The week following Aurora’s speech at the farmers’ market should have felt like a small victory. But instead of relief, a new storm rolled in—quieter, more insidious.

Ethan spread out the invoices across the kitchen table one evening, his brow furrowed in frustration. “That’s the third distributor pulling out this week,” he muttered. “They’re all citing ‘business concerns,’ but we know what that means.”

Aurora leaned closer, scanning the papers. The names of the companies were familiar—many of them had supplied strawberries from Carter Farms for years. Now, one after another, they were severing ties.

“Damien,” she whispered, her voice sharp with anger. “He’s using his influence. He can’t silence us, so he’ll strangle us economically.”

Ethan nodded grimly. “He’s got the money and the connections. We’re just one farm. If he tells retailers and distributors to drop us, they’ll listen.”

Aurora sank into a chair, running her hands through her hair. Memories of her family’s empire collapsing under similar pressure clawed at her chest. She had seen this tactic before. Damien wasn’t merely retaliating—he was dismantling them piece by piece, just as he had destroyed the Williams legacy.

But Ethan didn’t waver. “Then we adapt,” he said firmly. “If the middlemen won’t buy from us, we’ll go straight to the people.”

Aurora lifted her head, her eyes searching his. “You mean… selling directly? Farmers’ markets?”

“And more,” Ethan replied, determination lighting his features. “Local delivery. Pop-up stands. Even online sales. We cut out the distributors. We take control.”

The very next morning, Aurora found herself standing beside Ethan at the town square, setting up a humble stall draped with a banner reading Carter Farms. Instead of crates hidden in the back of delivery trucks, the strawberries now gleamed in baskets piled high, their fragrance drawing curious passersby.

At first, sales were slow. Many locals recognized Aurora, whispering as they passed. Some looked skeptical, others openly hostile, clearly influenced by the media’s smear campaign.

But Aurora, swallowing her pride, forced herself to smile, to greet each customer warmly. “Would you like to try a sample?” she asked a mother and her young daughter, offering them a small cup of sliced strawberries.

The little girl’s eyes widened as she tasted. “Mommy, it’s so sweet!”

The mother hesitated, then purchased a basket. “These are better than anything at the supermarket,” she admitted quietly before walking away.

It was a small victory, but it sparked something in Aurora. She kept pushing, speaking not as the proud heiress she once was, but as a woman who believed in the work behind the fruit.

By midday, their stall had drawn a steady line of customers. Ethan worked behind her, handing out cartons with his easy smile, while Aurora tallied sales and explained their growing process to curious shoppers.

For the first time in weeks, she felt useful—not as a figurehead, not as a burden, but as a partner.

That evening, back at the farm, they sat exhausted on the porch steps, the setting sun painting the fields gold.

Aurora cradled a glass of water, her cheeks still flushed from the long day. “I never thought I’d enjoy selling strawberries,” she admitted with a laugh. “My father would have been horrified to see me bargaining over two dollars a basket.”

Ethan chuckled softly. “You did more than bargain. You believed. People could see it in you. That’s why they bought.”

Aurora looked out at the rows of strawberry plants stretching into the horizon. “Do you really think this will work? That we can survive without distributors?”

Ethan’s gaze was steady. “It won’t be easy. We’ll work harder than ever. But yes, Aurora. We’ll make it work.”

His certainty wrapped around her like a blanket. For years she had been told her worth was tied to power, wealth, and appearances. But here, with Ethan, her worth came from effort, resilience, and truth.

The following days blurred into a whirlwind of activity. Aurora threw herself into the work, rising early to help pick strawberries, organizing sales routes, designing flyers, and even creating a simple website to promote their farm.

It was grueling, exhausting, and nothing like the glamorous life she once knew. But it was real.

At night, she and Ethan would collapse onto the porch, sharing quiet conversations beneath the stars. Each evening, the distance between them seemed to shrink—his hand brushing hers as they passed a cup, his laughter softening the weight of her burdens.

One night, as cicadas hummed in the warm air, Aurora found herself studying Ethan’s profile. His strong jaw, his eyes that always carried steadiness, his hands calloused from work yet gentle in every motion.

“You’ve given me more than I deserve,” she whispered, surprising even herself.

Ethan turned, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to earn a place here, Aurora. You already belong.”

Her chest tightened, emotions swirling too strong to voice. She turned back to the stars, afraid he might see too much in her eyes.

But just as the farm began to regain footing, a shadow fell over their fragile progress.

One morning, Aurora awoke to the sound of Ethan slamming the newspaper onto the kitchen table. His face was pale, his jaw set.

She glanced down at the headline and felt the blood drain from her face.

“Health Violation Scandal: Carter Farms Under Investigation.”

Beneath the bold letters was a photo of their strawberries—stolen from the farmers’ market stall—accompanied by claims of contaminated produce. Anonymous “customers” accused the farm of unsanitary practices, warning people not to buy.

Aurora’s stomach twisted. “This is Damien’s doing.”

Ethan’s voice was low but firm. “He won’t stop until he destroys us completely.”

Aurora clenched her fists, her eyes blazing with fury. She had lost her family, her wealth, her reputation. She would not—could not—lose this too.

Not when this farm had become her home.

Not when Ethan was by her side.

She drew a shaky breath and looked Ethan squarely in the eye. “Then we fight back harder. He won’t win.”

For the first time since her fall from grace, Aurora felt not like a victim, but a warrior.

And Damien Blake had no idea just how strong she had become.