Mirabelle Terania had no idea what to do.
Her face was everywhere—on news outlets, fan pages and entertainment sites. Clips of her performances were replayed with romantic filters and captions like:
"The future Mrs. Terania-Rolston."
"Noah's Muse."
"The fiancée who sings for love."
She stared blankly at her phone as the view count on her latest video climbed higher—two million, three, five—numbers blurring before her eyes. She had gone viral before, but this was different. This wasn't admiration for her music; this was the world turning her life into a love story she didn't write.
Her head spun. She was the Creative and Marketing Head of Terania Corporation, one of the most powerful media empires in the country. Normally, she would know exactly how to handle a situation like this. If it were anyone else's PR crisis, she'd already have a statement drafted, a narrative crafted, and hashtags neutralized. But this wasn't anyone else. This was about her. And the name tied to hers was Noah Rolston.
Her hands trembled slightly as she set her phone down. "Crisis management shouldn't include me," she muttered under her breath.
By the next evening, her silence only fueled the fire. Theories multiplied online. Some fans claimed the two had been secretly engaged for years. Others insisted their "hidden romance" inspired EON's greatest hits. A few even suggested they had already married in secret. And through it all, Mirabelle—calm, composed Belle—said nothing. Because she didn't know what to say. When it came to Noah Rolston, she never seemed to know the right thing to say.
When her parents invited her to dinner that weekend, she had a sinking feeling. The table was dressed like an engagement celebration—fresh flowers, polished silver and soft candlelight. The chef had gone all out.
Her father greeted her with an uncharacteristically wide smile, and her mother was practically glowing.
"Darling," Elara said warmly, "we're so thrilled for you."
Mirabelle blinked. "For… me?"
"Of course!" Gideon declared proudly. "You and Noah! We saw the news last night—what a wonderful surprise. Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Mirabelle froze, fork halfway to her lips. "Oh. Um—about that—"
"We always knew it would happen someday," Elara continued happily. "You two have known each other since childhood! You've always had such a bond."
Gideon nodded. "He's practically family already. I can't imagine anyone more suitable for you."
Mirabelle opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "We're not… actually engaged."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through glass.
Her parents exchanged startled looks.
"What do you mean?" Gideon asked, frowning. "But the entire world—"
"It's a misunderstanding," Mirabelle said quickly, forcing a nervous smile. "Really. It's just a coincidence. He probably didn't mean it the way it sounded."
Elara blinked. "He gave you roses on live camera, Belle."
"And told you to 'reply when I text you,'" Gideon added dryly.
Mirabelle winced. "Right. That did happen. But I think it's just—well—Noah being Noah."
Her parents stared at her like she'd started speaking in riddles.
Elara sighed, shaking her head. "You two always were strange. Are you sure you're not just keeping it private?"
"I'm sure."
Gideon leaned back, disappointed. "Well, that's… unfortunate."
Mirabelle poked at her food, guilt pooling in her stomach.
Elara's tone softened. "Then who is he engaged to, dear?"
Mirabelle hesitated. "I… don't know."
Both her parents frowned.
"Maybe someone else from childhood?" she offered weakly.
Gideon exchanged a glance with Elara. "I don't recall him being close to anyone else."
Mirabelle's smile was brittle. "Neither do I."
The conversation dwindled after that, replaced by the quiet clinking of silverware and the distant hum of the fountain outside. Her parents moved on to lighter topics, but her thoughts refused to follow.
He told the world he was engaged. He came to see me in public. He looked at me like… I belonged to him.
And yet—she knew deep down that couldn't be true. Could it?
She sighed softly, tracing circles in her soup with her spoon. For someone who had built her career on understanding people, predicting reactions, and shaping stories, Mirabelle Terania had never felt so completely lost inside one.