A pearl is still a pearl.

Whether displayed on a pedestal or sealed inside an oyster, its essence remains unchanged. The value assigned to it is merely a human construct, not a reflection of its nature.

Violette Ellis understood this logic, yet it took Roman Griffin’s blunt explanation for her to truly grasp it. She shouldn’t be asking if she should accept an opportunity; she should be asking if she actually wanted it.

She gave Arthur Campbell her answer shortly after.

"I’ll give it a try."

Her response was humble, but Arthur practically wanted to shove her into the anchor’s chair that very second. "Try? What do you mean, 'try'? As long as you’re on air, that’s all that matters. And that girl—" Arthur gestured vaguely, "—Emma Fox. She’s yours now. She’ll be shadowing you on this new project."

When the news broke, Emma Fox was all for it.

She clung to Violette’s arm, beaming. "Boss, I was so afraid that when I officially started, they’d dump me in some dark corner to fend for myself. Or worse, assign me to a male department head. You know how it is—I’m a total cynic when it comes to men in the real world."

That girl’s mouth hadn't changed one bit.

Violette raised a hand to silence her. "Less talking."

"Understood!" Emma straightened her posture, giving a mock salute. "More doing!"

The preparation phase for the new program was brutal.

Violette wasn’t just the lead anchor; she was the showrunner. From flowcharts to selecting interviewees, and from managing camera crews to post-production, nothing moved forward without her sign-off. As her assistant, Emma didn't have a spare second to breathe, either.

They knew the broadcast industry was glamorous, but they hadn't realized it was this draining.

Every time Emma got home in the dead of night, she had to endure the piercing glares of her parents.

"Is the station actually insane? Do they not consider you people?"

"You can’t say that," Emma would defend, citing her direct supervisor. "Ms. Ellis gets home even later than I do, and she’s already back at it by the time I arrive in the morning. If Ms. Ellis isn't complaining, then—"

"Fine, fine. Ms. Ellis this, Ms. Ellis that. You talk more about her than you do about us."

Emma thought to herself, *And why wouldn't I?* In the grind of being a corporate cog, the only joy left was observing her mentor. To be precise, observing her mentor and her high-powered, CEO husband.

To that end, Emma had started a blog.

*Chronicles of a Cynic: The Boss Stays Warm.*

The blog had grown from a handful of hits to a few thousand followers. Emma’s writing was witty, full of inside jokes, and surprisingly, people started clamoring for updates if she went silent for a few days.

Emma retorted, "This isn't a serial novel, you know!"

A follower shot back, "Save it. You’re clearly just building engagement before dropping the goods. Real men like that don't exist, so you better keep updating."

Emma: ...

The blog continued to exist on an irregular schedule. It wasn't that Emma didn't want to write; it was that her "Mr. Griffin" was a busy man. He wasn't some idle socialite; whether there was content depended entirely on his appearances.

For instance, Violette had told her a few days ago that Roman was away on business.

He was in Bangkok. Deepwater, which lacked a true winter, was beginning to warm up, and the sun was already strong enough that a coat felt unnecessary. Bangkok was even hotter. During a video call that evening, Violette was caught off guard when she saw Roman shirtless.

"Is it really that hot in Bangkok?"

"I'm at the hotel."

On screen, his bare, sculpted torso vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He pulled his robe tight, and by the time he stepped back into the frame, he had cinched the belt with a crisp, decisive knot.

Roman lowered his gaze. "Just finished a shower."

*What a pity.*

He was so bundled up now; there was nothing left to see.

Violette played it cool. "You could have finished dressing before answering."

"Mm," Roman nodded. "I’ll remember that for next time."

"..."

There was really no need to respond to everything she said so literally.

At some point, video calling whenever they were apart had become their unspoken ritual. Today, Violette had been the one to initiate the call.

"How was your day? Busy?"

"Not bad," Roman replied. "And you?"

"Swamped. I just got in." Violette sighed. "It’s a good thing Sunny is staying with my parents. Otherwise, coming home to an empty house every night would make me feel like a latchkey kid."

Their conversations were always like this—a bit about work, a bit about the cat.

Violette was about to hang up when Roman suddenly called her name.

She was in the middle of applying moisturizer to her legs and barely lifted her eyes, responding lazily, "Yeah?"

"When I get back, do you want to go surfing?"

"Huh?"

She was noticeably startled, her voice rising an octave.

"You mentioned being under a lot of pressure lately," Roman said. "A little relaxation is good for the body and mind."

"But... I don't know how to surf," Violette said, feeling lost.

Roman replied as he always did, with calm assurance: "Leave it to me."

...

Deepwater bordered the inner sea, and they managed to find a rare window of time off the day after Roman returned.

True to his word, he had his speedboat moved to the coast first thing in the morning.

Violette was still eating breakfast when she heard him finishing a call, a slice of tomato from her sandwich dangling from her lips. "So early?"

"The weather is perfect. I had them prepare a barbecue on the deck."

"We’re doing that too?"

"Adelaide and the others heard we were heading out and insisted on tagging along," Roman said, sounding resigned. "I told them they could host their own barbecue on the yacht, but we’re taking the boat out alone."

There was something undeniably intimate about the way he said "we’re taking the boat out alone" in that composed, serious voice. Violette’s throat constricted as she stared at his thin, pale lips.

She suddenly wanted to kiss him.

She stood up abruptly, and Roman instinctively turned his head.

Before he could even register what was happening, she pressed her lips against his for a fleeting second. By the time he refocused, she had already pulled back, leaning against the edge of the table, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.

The touch had been so brief it might have been a hallucination.

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't want to go surfing anymore?"

"I do," Violette said. She slowly reached out, brushing a smudge of tomato she’d left on the corner of his mouth, feigning ignorance. "But I don't see what that has to do with surfing. It’s not like..."

Her gaze drifted downward.

"...you’d get a reaction out of a simple kiss, right?"