A few days later, Violette Ellis and Roman Griffin finished their follow-up medical exams.

A week after that, the reports arrived on their respective phones.

Violette went through her annual company physical, which only included a few additional tests this time. She skimmed through the results, her eyes darting past lines of "within normal limits" and "no abnormalities detected."

Roman’s report, however, was significantly more colorful.

He didn’t seem to have a shred of privacy regarding these things. Whatever arrived on his phone, he simply forwarded to her without a second thought.

Thirteen percent body fat, high-vitality sperm counts, and even high-definition, magnified images attached as proof.

Violette studied the details for a moment, then snapped her phone shut the second she heard footsteps approaching.

"What are you looking at?" A voice drifted over her shoulder.

Violette sat up straight, deadpan. "Drafts for work."

"Reading drafts during lunch? Are you trying to burn me out?"

"I am. If you can make me work through my lunch, why can't I do the same to you? Ms. Stone."

Marilyn Stone set her tray down at the table across from her. There was one empty seat between them, making it look like a happenstance meeting.

Marilyn chewed on a piece of lettuce, lowering her voice. "Check your Twitter feed yet?"

Whenever she brought that up, it was almost always about the online hate.

Violette shook her head. "No."

"You’ve got nerves of steel."

Marilyn chewed for a moment before looking up. "I saw a dozen engagement-farming accounts posting apologies this morning. It was so synchronized, it felt like they’d coordinated it."

Violette immediately thought of the lawsuit Blake Pierce had mentioned to her. She asked, "What did they say?"

Marilyn didn't bother showing her the screen this time, simply summarizing the gist. "They claimed everything they posted previously was baseless speculation, offered their 'sincere' apologies for the distress caused to Ms. Ellis, and promised to do better."

She scoffed, adding, "The copy-paste job was sloppy. You can tell they were just slapping together whatever sounded official."

"Hmm."

"Still, it's a start," Marilyn said. "I guess Blake Pierce actually did something useful for once."

Just as Marilyn predicted, it was only the beginning.

Over the next few days, every account that had once fanned the flames of the rumors crawled out of the woodwork to issue an apology. Their shift in tone rippled through the fandom; the major influencers who used to lead the daily pile-ons suddenly went silent.

"What’s going on lately?"

"Apparently, they all got hit with a class-action lawsuit. I know an owner of a sports-commentary page who supposedly got a legal notice. Because his post about 'Ms. E' had thousands of shares, he’s in deep trouble."

"What? Seriously? They can't sue everyone, can they?"

"They don't have to sue everyone—they just have to cut off the head of the snake. Either way, I’ve already deleted my old tweets. I’ve been using a burner account lately to keep a low profile."

"Are you serious?! It’s not like it was a lie that she affected his performance. There were reports about how she messed up his training back when they were dating. Why are we scared? Since when are we not allowed to speak the truth? If I were her, I’d just shut up now that I’m married and stop trying to ruin my husband's reputation!"

"Still talking tough in the replies, are you? Check how many people liked your post. Can't you feel the legal notice flying toward your head already?"

"Hilarious. The like counts keep climbing. The internet never disappoints—there’s nothing people love more than a public train wreck."

The fan base split into two distinct camps: the "keep your head down" crowd and the "doubling down on the rebellion" crowd.

That night, Violette opened Twitter to find exactly that. She had deleted her account, so she could only see the top posts on the main feed, but at least the blatant, name-calling vitriol had died down significantly.

She scrolled for a while, feeling strangely detached.

As she stood up to pour herself a glass of water, she was struck by a thought. The same comments that used to make her blood boil now felt like nothing more than distant noise.

Is being with a person who has such unshakable emotional stability really this effective?

She hesitated, then tapped on Roman’s chat box.

Roman was on a business trip. Their communication over the last few days had been limited to simple "Good morning" and "Good night" texts.

Violette typed: *Busy?*

A few minutes later, Roman replied: *Not anymore.*

Violette: *What are you doing?*

Roman: *Touring a manufacturing plant.*

Violette: *Working this late? Is it hot there?*

Roman: *It’s alright. The humidity is higher than in Deepwater, and the mosquitoes are relentless this time of year.*

Violette sent back a simple "Mhm."

Roman stared at the single character. He could almost hear her voice, quiet and compliant, and he felt a sudden, sharp heat rising in his chest.

Roman: *Did you have something you wanted to tell me?*

Violette: *No.*

Across the digital divide, they couldn't see each other's faces or interpret the tone. Violette suddenly felt that "No" sounded a bit too cold, so she added:

Violette: *I miss you a little.*

Thousands of miles away, in a humid factory district in Southeast Asia, the entourage surrounding the boss suddenly noticed him stop in his tracks, eyes narrowed at his phone.

The screen was lit, but the chat window was obscured, and no one dared to cast a lingering glance.

"If you have other urgent matters to attend to—"

"No." Roman slipped his phone into his pocket and glanced at his secretary. "What’s the schedule for tomorrow?"

"We have the groundbreaking ceremony for the new facility. In the afternoon, the local officials want to discuss the development plans we touched on last time."

"Go on."

"The day after, we fly direct to Singapore for the Global Business Forum. There’s an interview after the event, but you’re free after 4:00 PM. The following day, we head to Luxembourg to sign the digital technology framework agreement. There’s a dinner hosted by the local authorities once the signing is complete. We have a few scattered appointments after that, and we should be cleared to head back by Thursday around noon."

Every item on the schedule had been vetted and confirmed. Changing it now would throw off everyone involved in the chain.

Roman rubbed his temples, his grip tightening. "Understood."

A few steps later, he pulled out his phone again.

Roman: *Heading back next Thursday.*

Roman: *Same here. I miss you too.*