Marilyn Stone had been keeping a low profile for a long time.

She knew she lacked connections, so every move had to be calculated. She didn't dare get too close to Violette Ellis, yet she genuinely admired the effortless grace Violette carried. There was an old saying about trying to paint a tiger and ending up with a dog—Marilyn had tried to emulate Violette’s style, but all she’d managed to pick up was her trademark sarcasm.

Yet, for some reason, Violette had become the one playing it safe lately, swallowing her pride and biting her tongue. Marilyn didn't like this new, muted version of Violette, and by extension, she despised Blake Pierce. She often thought to herself that if it weren’t for that immature little brother type, Violette wouldn't be living like this.

As for Violette’s current husband? With the professional skepticism of a true journalist, Marilyn reserved her judgment.

***

After wrapping up her audio session, Violette double-checked the new shift schedule.

Lately, she had been relegated to behind-the-scenes work. Even the one interview she was assigned didn't require her to appear on camera. She knew Arthur Campbell, the station manager, had gone out of his way to arrange this for her during the frantic year-end rush.

She was going over her notes until after 8:00 PM when Emma Fox finally returned, looking utterly defeated.

"Boss..."

Violette offered a faint smile. "Don't tell me you walked off the job again?"

"Hardly," Emma waved her hands, then pointed miserably at her feet. "I’ve been running around all day. I feel like my feet are going to snap."

Violette looked down to see that the sneakers Emma was wearing had rubbed a raw patch of skin off her heel. Violette pulled out a bandage and handed it to her. "Fix it up for now."

Emma sat down, propped her foot up on her knee, and carefully applied the bandage to her tendon.

"How’s work been these past few days?"

Emma kept her head down. "Buying water, carrying bags, ordering takeout, taking out the trash. I'm a pro at it now."

"Didn't you tell me a couple of days ago that you were working on a script?"

"Well... I guess writing scripts doesn't really conflict with the errand-running part!"

Violette crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "So, someone else took the credit for your script, and you’ve been relegated to the errand girl?"

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking sheepish. "It’s the corporate life, isn't it?"

Indeed, a fresh intern couldn't play power games with the veterans—they had the ambition, but lacked the teeth. Violette knew exactly how that felt; she had walked that same path, which was why she loathed it so much.

Seeing Emma finish bandaging her foot and looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes, Violette patted her shoulder. "I’ll talk to the Station Manager. Once you wrap up The Tour, you can come back to my team."

What tour? Who cared about being a fan of some rumored romance? Emma just wanted the tournament to end so Blake Pierce would vanish from whence he came. Anything to stop him from messing up her life with her boss.

After spending a few days with Violette, Emma had successfully evolved from a "shipping fan" into a ruthless defender of Violette’s reputation. She finally understood why everyone wanted to be associated with Violette: because she was Violette.

Who wouldn’t love a goddess who was as beautiful as she was kind?

The moment Violette walked away, Emma opened Twitter and entered full combat mode.

*“I don't get it. She’s married, why does Blake Pierce still keep acting like he’s protecting her?”*

*“I don't get it. You’re an adult now, why hasn't your brain finished developing yet?”*

*“A total pick-me news anchor.”*

*“A sewer-mouth full of garbage.”*

*“I don't see what the big deal is with her looks. It’s insane how much people talk about her face.”*

*“If everyone says she’s pretty and you think she’s plain, maybe God put a curtain over your eyes?”*

*“Stop talking about her. She’s probably at home right now, laughing at how high her engagement numbers are. We’re just giving her free publicity.”*

*“The only part of that sentence that sounds human is the first four words. Is there a crematorium furnace behind your ribs instead of a heart?”*

When it came to internet warfare, Emma patted her chest. She was a professional.

***

Once The Tour concluded, Emma was officially moved back under Violette’s wing.

She had spent her days either running errands or fighting trolls online, and she found it difficult to settle back into actual work. Violette handed her the finalized interview draft to review.

Emma read it and felt a jolt of pure satisfaction.

Violette waved a hand in front of her face. "What are you daydreaming about?"

"Oh! Sorry!" Emma snapped back to reality. "Boss, the script is great! It’s perfect!"

Violette nodded. "Glad you approve."

Emma turned crimson. That wasn't what she meant—Violette had given her the draft to study, not for a review.

"Gather your thoughts and write a new one," Violette said, resting her chin on her hand. "The interview opportunity is yours."

"Really?!"

Since this interview wouldn't be on camera or live-streamed, Emma wasn't nearly as nervous. To her, this was a massive break. After her last slip-up, she hadn't had a single chance to prove herself. She couldn't very well list "Ordered eight boxes of lunch, six trips to the convenience store" on her internship evaluation. She was starting to fear she’d be unemployed as soon as the internship ended.

She bowed theatrically. "Boss, you’re basically my surrogate mother!"

The interviewee today was Martin Ruiz, a standout young entrepreneur in Deepwater and the Executive Deputy Secretary of the local Chamber of Commerce. Violette had interviewed countless people like him and remained unshakeable, but Emma was trembling from head to toe.

Violette glanced at her. "Blow this chance, and you're really done for."

Emma gritted her teeth. "I'm just excited, not nervous, Boss."

She spent the whole car ride rehearsing the script, and just before getting out, she chugged a massive bottle of water. After a loud, involuntary burp, she finally calmed down.

Thanks to that ice-cold water, Emma didn't break a sweat for the entire interview.

It was a bit stiff, though. She relied too heavily on the pre-written questions. For instance, when Mr. Ruiz drifted into a loose, open conversation about product data management, creative industries, and his time studying abroad, Emma panicked. She ignored the flow and dragged the conversation back to the technical innovation points listed on her paper.

Violette didn't say a word, giving Emma all the space she needed to sink or swim.

During the post-interview review, Emma realized exactly how much hand-holding she’d gotten.

While the secretary went to fetch tea and Mr. Ruiz headed to the lounge, Emma leaned in close and whispered, "Boss, was I terrible?"

"It was alright," Violette said. "You didn't go off-script."

"But when Mr. Ruiz mentioned his time studying abroad, my mind went totally blank. I’ve only ever been as far as Thailand and Malaysia, and I’ve never been to California or anything—I didn't know how to bridge the gap, so I just kept trying to steer him back to the talking points... it was a disaster!"

Violette offered a hint: "Adding emotional value to what the other person is saying is a technique, too. Try it next time."

"Wait... since I didn't provide any emotional value, is Mr. Ruiz going to be angry? Will he think some green intern was a waste of his time? Oh no, am I going to get a formal complaint?"

The more she thought about it, the more terrified she became.

"He won't," Violette said, cutting off her spiraling thoughts with cool composure.

Emma didn't know why, but she believed her implicitly.

A moment later, Mr. Ruiz emerged from the lounge. He had swapped his suit for a casual polo shirt and a brown cardigan. He looked years younger, much more approachable.

Emma was about to stand up to greet him, but Martin Ruiz walked right past her, heading straight for Violette. The cold, distant air he had held during the interview had completely vanished.

"I was about to burst out of that suit; it’s so much more comfortable like this."

He sat down right next to Violette, looking at her with genuine warmth. "Sister-in-law, why don't you stay for lunch?"

Emma froze.

They were close?

So that was it.