Chapter 145

Ayleen’s POV

The dressing room smelled like hairspray, warm lights, and something faintly floral I couldn’t place. It was always the same before a show or an interview, a controlled chaos that usually grounded me. Today, it didn’t. Today, all my attention was on Clara.

She sat a few feet away from me, back straight, hands folded in her lap like she was waiting outside a courtroom instead of a studio. The makeup artist was working carefully around her eyes, and Clara followed every movement in the mirror with too much focus, like she was bracing herself for impact.

“You’re doing that thing,” I said gently.

She blinked. “What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend you’re calm by holding your body hostage,” I replied, catching her eye in the mirror. “Your shoulders are up to your ears.”

She exhaled slowly and let them drop a fraction. “I’m fine.”

I smiled to myself. “You’re lying.”

The makeup artist hid a grin and moved on to contouring, mercifully pretending she wasn’t listening. Clara glanced at me again, and this time she didn’t look defensive. She looked nervous. Real nervous.

“I don’t belong here,” she said quietly.

I leaned back in my chair, turning my body toward her. “Clara.”

She shook her head before I could even start. “This isn’t my world, Ayleen. Cameras, live interviews, people analyzing every breath. I argue in court. I hide behind files and procedure. I don’t do this.”

“You sit in front of judges and dismantle people for a living,” I said softly. “You do this.”

She gave me a look. “That’s different.”

“It’s not,” I said. “It just feels different because you care.

That landed. I watched her swallow, her fingers tightening briefly against her palm.

“You don’t have to be anyone else today,” I continued. “You don’t have to be polished or charming or clever. You don’t even have to talk much. You just have to be honest. That’s it.”

She looked unconvinced.

I rolled my chair closer, lowering my voice. “Listen to me. Eye contact with the host, not the camera. If you don’t like a question, pause. Silence is your friend. You don’t owe anyone speed.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re coaching me like a witness.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And if they try to steer you somewhere uncomfortable, you bring it back. You’re allowed to say, ‘I’m not going to get into that.’ No one will arrest you.”

“Tempting,” she murmured.

I reached out, resting my hand on her knee, grounding her. “If at any point you want out, you squeeze my hand once. I’ll redirect. Twice, we end it.”

Her gaze softened at that. “You’d really do that?”

“I’ve ended interviews for less,” I said lightly. “Once because the host called my music ‘unexpected.’”

She smiled despite herself. “That sounds like you.”

Before she could reply, a man from the crew knocked lightly and stepped in, holding a tablet and a few printed sheets. “Ayleen, whenever you’re ready. These are the questions. It’s live, but we want you to have full visibility.”

I nodded and took the papers, skimming them automatically at first. My instinct was to check for traps, phrasing that could be twisted, anything that smelled like clickbait disguised as curiosity.

Clara leaned closer without realizing it, her shoulder brushing mine.

“Do you want me to read them out loud?” I asked her.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I think so.”

I took a breath and started.

“First segment,” I read. “Your new album. The inspiration behind it, how the concert announcement came together, and why this project feels different.”

Clara relaxed a fraction.

“That’s fine,” she said. “That’s safe.”

I smiled. “It is. Next. Public response to the concert. Fans’ reactions. The meaning of sharing personal moments onstage.”

Her jaw tightened slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“That’s still okay,” she said carefully.

I continued. “They’ll ask about your relationship,” I added, watching her closely. “Not specifics. More like how it feels navigating love in the public eye.”

Clara exhaled through her nose. “That’s vague enough to survive.”

“They also want to ask you,” I went on, tapping the page, “about your work. Not cases. Your values. Why you chose law. How you balance a demanding career with… everything else.”

Her brows lifted. “They’re not asking about rumors?”

“Not directly,” I said. “And if they try to pivot, we shut it down.”

She was quiet for a moment, reading over my shoulder.

“And this?” she asked, pointing.

I followed her finger. “‘What does support look like between two high-profile partners?’” I read. “That’s the last one. Then we move to reading some fan emails and questions.”

Clara leaned back, considering it.

“I can answer that,” she said finally. “Without giving them anything they can twist.”

I squeezed her knee lightly. “I know you can.”

The crew member glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

As he left, the room grew quieter again. Clara stared at her reflection, studying herself like she was about to walk into court on the most important case of her life.

“I don’t want to make this harder for you,” she said suddenly.

I turned fully toward her. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I look uncomfortable and people think you dragged me into this?”

I reached up, cupping her cheek gently, not caring who saw. “Clara. Look at me.”

She did.

“I chose this,” I said. “And I chose you. Anyone who can’t understand that isn’t worth managing.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was checking for doubt.

“Stay close to me on the couch,” I added more lightly. “It helps. The cameras will read it as chemistry. You’ll feel it as support.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re very good at this.”

“I’m good at protecting what’s mine,” I said, without thinking.

The words hung between us, heavy and real.

Clara didn’t flinch. She nodded once, like she’d just accepted a truth she’d already known.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s do this.”

When we stood to leave, she reached for my hand first this time. I laced my fingers through hers, feeling the slight tremor she tried to hide.

As we walked toward the stage entrance, the low hum of the studio grew louder, the kind of sound that usually made my pulse steady. Today, it reminded me that this wasn’t just about cameras or narratives or damage control.

This was about standing beside the person I loved and letting the world see it without apology.

I glanced at Clara one last time before the curtain.

She met my gaze, nervous but determined.