Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate
Chapter 229: Dead

Chapter 229: Dead

The bullpen was already buzzing when Alex walked in.

Officers leaned across desks, coffee in hand, tossing yesterday’s gossip like poker chips. Phones rang, radios hummed, and somewhere in the corner, someone was laughing way too hard at a bad joke.

Typical morning chaos.

Except this morning wasn’t typical—not for him.

"Look who finally showed up," Jenna’s voice rang out from behind her desk. His partner was leaning back in her chair, her boots resting on her drawer, and a half-full cup of black coffee balanced on her knee.

"You miss me, or just enjoying the circus?" Alex muttered, walking toward his desk.

Jenna grinned. "Both. Congrats, by the way. Five days ago, only those who kept tabs on the police department and ongoing investigations knew your name. Now? You’re trending right under a celebrity divorce."

Alex shot her a look. "Don’t start."

"I wouldn’t," she said sweetly, then slid a tablet across the table with her boot. "But you might want to take a peek before the chief finds you. He’s been asking of you."

He caught it mid-slide and turned the screen around.

It hit like a punch.

There they were—photos of him and Isabella at that stupid lunch.

Her hand on his, her lips far too close to his cheek, one frame catching her laugh while his face was caught in that familiar flat, annoyed grimace. Out of context? It was damning.

The headline read: "Detective’s Dirty Double Life? Who’s the Real Fiancée—Doctor Reed or this strange woman?"

Beneath it were side-by-side photos: one from the previous night’s gala, Ava and him dancing as if they weren’t lying to everyone in that room; the other, Isabella, staring at him as if she already owned half his soul.

He clenched his jaw. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

Jenna’s smile didn’t falter. "Congratulations. You’ve become a walking soap opera."

"Where the hell did these come from?" he muttered.

Jenna whistled low. "Some tabloid published them before breakfast. Three more picked it up before seven a.m. You’re all over the internet, man."

He swore under his breath, flipping through the article.

’Detective Ramos: Already Cheating? Mystery Woman Spotted Days After Engagement Announcement’

’Trouble in Paradise for The Doctor and The Detective?’

"This is bad," Alex muttered.

Jenna raised a brow. "You think?"

Before he could respond, a young officer popped his head around the corner. "Detective Ramos? The chief wants to see you. Now."

Of course he does.

—

The chief’s office smelled like stale cigar smoke and overused authority. Chief Warren sat behind his desk, not bothering to look up from the morning paper.

Alex stood before him in silence, waiting.

Finally, Warren sighed and tossed the paper down. "You’ve had a busy week, Ramos."

Alex didn’t respond.

The chief leaned forward. "You want to tell me why I’m being asked for quotes by morning talk shows and news anchors?"

Alex stayed still. "It’s just tabloid noise. It’ll die down."

Warren gave him a pointed look. "This department doesn’t do noise. You’re a detective, not a damn celebrity."

"I didn’t start it."

"No, but you’re in it. And it’s bringing eyes we don’t want on us."

Alex didn’t flinch as Warren continued.

"Fix it. Talk to whoever you have to. Call the damn news stations if you need to. Just get your name off their headlines and out of their mouths."

"I’ll handle it," Alex said tightly.

"You’d better," the chief said, grabbing his mug and waving him off. "And stay out of the damn spotlight."

—

Ava’s phone hadn’t stopped vibrating all morning.

Every time she set it down, it buzzed again—emails from hospital board members, texts from Marian, forwarded complaints from sponsors.

The photos were everywhere.

Detective Ramos and Mystery Woman — Trouble in the Power Couple’s Paradise?

She stood at her office window, staring blankly at the courtyard below, gripping the edge of the desk until her knuckles paled.

It wasn’t just the bad PR. It was the betrayal that tasted like bile in the back of her throat.

She hadn’t even had the energy to call Alex yet. Not because she didn’t want answers, but because she wasn’t sure which version of herself would answer the phone.

The doctor.

The mother.

The Godmother.

The board’s group chat was spiralling.

Connor Miles: "We need a response. Silence will look like guilt."

Dr. Park: "This is a crisis. Ava, call PR now."

Marian Holmes

Ava turned her phone over, face down, and rubbed her temple.

Picking up her landline, she speed-dialled her assistant. "Rafael? I’m sure you’ve seen the news flying around."

"Yes, boss. I told you we can’t trust him."

"Don’t start with me. Just do something... contain it, quickly."

—

Pearl was halfway through her peanut butter sandwich when Maddie Harper leaned across the cafeteria table and said, "My mom said your fake dad is a cheater."

Pearl blinked at her. Then calmly wiped the corner of her mouth and looked Maddie dead in the eyes.

"Your mom also thinks oat milk is dangerous and microwaves cause cancer. So I’m gonna go with: not reliable."

Maddie blinked, clearly not expecting that.

Another girl, Harper Lee (unfortunate name combo), leaned in and whispered, "It’s true. I saw the pictures. Is your mom crying?"

Pearl smiled sweetly. "No. But if you fucking ask that again, you will know waht real tears look like."

The group fell silent. Pearl picked up her juice box and sipped it with royal indifference.

Unknowingly, the school counsellor was nearby and heard Pearl’s last statement. "Pearl, sweetie? What’s wrong?"

And so, Pearl summarized what happened.

"Would you like to call your mom?"

"No," Pearl said quickly. "She’s busy."

The counsellor hesitated. "Maybe your grandma?"

"No."

She paused. "Then who should we call?"

—

Pearl sat in the school’s administrative office, legs swinging idly, arms crossed.

The counsellor offered a tight smile. "We had an incident during lunch."

"Is she hurt?" Alex asked, already crouched next to Pearl.

"No," the counsellor said quickly. "Nothing physical. Just... verbal conflict. Another student said some inappropriate things."

Alex turned to Pearl. "You okay, kiddo?"

Pearl didn’t answer right away.

Then: "They said you cheated on Mom."

Alex felt the words slam into him.

Pearl’s voice was small. "They said you’re not real, that you’re just pretending to be my dad. And that Mom doesn’t even want you."

Alex took a slow breath, grounding himself. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me."

Pearl turned.

"None of that is true, okay? I didn’t cheat. Those pictures—they were from a long time ago. Before I even knew you. And your mom? She’s tougher than all those people combined. Don’t let them get in your head."

Pearl stared at him for a long moment. Then she said quietly, "I called you first."

Alex blinked. "Why?"

"Because I knew you’d come."

He swallowed hard. "Of course I would."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Can we go get fries?"

Alex exhaled slowly, standing and offering his hand. "I’ll pick you up after school."

—

Back at the precinct, Jenna leaned back from her desk, waving her phone.

"Update. I called the three biggest media houses that posted those pictures. You’re gonna love this."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Lay it on me."

"They all said the same thing—received the photos from an anonymous drop. No name, no traceable email. Just clean, timestamped uploads to private drive links. Text said to ’run the story ASAP. Big scandal incoming.’"

Alex’s jaw clenched. "Can we trace the source?"

"There’s no source to trace."

Alex simply nodded, walking away as he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. "I’ll handle it."

"Rico," he said as soon as the other end picked up. "I need you to trace the sender of a batch of images sent to half the media outlets in this city."

"And if I find them?"

"Let me worry about that."

—

By the time Ava stepped out of surgery that afternoon, she already had twelve voicemails, fifteen missed calls, and one text from her mother that simply said, "Handle it. Quickly. Or I will."

She sighed and sat in the quiet corner of the doctor’s lounge, resting her head against the wall. Then she pulled her phone and dialled Alex’s number.

"Alex," she said.

"I’m handling it," he said before she could speak further.

"Handling what? The photos? The headlines? Or the part where my daughter got dragged into your past?"

Her voice was calm, but too calm.

"I’m fixing it," he said. "I got a call from Pearl’s school. I went there to check on her."

"What happened? And didn’t she call me?"

"A girl was being mean, and Pearl handled them well. Nothing physical, just verbal talks. She figured you’d be busy and didn’t want to bother you. But I handled it already. Pearl’s fine. I’ll even go pick her up from school."

A pause.

"...Good," Ava said finally. "She needed someone."

Alex didn’t miss the way her voice dipped slightly at the end. He didn’t push.

"Media houses?" Ava asked.

"On it," he said. "And I’ve got a guy looking into the source."

The line went quiet.

"Call me when you find something," Ava said, and then the line went dead.