"Aiden Reed, born in New York City, currently resides in Willow Creek, Upstate New York. Parents operate a small family-owned farm. Attended Willow Creek Elementary and Willow Regional Middle School. Accepted into Jefferson High with the third-highest entrance score in the county."
"In high school, Aiden earned top academic honors, placed third statewide in the Physics Challenge, and took gold in the 200-meter dash and silver in the 100-meter sprint at the New York State High School Games. Later recognized as a National Level 1 Track & Field athlete. Admitted to Columbia School of Media as the top applicant in his program."
"At Columbia, he served as class president, received multiple merit-based scholarships, and used part of the award money to open a free community library in his hometown. During junior year, he won gold at the Northeastern Folk Music Invitational for mastering the Irish tin whistle. In senior year, he turned down early admission to graduate school to accept a position as a field reporter at the New York Daily Life Channel."
Click.
The screen went black, and the room—previously a buzz of chaotic damage control—fell into stunned silence. You could hear the faint whir of the HVAC system. Even the blinking cursor on someone's laptop felt too loud.
Three hundred words. That's all it took.
And Aiden Reed had become something else entirely.
No scandals. No doctored timelines. No viral exposés. Just raw, verifiable excellence. It wasn't even flashy—it was precise. It read like a résumé carved into stone.
Gloria Lang, still standing near the center of the room with arms folded, looked as if she'd been force-fed lemon juice. A minute ago, she'd been hunting for dirt—something to shake loose from Aiden's past. But what she got was... this.
A resume so clean, it made half the Hollywood elite look like they needed a reality check.
From what she'd heard—mainly from Claire and her own assumptions—Aiden was supposed to be forgettable. A sweet, small-town guy with an average job and maybe a decent jawline. The type you barely glance at twice on the subway.
But now?
This man was a walking contradiction. He had academic accolades, athletic trophies, musical talent, and a bleeding heart that built libraries for underprivileged kids. Who even was this guy?
Valeria, meanwhile, looked like someone had just unearthed a fanfiction she wrote in high school—and she was the main character. Eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. Phone clutched like a lifeline.
The round-faced assistant broke the silence first, blinking rapidly. "Mr. Reed… is all that real?"
She wasn't alone. The entire PR team had stopped working. The interns had frozen mid-scroll. Even the security guard near the hallway leaned in to hear the answer.
Aiden looked at the screen again and exhaled. "Wow. They really dug deep. Haven't seen that résumé since, like, forever. Pretty sure that tin whistle is in a shoebox somewhere in my parents' attic."
He said it like it was no big deal. Like he hadn't just outshone every Ivy League golden boy in New York.
That only made it worse.
Claire had once called him "ordinary." Gloria dismissed him as background noise.
Now? He made "ordinary" look like a myth.
"You must've been the most popular guy in school," Valeria said, voice a little breathy.
"Not really," he said, scratching his neck. "Some called me a nerd. Others called me a track star. A few… called me Dad."
The room went silent.
"…Did you say Dad?" someone whispered.
Aiden chuckled. "Yeah, dumb nickname. You help a few kids with physics, win some races, and suddenly you're everyone's honorary dad. You know—tough love, test prep, post-practice snacks."
No one laughed. They couldn't. It wasn't a joke. He was their dad. Metaphorically, at least.
Valeria tilted her head. "You could've gone pro. What happened?"
His expression darkened for just a second.
"Tore my Achilles senior year. Rehab helped, but I never got my speed back. Had to pivot fast—crammed for college entrance exams in two months."
He got into Columbia. On two months of prep.
Someone muttered under their breath, "I studied for two years and didn't even get into the state school."
Valeria didn't stop. "Why media school?"
"I figured if I couldn't be the athlete on the field, I'd be the one holding the mic. But… someone changed that."
His voice dipped.
"There was this girl. I stayed for her. Local job. Local life. Safer."
The room read between the lines.
Gloria crossed her arms, lips tight. That girl—had to be Claire.
It was too poetic. A boy who gave up dreams to stay close to love.
He had it all: brains, medals, heartbreak, and now? A scandal built on nothing but truth.
"Don't let it go to your head," Gloria snapped. "You're still a second-tier reporter on a third-rate segment."
Aiden didn't flinch. He just ran a hand through his buzzcut and smiled.
"Don't let the pretty face fool you—I've got depth."
He leaned back on the couch and added coolly, "Gold stays gold, even if it's buried in a basement."
"You're insufferable," Gloria muttered. "Maybe you were something back then. But now? You're just another name in a headline."
Aiden thought back to the airport, the smug talent rep who called him disposable.
He cocked his head. "Maybe. But this 'nobody' just married Valeria Quinn. That's gotta sting a little, huh?"
"You—!"
"Gloria," Valeria jumped in, her hand closing around Aiden's arm. "Let's not make this a cage match. Take a breath."
She turned to him. "Go get some air. I'll handle things here."
He gave her a small nod and made his way toward the back hallway. Just before disappearing into a side room, he turned on his heel.
"Hey, Gloria," he called out. "You know what your real issue is? It's not about professionalism or control."
His eyes gleamed.
"You're just lonely."
Gasps. Literal gasps.
The assistant team nearly fainted. One girl coughed up soda through her nose.
"I mean," Aiden continued, "I'd probably be bitter too if I hadn't felt a real connection in, what—two decades? But hey, if you need help, I know a place in Brooklyn. Great atmosphere. Handsome guys. Very… therapeutic."
Gloria turned crimson.
She lunged.
Valeria yanked Aiden into the office and slammed the door shut.
"Are you trying to get stabbed?" she hissed, shoving him lightly in the chest.
He grinned. "I am the stabbing."
Valeria groaned.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Aiden leaned against it for a beat, pulling out his phone.
They were definitely out there scrambling now. PR damage control. Narrative threads. Apology drafts.
But Aiden wasn't one to wait for someone else to spin his story.
He opened Valeria's official fan forum. Switched to a burner account.
And started typing.
"Ten years of waiting. Ten years of chasing. Aiden Reed finally got his girl."
"Back in high school, we were doing a science project one snowy night. He stopped cold in a convenience store when this soft indie song played on the radio. The owner said the singer was someone new. Aiden stared at her poster for a long time before whispering, 'I'm gonna marry her one day.'"
"The poster? It was Valeria Quinn."
He hit post.
Minutes later, the internet exploded.
BREAKING: Aiden Reed's high school room had a Valeria Quinn poster.
"He joined the media industry to meet her."
"Classmate says Aiden's 18th birthday wish was to marry Valeria."
Aiden scrolled through the reactions with a crooked smile.
He didn't just want to survive the storm.
He wanted to make sure he controlled it.