By the next morning, the calm from the apartment had vanished.
The media had only grown louder overnight. Headlines, videos, and gossip filled every feed, every screen. Everyone wanted to know the same thing: What was Aidan Blackthorne doing in my apartment? Was it a scandal? A relationship? A mistake?
Aidan left early, dressed sharp in a navy suit. He kissed the top of my head before stepping out. I froze, surprised by the sudden closeness of it. It wasn't… It must not be in romantic — not exactly — but it was intimate in a way that caught me off guard.
"Why did you do that?" I asked quietly.
Aidan stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. He turned back to face me, his expression unsure. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to overstep. I just… I wanted you to feel safe. I wasn't thinking."
I nodded slowly. "It's okay. I just… needed to understand."
He looked relieved but still careful with his words. "We're not anything official," he said. "I know that. And I'm not trying to change it. But I do care about you, Sophie. More than I probably should, considering everything going on."
My chest tightened, but not in a bad way. It wasn't love. It wasn't a label. But it was something — and for now, that was enough.
"Stay in today," he said gently. "I'll talk to them. Let me take the heat."
I nodded, watching him go, a part of me still aching to step in and help. But he had made it clear — this time, he needed to do it himself.
Alone in the apartment, I paced.
Every step felt heavier than the last. I kept glancing at my phone, dreading each new notification. People were speculating. Commenting. Judging. Some called me a mystery woman. Others made cruel jokes or twisted guesses. A few kind voices broke through, but they were drowned out by noise.
Jordan called.
"Are you okay?" he asked, her voice tight.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"Do you want me to come over?"
I thought about it. I wanted someone here. But not yet. "Not right now. I just… need to think."
There was a pause. "Aidan's doing damage control, but people are pushing for answers. Some think you're just part of his image. Others think this could hurt him."
"Is it hurting him?" I asked, my voice low.
"It's hard to say. Depends how today goes."
After I hung up, I sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. My reflection stared back in the dark glass — tired eyes, messy hair, and that look I knew too well. The look of someone waiting for the world to fall apart.
By the time Aidan returned, the sun had begun to set.
He walked in slowly, loosened his tie, and let out a long breath. I stood up quickly, searching his face.
"Well?" I asked.
"It was rough," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I didn't lie. I told them I stayed because I care. That we weren't hiding anything shameful."
"And?" I braced myself.
"They asked more. They pushed hard. About you. About us."
"What did you say?"
Aidan looked straight at me. "I told them I wasn't going to turn you into a headline."
My throat tightened.
"Some people weren't happy about that," he added. "The campaign team wants to spin a story. They want me to frame it as a brief stop, just a moment of kindness. But I said no."
A wave of emotion hit me — relief, fear, and something I couldn't name. I walked over, standing just a few inches from him. "You didn't have to do that," I whispered.
"I did," he said simply. "Because I'm tired of playing a part."
I looked up at him, really looked. "So what now?"
"We wait," he said. "And whatever comes next… I'll face it."
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let the quiet sit between us. I realized something in that moment: I wasn't just scared of the media. I was scared of being seen. Truly seen.
The girl from the nightmare.
The woman still piecing herself together.
But Aidan saw me. And he stayed.
Later that night, we sat side by side on the couch, both of us silent as a news panel discussed his situation. His name flashed across the bottom of the screen, followed by mine.
"Sophie Navarro — former media consultant, now linked to Blackthorne in possible romantic controversy."
I winced.
Aidan muted the TV. "They can talk all they want," he said. "They don't get to decide who you are to me."
I swallowed hard. "It's just… hard. It is the first time, I'm being talked about like I'm not a person."
"I know," he said softly. "But you'll get through it."
I nodded. It would take time to believe that. But maybe it was possible.
Before going to bed, I checked my messages one last time. One stood out. From someone I hadn't heard from in years. My father.
Just a single sentence: "Saw the news. Hope you're okay."
I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen.
The past, it seemed, always found a way to creep back in — even when you thought you'd finally outrun it.
But I wasn't the same girl I used to be.
And this time, I wasn't alone.
Of course! Here's your revised version with Aidan asking about Sophie's health before leaving — keeping the tone warm, caring, and grounded in their dynamic:
---
As the day wound down, Aidan grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He looked tired, but steady — like someone who had faced enough for one day.
"I should get going," he said softly. "It's been a long day, and I need to check in with your team so I could help them with my own issue... sorry you got involve to this." I didn't answer.
Before he reached the door, he paused and looked at me. "How are you feeling, by the way?" he asked gently. "Fever gone?"
I gave him a small nod. "Yeah. Still a little tired, but the fever broke. I'm okay now."
"You sure?" His eyes searched mine. "You were pretty out of it just yesterday. I can stay longer if you need—"
"I'm sure," I said with a small smile. "Thanks for staying as long as you did. Honestly, I didn't expect you to."
He gave a short laugh, then looked serious again. "I wasn't going to leave you like that."
There was a quiet pause between us as he moved closer to the door.
"Thanks for everything today," I said. "You didn't have to... but I'm glad you did."
"You don't have to thank me," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I meant it when I said I've got your back."
I walked him to the door. He reached for the handle, but hesitated.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said.
"Where?" he asked.
"At my office," I replied. "We've got work to do, remember?"
That brought a smile to his face — tired, but genuine. "Wouldn't miss it."
He gave me one last look, like he wanted to say more but decided against it. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
And just like that, he was gone.
The apartment felt quieter after he left, but not empty. Somehow, the silence felt okay.
Maybe the headlines would get worse. Maybe tomorrow would be even harder.
But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't afraid of what came next.