The elevator doors slid shut with a soft sigh, cutting them off from the lobby's chaos.
Inside, the silence was thick, the air cold, and the fluorescent lights above flickered once before steadying.
Layla stood rigid, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. Across from her, Cole leaned against the mirrored wall, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor.
Neither spoke for several long seconds.
The elevator hummed upward.
Layla's phone vibrated violently in her coat pocket.
She pulled it out with shaky fingers.
The screen was a flood of notifications.
"BREAKING: Layla Hart CONFIRMS romance!"
"Fans divided—love or scandal?"
"Cole Hart and Layla Hart trending globally."
"End of career for Layla?"
Her eyes darted across them like they didn't belong to her.
A familiar ache pooled behind her eyes.
"Why is it so hard to be honest?" she whispered before she could stop herself.
Cole's eyes shot up.
For a second, the tension broke.
He stepped toward her.
"Because honesty costs," he said softly. "And you're paying in blood."
She swallowed, biting her lower lip.
"I thought telling the truth would set me free," she murmured.
"And it will," he replied, voice steady but firm. "Eventually."
But his eyes betrayed the same fear she felt.
The elevator dinged at the top floor.
They stepped out into the corridor leading to the studio offices.
The walls were lined with posters—smiling faces, award ceremonies, red carpets—all frozen moments of triumph.
Now, they seemed like silent spectators waiting for their downfall.
A staff member standing by the reception desk offered a polite smile, but it faltered the moment Layla's and Cole's names were announced on the news channels mounted on the wall.
Their eyes darted nervously toward the screen.
The host's voice echoed loudly.
"Whether scripted or not, fans can't get enough of the chemistry between Layla and Cole! Their raw honesty has sent shockwaves through entertainment circles!"
Layla's stomach churned.
Cole's jaw tightened.
Neither spoke, but their faces gave away the turmoil boiling beneath the surface.
A few minutes later, Wallace's assistant ushered them into his office without ceremony.
Wallace sat behind a sleek glass desk littered with files, his eyes tired but alert.
The blinds were half-drawn, letting in just enough daylight to cast stripes across his face.
"So," he began, steepling his fingers together, "this is where honesty has brought us."
Layla squared her shoulders.
Cole's stance was firm, protective.
Wallace's eyes flicked between them.
"We've received calls from sponsors. Some want to distance themselves. Some want to cash in. It's chaos."
He leaned back, exhaling sharply.
"But here's the thing… chaos sells."
His eyes sharpened.
"If you play this right, you can turn this into a goldmine."
Layla's eyes narrowed.
"This isn't about selling scandal," she said, voice low but resolute.
Wallace's lips twitched.
"Then you'll have to work harder than anyone else."
Outside the office, the atmosphere was electric.
Reporters hovered near every hallway.
Crew members whispered, eyes darting between cameras and phones.
Layla and Cole exchanged a glance.
They both knew the game had shifted.
Their honesty wasn't a shield anymore—it was a target.
When they stepped into the corridor, a group of junior staff surrounded them.
One whispered, "Do you regret it?"
Another asked, "Was it real?"
A third, bolder, murmured, "You're brave—or stupid."
Layla's face remained composed, but her eyes flickered with emotion.
Cole's gaze darkened at the intrusion.
He opened his mouth but stopped himself.
Instead, Layla spoke.
"I don't regret it," she said clearly, lifting her chin. "Not for a second."
The whispers died.
A hush fell over the group.
One by one, eyes lowered.
The power in her words stunned even the boldest questioners.
Cole's eyes softened, pride and protectiveness warring within them.
That evening, the entire production team gathered in the conference room for a crisis strategy session.
The air smelled of tension and stale coffee.
Legal consultants sat next to marketing experts, and social media analysts huddled with PR strategists.
Wallace stood at the front, flanked by the executives.
Layla and Cole sat side by side, quiet but alert.
Wallace cleared his throat.
"We can't ignore public sentiment," he began. "Right now, people are fascinated. We ride that wave—but carefully."
A marketing director added, "Fans want intimacy, exclusivity, behind-the-scenes glimpses. We can leverage that."
A legal advisor frowned. "But contracts, non-disclosure agreements—what if competitors exploit this?"
Wallace held up a hand.
"We'll draft new terms, but only after we stabilize the situation."
Then his eyes locked onto Layla.
"Your next move must be calculated. No emotional outbursts. We control the narrative—or it controls you."
Layla's jaw clenched, but she nodded.
Cole whispered, "We'll be fine," his voice calm, though his knuckles were white.
Later, after the meeting, Layla escaped to the rooftop lounge.
The city stretched out below like a glittering sea of lights.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the railing.
Behind her, soft footsteps approached.
Cole stood beside her, the wind tousling his dark hair.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"You're stronger than you think," he murmured.
Her eyes watered.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
His eyes softened.
"So am I."
They stood together in silence, letting the city's distant hum fill the space.
Layla took a deep breath.
"I'm done hiding," she said, voice steady.
Cole smiled.
"Good," he whispered. "Because neither of us can go back."
She nodded.
"I'll fight," she declared.
He grinned.
"So will I."
For the first time since the scandal broke, she felt something inside her shift—not fear, but fire.
The storm outside hadn't passed.
But she was ready to stand at its center.