[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":10},["ShallowReactive",2],{"viewer-data-2603220ECDF1-583":3},{"id":4,"number":5,"name":6,"content":7,"isLocked":8,"price":9,"hasRead":8},583,25,"Chapter 25: The Crushed Orange","\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The plane touched down in Deepwater at dusk.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">As Roman prepared to head to the office, he turned to Violette. \"Do you need any help with anything today?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette shook her head. \"I'm going to the hospital to check on a colleague first. I'm fine for now.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman stared at her for a few seconds, his gaze unreadable.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Alright. Call me if you need me.\" He took a few steps away, then paused, unable to help himself. He glanced back over his shoulder. \"I'm always here.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman was an almost perfect partner.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was something Violette had only realized after living with him. She had expected their marriage to be sterile and mind-numbingly dull, given that Roman was the type of man who seemed to thrive on routine—a man whose very intimacy felt like it followed a scheduled calendar. Beneath his polished, gentlemanly exterior, she had imagined a heart made of clockwork: precise, regular, and utterly predictable.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Back when she was still with Blake Pierce, she had been convinced she wanted a love that burned like gasoline—intense, volatile, consuming. Things like mutual respect and quiet harmony had seemed, in her eyes, like synonyms for a boring existence.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">And yet, here she was, living the very life she once despised, just like the vast majority of people in this world.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">But experience had proven the theory wrong; the so-called \"dullness\" felt like a private joke. When she thought of Roman, her mind didn't jump to the predictable. It flickered through flashes: him in the kitchen, checking a stove while talking on the phone; his profile, silhouetted against the car window as he waited quietly downstairs at the station; the way his neck would glisten with a sheen of sweat as he moved steadily above her.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">There were so many snapshots, and they had already crowded her mind in just over two months of marriage. The freshest one was the way he’d stopped just now, looking her in the eyes, promising, \"I'm always here.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">***\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">After dropping her bags at home and freshening up, Violette stopped at a local market to grab some fresh fruit and an acai bowl before driving to the hospital.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Marilyn Stone was actually fine; she should have been discharged days ago. But for some reason, a parade of doctors had descended upon her room today, running every test imaginable and insisting she stay for observation.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">When Violette arrived, Marilyn was lying in bed, peeling an orange with agonizing boredom.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"No way, you actually came back?\" Marilyn said, eyes widening.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"You thought the location pin I sent was fake?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette set her bag down and instinctively took the orange from Marilyn, peeling it in neat strips along the knife cuts.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Marilyn squinted at her. \"Did you wash your hands?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Oh, forgot.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Then you eat it yourself.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The two of them locked eyes for a second, then burst into laughter.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette asked, \"Aren't you worried about appearances? You’re not trying to avoid rumors at the station anymore?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I wasn't trying to avoid rumors at the station, okay!\" Marilyn rolled her eyes. \"I just have a cold, professional exterior.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette leaned in, popping a slice of orange into Marilyn’s mouth. Her eyes crinkled. \"You look like you've got your energy back. I'm relieved.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"You didn't wash your hands!\" Marilyn shrieked, though she dutifully swallowed every bit of the orange.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Once the banter died down, Violette cut to the chase. \"Is he still at the police station?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"He's still there,\" Marilyn said, turning serious. \"What are you planning to do this time?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">For an act of malice like this, there was no choice but to pursue it to the end. They could use the station's influence to shift the narrative, but given the sheer size of Blake Pierce’s fan base, Violette hadn't figured out the endgame. How many more crazies were hiding in that crowd? How many more incidents like this would happen? Nobody knew.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette just wanted to handle the immediate fallout.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Marilyn studied her. \"Are you still refusing to use social media?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I don't really use it.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Well, why don't you use my phone to take a look?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Marilyn didn't hesitate; she pulled up the relevant threads and thrust the screen into Violette’s hand. Because the case had gone to the police, the internet was already in an uproar.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Someone with an inside track had leaked the entire event, and the comment section was a battlefield.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I knew Blake's fans were crazy, but I didn't know they were *this* crazy. They're actually pulling off-screen ambushes now?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"The poor woman who got splashed is the real victim. Someone get her a lucky charm to ward off the bad juju!\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"His fans are actually insane, I'm dying. He just posted about gathering evidence, and his own fans are handing over the proof that puts them in handcuffs. Is this a new brand of fan culture or what?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Am I the only one who finds this terrifying? If that hadn't been water, if it had been acid, she would have been permanently disfigured.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Exactly what the person above said. This is a violent assault, plain and simple! I hope they punish them severely. It’s a good wake-up call to certain fan groups: the internet isn't a lawless void, and real life definitely isn't!\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">While there were still a few fans desperately trying to argue, the general tide of public opinion was surprisingly in their favor. Violette, long accustomed to being the target of vitriol, felt a bit dizzy seeing the wind blow in her direction. She blinked, rereading the comments just to be sure.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"What's with that look?\" Marilyn teased. \"Are you getting Stockholm syndrome from being abused for so long?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"…No. Stop it.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"The current public opinion is demanding a strict investigation. I don't know what kind of influence got involved last night, but the attention just exploded. Even the national news network weighed in on it. We're officially on the—\" Marilyn gestured with her thumb, \"—moral high ground.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">From the moral high ground, everything became easier to manage. As long as this incident was kept in the spotlight, the fan base would inevitably fracture. The ones who stayed would be forced to police each other, which, at the very least, meant no more off-screen incidents for a while.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette nodded. \"I see.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She reached out with her foot to hook the trash can under the bed, intending to throw away the orange peels, when a knock came at the door.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I’m perfectly fine, the nurses check in every two hours anyway,\" Marilyn grumbled. She raised her voice, \"Come in!\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The door swung open.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette picked up a clean orange slice, ready to hand it to Marilyn, but the other woman didn't take it. Violette glanced up, catching the look of pure shock on Marilyn's face.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"What's wrong?\" Violette asked, turning around.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">A few steps away, standing in the backlit frame of the doorway, was Blake Pierce, holding a gift basket.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He was standing closer than he had been during the interview. She could feel his heavy, silent presence, and she could feel the heat of his gaze—the most intense she had ever felt—burning through the brim of his cap.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"...\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Only when she felt the citrus juice trickling down her wrist did Violette realize what she had done. The orange slice in her hand had been crushed under the pressure of her grip. Her expression didn't flicker. She calmly pulled a few tissues, wiped her hand clean, and tossed everything into the trash.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I'm going to the restroom.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette stood up. Marilyn, naturally, didn't try to stop her, though her eyes were darting back and forth between them, burning with curiosity.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">To everyone’s surprise, Blake didn't try to stop her either.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He simply stood there, watching in silence as she turned and walked into the bathroom. A moment later, the light flickered behind the frosted glass of the door.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He turned his focus back to Marilyn on the hospital bed, offering a sincere apology. \"I am truly sorry about what happened.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The door wasn't soundproof. Every word of the conversation outside drifted clearly into the small, tiled room.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Marilyn spoke with an edge in her voice. \"Honestly, I'm fine. But other people—the ones who keep getting targeted by your fans—it's really exhausting.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I know,\" Blake replied.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Even if this wasn't directly your fault, can't you do something about it?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"The legal papers have already been prepared. Whether it's this incident or the ones before, I keep my word.\" Blake paused for a beat. \"I’ve already ordered the fan groups my agent was managing to be disbanded. I'm an athlete; there’s no need to maintain that kind of circus. I've already convinced the club, too.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">No fans meant no endorsements. No endorsements meant pure out-of-pocket costs.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Training a professional tennis player was ruinously expensive. Would the club actually agree to that?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette leaned against the vanity, listening, quietly processing the information.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Outside, Marilyn clearly didn't care about the business logistics. She just replied flatly, \"Oh. Well, good.\"\u003C/p>",false,0,1774272917784]