The backlash came quietly at first.
Ariel noticed it in the pauses—half a second longer than necessary. The way staff stopped talking when she entered a room. The way eyes flicked toward her and away again, as if looking too long might invite judgment.
She learned quickly that being known didn't mean being welcomed.
On her phone, the comments multiplied faster than she could read them.
She's not special.
She planned this.
He deserves better.
Ariel turned the screen off.
She was beginning to understand something dangerous: the world didn't need proof. It only needed permission.
The studio was cold, washed in white light that made everything feel exposed. Ariel stood just off-camera, hands clasped tightly in front of her, while Jaxon adjusted the microphone clipped to his jacket.
"You don't have to watch," he said quietly.
"I do," she replied. "If this is my reality now, I shouldn't hide from it."
He glanced at her, something unreadable passing across his face.
"Just remember," he said, "they don't know you."
She almost laughed. "Neither do I anymore."
The interview was painless on the surface.
Smiles. Carefully chosen words. Soft laughter.
"So," the host asked, voice light but sharp beneath, "fans are curious. Who is the woman who captured your heart?"
Ariel's pulse spiked.
Jaxon's gaze shifted toward her—brief, intentional.
"She's someone who doesn't want this life," he said. "And that's why I trust her."
The studio went silent.
Ariel's chest tightened.
Truth, hidden inside a lie.
Afterward, the hallway buzzed with whispers.
"That wasn't in the script."
"He looked serious."
"Is this real?"
Mr. Han's expression was thunderous.
"You were instructed to stay vague," he snapped once they were alone.
"I was," Jaxon replied evenly. "And I did."
Mr. Han turned to Ariel.
"You're becoming a problem."
She met his gaze, spine straight. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No," he said. "But now you are useful. Don't forget that."
Jaxon stepped forward.
"That's enough."
Mr. Han's smile was thin. "Just remember who controls the narrative."
That night, Ariel sat alone in her room, the city humming beyond the window.
Her phone vibrated.
A message request.
From an unverified account.
Leave him alone.
You don't belong here.
Disappear.
Her hands shook.
She set the phone down, breathing slowly, grounding herself in the silence.
A knock came at the door.
Jaxon stood there, tension written into his posture.
"They're turning on you," he said.
She nodded. "I expected it."
"You shouldn't have to."
She looked up at him.
"Neither should you."
For a moment, the world felt far away.
Then he said softly, "This was supposed to protect me."
"And now?" she asked.
"And now," he replied, "I'm not sure who it's hurting more."
Their eyes held.
The lie was still intact.
But the cost was becoming impossible to ignore.
Outside, the city glittered without mercy.
And somewhere beyond the light, the world was already deciding how this story would end.