Freya stared at the blank screen of the television long after the press conference ended. The image of Arnold lying effortlessly still echoed in her mind like a low drumbeat.
Laura tucked her legs under the couch, arms crossed over her chest as she watched her best friend quietly.
"Freya..." she said gently, "you okay?"
Freya didn't respond right away. Her eyes remained glued to the screen, now showing a news anchor gleefully recapping Arnold Connor's confirmation that Ariel Sawyer was the woman in the infamous hotel photo.
"She's not," Freya finally said with a raw voice.
"I know," Laura replied softly. "But he has a fiancee? Wow. I'm actually shocked."
"Apparently." Freya chuckled dryly and shook her head. "I thought I knew him."
She paused.
"He said it so easily. Like I didn't even happen. Like I'm just... background noise."
Laura wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
"You weren't background, Frey. You were the entire damn picture. He just—"
"Protected me," Freya interrupted bitterly. "Or so he thinks."
There was a long pause.
Outside, a muffled rumble of voices slowly faded. Freya stood and moved to the window.
The reporters were leaving. Cameras packed away. The sidewalk, once a paparazzi war zone, was finally clearing out.
Even the guards were beginning to retreat to their vehicles, nodding to each other as they climbed inside.
"They're gone," She said quietly.
"Because they've got what they wanted," Laura replied, standing beside her. "Ariel's the new story now. The 'fiancée.'"
Freya pressed a hand against the glass. "I should feel relieved."
"But you feel...?"
"Empty."
Laura nodded, resting her head against Freya's shoulder. "You don't have to be strong right now."
"I'm not trying to be strong. I'm trying to breathe."
They stood in silence, the city moving on without them outside the window.
After a while, Freya turned away.
"I think I'm going back to work," she said.
Laura blinked. "Are you serious?"
She gave a small smile. "Why not? The storm has passed, right? The media's forgotten me. The guards are gone. My face isn't on every screen anymore. I can be invisible again. Just the way I like it."
"Thompson's gonna have a field day," Laura muttered.
"Let him. I've survived worse."
Freya moved into the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cabinet. "Time to return to the peaceful chaos of journalism."
Laura watched her, arms folded, both impressed and concerned.
"You sure you're ready?"
"Nope," Freya said, filling the mug with water. "But when has that ever stopped me?"
★★★
The first thing Freya noticed when she stepped into the Daily Times building was the hush—the kind of anticipation that blankets a newsroom right before a scandal breaks. But this time, she was the scandal.
The moment she walked through the doors of the newsroom, a burst of applause erupted.
Freya blinked, stunned.
"Well if it isn't our headline queen herself!" called Benny from the editorial.
"Welcome back, Queen of Chaos!" another colleague shouted from the tech team. "Miss scandal 2025!"
Alex handed her a cup of coffee with a grin. "Your name boosted our traffic stats for two solid weeks. Thompson hates it. We love it."
Freya took the cup, cheeks flushing as she laughed. "You guys are ridiculous."
"Maybe," he stepped forward with a smirk, "but your face has been on our homepage more than any article in months. You're practically a brand now."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling.
"Miss Davis, glad to see you remembered where the office is." Thompson appeared from across the room, like a vulture smelling weakness. "I trust you're done making headlines... accidentally?"
Freya's smile dimmed slightly the moment she spotted him. "Planning to make them intentionally this time."
"Wonderful," he said, folding his arms smoothly. "I assume you won't be writing anything about your little hotel rendezvous?"
She felt a tight knot rise in her chest but held her ground.
"I don't mix my private life with my reporting," she said carefully. "If you're assigning me something, I'd appreciate we get to the point."
He raised an eyebrow. "Consider yourself assigned to the local elections beat. Less glamorous than billionaires and scandals—but a lot safer."
Freya gave a polite smile. "Sure."
Thompson walked off without another word, and the tension he left behind slowly disappeared as the rest of the team began chatting again.
Alex appeared beside her. "You handled that better than I would've. I was about two seconds away from chucking a coffee mug at him."
"Tempting," Freya muttered. "But not worth the HR paperwork."
Just as she was about to retreat toward her desk, a voice rang out in a sweet, syrupy tone that made her skin itch.
"Freya! Oh my God, you're back!" Flora sang as she strutted over, arms wide open like a long-lost friend. "I was so worried about you!"
Before Freya could say anything, she pulled her into a tight, dramatic hug.
"I was glued to the news," Flora continued, stepping back and brushing imaginary lint from Freya's sleeve. "I kept telling people, 'That's my mentor. She's strong. She'll get through anything.'"
Freya chuckled dryly and gave a small, forced smile. "Thanks, Flora. That's... really kind."
Flora tilted her head and grinned. But as Freya turned to walk away, her expression shifted, her smile cooling into a satisfied smirk.
Freya moved to her desk, sat down, and stared at her blank screen.
Everything had changed.
The press had moved on. Her inbox was no longer overflowing with threats or interview requests. And for the first time in weeks, she could breathe in public without worrying about whose camera lens might be catching it.
She cracked her knuckles, pulled up a blank document, and began to type.