city buzzed with life, and none of them knew what was happening in my world, in my storm. Finally, the responsibility of making the decision lay a burden on my shoulder but equally the responsibility of executing the decision made.

I stopped at a coffee shop, which I preferred over other places when I needed to clear my head. I got my order from the cashier and the bar lady gave me a sympathetic look and must have read the papers.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"You have no idea," I muttered, clutching the cup like a lifeline.

Standing by the corner table, I pulled my laptop and tried to read the notes one more time. If Blackwell wanted this the hard way, I would be there.

But reading through the documents, some doubt crept into my mind. Am I really doing the right thing?

---Suddenly the buzz of my phone broke my train of thought. It was Jessica, my best friend

"What were you thinking, Madison," she began without even bothering to ask my welfare.

"I was thinking about the truth," I said, my words shaky and very far from convincing.

"Blackwell isn't just any billionaire," she continued. "He's ruthless. If you think he'll let this go, you're fooling yourself."

"Good," I shot back. "Let him come. I have nothing to lose."

"That's where you're wrong," Jessica said, her tone softening. "You've worked too hard to throw it all away. Just... be careful, okay?"

I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I will."

---

Hours later, I found myself walking aimlessly through the city. The lights blurred as exhaustion set in, but my mind was too restless to stop.

When I finally returned to my tiny apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed again, a notification flashing across the screen:

"Ethan Blackwell announces impending legal action against a reckless journalist"

I closed my eyes, a mix of fear and resolve churning in my chest.

This was only the beginning.