[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":10},["ShallowReactive",2],{"viewer-data-2603220ECDF1-563":3},{"id":4,"number":5,"name":6,"content":7,"isLocked":8,"price":9,"hasRead":8},563,5,"Chapter 5: The Broken Crystal","\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette Ellis meticulously organized the athlete dossiers, preparing for the upcoming interviews. Her gaze lingered on the page dedicated to Blake Pierce.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">For the past six months, his competition record had been hauntingly blank. In the life of a professional athlete, the countdown begins the moment the career starts; a six-month void was, in most eyes, unthinkable. The official narrative was that he had been in Australia for an intensive, closed-door training camp. As for the reality? Violette suspected that, ultimately, no one was truly at fault.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She set the files aside and sent the digital copy to her intern, Emma Fox. Her composure was slipping. The more she stared at his name, the more she regretted agreeing to Arthur Campbell’s request. Interviewing Blake? Any passerby on the street could see the potential for disaster. Her life had finally found its footing; she had no desire to see it descend back into chaos.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">By the time she returned home that evening, the weight of the assignment still hung over her. A storm of frustration brewing, she opened WhatsApp, typing out a resignation from the interview more times than she could count, only to delete the draft each time.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Then, a ping. Arthur, as if reading her mind, struck first.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Arthur: \"Your press pass is on your desk.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The elaborate list of excuses she had drafted vanished into the ether. Defeated, she slumped over her desk, burying her face in her arms, and drifted into an exhausted sleep.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">In her dream, it was early May. Blake had flown into Deepwater just to see her.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">When she realized the dream was a mirror of reality, her subconscious braced for the nightmare. As expected, Blake cornered her in a narrow stairwell, looking as anxious as a child whose favorite toy had been snatched away. \"Is there some guy named Griffin pursuing you lately?\" he demanded.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette was stunned. She knew his schedule was grueling; she hadn't expected him to fly across the country over a baseless rumor.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Shouldn't you be focusing on your training right now?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Blake’s young face was etched with gloom. \"I couldn't help it. I couldn't focus on a single drill. I need to hear the truth from you.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">A guy named Griffin? Violette’s mind jumped straight to Roman. He was a former interview subject—nothing more. Aside from the occasional professional courtesy, or that one time he’d driven her home after a dinner, they were strangers. Oh, wait. They had crossed paths at the studio a few days ago. He had been a guest on a talk show and asked if she had time to catch up. She hadn't even sent the reply before she ran into him in the lobby.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman had given her a bouquet of flowers. He claimed other audience members had gifted them to him after the show, and since he had a pollen allergy, he felt bad just tossing them. \"I can't take them into the car, and you’re the only person I know at the station,\" he’d said, looking sheepish. \"It would be a waste to throw them out. My apologies.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The flowers were exactly what Violette liked: beautiful white roses with hearts of pale champagne-yellow, wrapped in vintage English newspapers. They were sophisticated. She had laughed and accepted them with a smile. \"I’d be honored.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Was that, in his mind, \"pursuing\" her? Violette dismissed the thought, warning her young boyfriend, \"You’re reading into things. Why not just say I’m getting married to him, while you’re at it?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Blake covered her mouth with his hand. \"Don't you dare.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Her muffled protests hummed against his palm, which felt slightly calloused. Blake glared at her like a feral animal. \"Just you wait. The second I’m of legal age, I’m marrying you.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She had narrowed her eyes, laughing at him with her gaze. *How old are you again, kid?*\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Because of that trip to Deepwater, Blake hadn't adjusted to the time zone and hadn't competed at his peak. In professional sports, even a minor lapse in form could dictate the entire match. He was young, hot-blooded, and fueled by an impulsive, raw energy. Violette had tried her best not to interfere with his focus, and even when he’d sent messages looking for comfort, she had kept her responses brief, urging him to train.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She realized something was wrong only when he suffered a shocking defeat. She deeply regretted not having offered him more support.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">That regret bled into her nightmare, spiraling into the familiar, suffocating sensation of being canceled by the public. She had once written a thesis on cyber-bullying; ironically, when she became the target, even her sharpest arguments became the very blades used to cut her down. She was forced into silence. The waves of complaint letters that flooded the station had been so vast she had eventually been moved from in-front-of-the-camera to behind-the-scenes. She had opened some of those letters. Aside from the vicious insults, strangers had even taken the time to write her funeral elegies. She had become numb to the sheer creativity of the hatred directed at her.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The dream ended with a photograph of her and Blake, her face crossed out with a violent, jagged red 'X'. The sender had pressed so hard with their pen that the paper had torn, a single word scrawled in the center: \"DIE.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She woke up drenched in a cold sweat. Violette took a moment to steady her racing heart, a routine she had mastered. Once she felt composed, she moved to get a glass of water.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Turning the corner, she stopped dead. Someone was in the living room.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman had only just returned; he was still dressed in his sharp business attire. He stood by the kitchen island, unclasping a tourbillon watch. His dark clothes accentuated his cool, porcelain skin. He stood there, his brow furrowed with the chill of a long night, but the moment he locked eyes with her, his expression softened into his usual composure.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Why were you sleeping out here? I was about to carry you to the bedroom.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Still reeling from the nightmare, Violette shook her head, feeling a sudden pang of guilt at the sight of her messy desk. She quickly gathered the scattered papers.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The file on Blake was buried at the very bottom.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman looked away. \"I’ll head to the study then. I won't keep you.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Her mind was too restless to focus. Ten minutes later, she gave up and gathered the documents. As she knocked on the study door, a sudden crash of shattering glass echoed from within. She didn't wait for an invitation; she pushed the door open.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The air was heavy with the faint scent of tobacco. A window was cracked open, and a crystal ashtray lay in shards on the floor.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Smoking again?\" Violette asked softly. \"Is the pressure that intense lately?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I'm fine. Business just gets complicated when the scale grows,\" Roman said, his voice pausing. \"Don't come in. You might cut yourself.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He crouched down to clean the mess. The movement pulled his dress pants taut, revealing a sliver of his ankle—the bone sharp and sleek, vanishing into the fabric of his socks. He looked like an austere knight, disciplined and impossibly restrained.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">When she had agreed to marry him, it hadn't just been a desire to escape her crumbling life. It was because Roman himself was a force she couldn't resist. He was capable, meticulous, and devastatingly composed—traits that were the antithesis of Blake’s volatility. For a drowning woman like her, Roman had been the solid, unshakeable fortress she needed to cling to.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">While she stood there, lost in thought, Roman stood up. He had wrapped the glass shards in old newspaper, scrawling \"Careful: Glass\" on the paper with a marker before setting it aside.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Finished with your files?\" he asked.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">For some reason, the calm, steady cadence of his voice anchored her once more. A sudden, desperate need for his embrace washed over her—a desire to be hidden away within his protection. She obeyed the impulse and opened her arms.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Roman, hold me.\"\u003C/p>",false,0,1774272916967]