With five days off ahead, Violette Ellis swung by the station to grab her laptop. A vacation was a vacation, but she had to be prepared in case a breaking story required her attention.

Her assistant joked that she had the constitution of a workhorse.

Violette hugged the laptop to her chest and shrugged. "What can I say? I was born to grind."

She emerged from the newsroom, waving at colleagues as she passed the studio. If it weren't for the station manager, Arthur Campbell, shifting her duties at the eleventh hour to keep her off field assignments, this leave would have been impossible. Of course, when one person takes a break, the workload for everyone else skyrockets.

As she bypassed the studio and headed toward the conference room, Marilyn Stone caught her arm.

"The one on vacation shouldn't be here fishing for work. Why are you still lurking?"

"Is Arthur not in?" Violette asked.

"He’s swamped. Just get out of here before he changes his mind and pulls your leave slip."

"Since when has Arthur been that petty?"

"Oh, you’re in trouble now. You called him petty."

Without waiting for a response, Marilyn draped an arm around Violette’s shoulder and shoved her toward the elevator. The surrounding staff cast sidelong glances, whispering about the rumored rivalry between the station’s top anchors.

Once the elevator doors pinged shut, Marilyn sighed with relief, waving her hand. "Go on, get out of here. There’s a massive new project being greenlit—don’t steal my spotlight."

If she were truly worried about her spotlight, she wouldn't have said it out loud.

Violette had a hunch about why she was being ushered out, so after heading downstairs, she stopped by the courier office. Albert, the attendant, checked the logs for her mail and paused. "How about that? Did you not get it?"

"I got it," Violette said. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything new for today."

Albert adjusted his glasses and rummaged through a mountain of packages. He finally shook his head. "Today? Nothing."

"That stack from earlier," Albert mused, "those were fan letters, right? Colorful envelopes, definitely a girl’s handwriting. They were certainly enthusiastic!"

Violette offered a polite, hollow smile.

She knew the mail existed. Marilyn had been too quick to dismiss it over iMessage, and she had gone out of her way to keep Violette away from the conference room this morning. Most likely, the remains of those letters were still sitting in the office shredder, waiting to be cleared.

Violette knew exactly what those beautifully scented envelopes contained. The content was always just as hollow—either vitriolic hate speech or demands for her to drop dead.

She had expected this fallout the moment she agreed to interview Blake Pierce.

The online sentiment had been toxic for days, which explained why even a risk-taker like Arthur had pulled her off the air. As for Violette herself, after surviving her last major bout of cyberbullying, she had nuked her social media presence, keeping only essential lines of communication open. She had grown accustomed to a quiet life: reading, catching up on the news, skipping the junk food, and actually getting a decent night’s sleep.

The internet’s bloodsport had nothing to do with her.

Stepping out of the station, Violette pulled on her mask and hailed a car for the airport. She had three hours until her flight.

She sent a quick iMessage to Roman Griffin: *Are you on your way? See you at the airport?*

Roman replied with a simple, "Fine," and nothing more.

This was a last-minute honeymoon; he had even more to coordinate than she did, and he’d been at the office since dawn. Violette confirmed her flight details and didn't bother him again.

Roman was indeed swamped.

He had meticulously organized the company affairs the night before, but this morning was reserved for a short, high-stakes meeting with his project leads. The meeting lasted ten minutes.

As he walked past the breakroom, he happened to overhear a conversation about the current Tennis Tour. Roman stopped in his tracks, hearing his employees from the other side of the door.

"I’m telling you, Blake Pierce’s fans are out of their minds. I used to be a fan, but I’ve completely checked out. My feed is just clips of his matches and people acting like he’s the second coming of Christ. It’s exhausting."

"That’s nothing. Did you see the interview with that Deepwater reporter? I thought she was perfectly professional, but his fans went on a warpath. Thousands of comments trashing her. The station actually had to disable their mentions."

"No way. You mean the reporter who was rumored to be seeing him? The one who interviewed Mr. Griffin?"

"That’s the one. She’s gorgeous, super articulate, and very polite."

"Poor girl. She’s cursed."

"The worst part is that her fanbase is mostly men who just want to watch the game. They don’t know how to brigading a comment section or fight back. She’s getting slaughtered, and she’s just taking it alone."

Most of the staff only knew that Roman had recently married, but they assumed it was to some socialite from a high-status family. They had no idea they were talking about their own boss’s wife while the boss stood outside, his face cold enough to freeze the room.

Back in his office, Roman pulled up the station’s official social media page.

The comment section was indeed disabled.

But the "Latest" feed was still flooded with posts targeting Violette. No wonder she’d suddenly suggested a honeymoon; the pressure must have been unbearable. Roman frowned, a sudden wave of self-reproach hitting him. They lived under the same roof, yet he hadn't noticed the toll it was taking on her.

He buzzed his legal counsel over the intercom, pointing to several posts that were trying to dox Violette. "Send out legal notices. Sue them until they’re broke."

The legal team was used to such requests, but they asked for the bottom line. "What if they try to settle privately, like last time?"

"No settlement," Roman said, his voice hard as iron.

"What about damages? A public apology?" the lawyer asked. "And if we happen to run into any minors—"

Roman drummed his fingers on the desk, his patience wearing thin. "Does it matter if they're a minor? That's not my problem."

"Understood."

The legal department clearly grasped the weight of the "sue them until they're broke" order. The lead counsel asked, "And regarding the rest of these?"

"Handle it," Roman said, his eyes narrowing into dark, sharp slits. "Ten-thousand-dollar bonus for every case we win."

It was a staggering, almost dehumanizing level of incentive.

Defamation cases were usually open-and-shut, with a near-zero chance of losing. The entire legal department practically transformed into a swarm of hornets, their office lights glowing through the night for the rest of the week.

Other employees passing by would stop and whisper, "What's going on in there?"

The legal team remained tight-lipped: "Big case. You wouldn't understand."

While the legal storm raged on, Roman and Violette had already arrived at the White Peaks.

The airport was small, making it difficult to secure a private flight path for a Gulfstream G650. Even in business class, the narrow-body commercial flight hadn't been particularly comfortable. Plus, with the weight of everything on her mind, Violette noticed the cold, icy intensity Roman radiated as they stepped out into the snow.

She reached out, taking his hand.

"Are you tired?"

"Not at all. Just thinking about work," Roman said, dismissing the tension with a few words. "But I’ve already dispatched people to handle it. Don't worry about a thing for the next few days."

The idea of the trip had been a spur-of-the-moment whim, and looking at him now, Violette felt guilty for pulling him away from his duties.

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Are you sure it's alright?"

Roman looked at her, his eyes unreadable and brimming with meaning. "Yes. Don't give it another thought."

Five days.

With the efficiency of the V-Oasis team, that was more than enough time to wipe most of the trash off the internet. If he hadn't been concerned about Violette’s professional reputation, Roman would have used much more ruthless tactics.

There were plenty of ways to settle scores in the upper circles that never saw the light of day. He didn't care for them, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to execute them.

Those who wanted to doxx Violette?

Before they ever got the chance to dig up her private info, they would find their own lives under the microscope, their personal information broadcast to every friend and family member they had. That was a much more terrifying reality to face.

After all, what is life if not an eye for an eye?