The next morning, the news exploded.
Clips of the incident from Director Shiena's party filled every screen. Headlines were bold and cruel, written as if outrage were entertainment.
Words like slap, scandal, and gold-digger appeared again and again, pushed to the top of every trending list. Someone was clearly fanning the flames, making sure the story did not die down.
Rosaniah woke to her phone vibrating without pause.
Missed calls. Messages. Voicemails.
She did not open them.
The issue must have reached the top management.
By noon, reporters had gathered outside her apartment building. Cameras pointed upward. Voices called her name as if they were summoning something. Someone knocked on her door. Someone else rang the bell again and again.
She stayed silent.
There was no way she could leave.
I need to get out of here.
When she finally managed to slip out through a service exit with a cap pulled low, a reporter spotted her anyway. The crowd surged forward, questions thrown like stones.
"Miss Zelberg, did you sleep your way into the industry?"
"Is it true your family disowned you?"
"Do you have something to say about the slap?"
She did not answer.
She got into the car, her hands shaking as the driver pulled away.
Her apartment was no longer safe.
She tried calling her parents.
The call went through, but the voice on the other end was cold and tired.
"Don't come here," her mother said. "People are watching. We can't afford more trouble."
Rosaniah said nothing.
The call ended quickly.
By the time she reached her manager's office, the noise in her head had become unbearable. Her manager looked older than she had the night before, stress carved deep into his face.
"You need to disappear for a while," he said without greeting. "No interviews. No posts. No public appearances."
Rosaniah sat across from him, quiet.
"This thing is getting ugly," he continued. "Someone wants you ruined. The best move is to stay out of sight until it cools down."
"Where should I go?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Anywhere quiet. Somewhere private."
There was only one place left.
That afternoon, Rosaniah returned to Ardenite Mansion.
The gates opened slowly, just as they always did. The long driveway curved through trimmed gardens and tall trees, silent and distant from the world. The house stood the same as she remembered, large, cold, and untouched by warmth.
It had been months since she last stayed here.
The front door opened before she could knock.
Aaron, the butler, stood straight as ever, his hair neatly combed, his eyes calm.
"Welcome back, madam," he said.
Something in her chest loosened at the sound.
"Thank you, Uncle Aaron."
He stepped aside to let her in. "It has been some time."
"Yes," she replied. "Longer than I planned."
He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders. "Madam must be tired."
"I am."
"Will Madam be staying tonight?"
Rosaniah paused only for a second. "I will. I might stay longer this time."
Aaron nodded, as if he already expected that answer. "Very well. Please rest first. Dinner will be served when you wake up."
She offered a faint smile. "Thank you."
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet for her liking.
Her parents-in-law were never around, always traveling, always chasing pleasure in faraway places. Her sister-in-law stayed on campus, finding the house too distant and dull. Gatherings here were rare. Voices were even rarer.
But seeing her husband was still the rarest.
Rosaniah walked upstairs slowly, passing familiar halls that never felt like home. Her room was beside her husband's, just as the contract required. Close enough to appear proper. Far enough to remain untouched.
She entered and closed the door behind her.
The room smelled clean and unused.
She did not lie down.
Instead, she changed clothes, washed her face, and sat at the desk by the window. She opened her laptop and stared at the screen for a long moment before typing.
The issue had grown far too large.
Articles dug into her past. Old interviews were taken out of context. People speculated freely, guessing where she came from, who supported her, and to whom she belonged. A few even hinted that she had married into money, though none had proof.
That was what frightened her most.
If someone discovered the truth, it would not only destroy her. It would drag the Ardenite name into scandal. High society was cruel in its own way, and secrets were its favorite weapon.
She worked quietly, deleting traces, tightening privacy, and contacting people who owed her favors. It was exhausting, careful work. One wrong move could expose everything.
Time slipped by.
Outside, the sky darkened.
A knock sounded on the door.
Rosaniah froze.
She closed her laptop and stood. "Come in."
Aaron entered with a tray. "Dinner, madam."
She realized then how hungry she was. "Thank you."
He placed the tray on the table. Before leaving, he hesitated.
"Madam," he said gently, "there are… rumors outside."
She met his eyes. "I know."
"If Madam needs anything, please tell me."
She nodded. "I will."
After he left, she ate slowly, barely tasting the food.
Her thoughts drifted to the room beside hers.
She had not seen her husband in weeks. Sometimes months passed without them meeting. He was always sick, always tired, and always surrounded by doctors or silence.
Their marriage existed on paper and nowhere else.
Later that night, unable to sleep, Rosaniah returned to her desk. She checked the news again.
Then she saw it.
A new article. A single line buried at the bottom.
'Sources claim the Ardenite family has begun internal movement.'
Her fingers stopped.
Internal movement meant attention.
She closed the laptop, heart beating too fast.
The hallway outside her room creaked softly.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Not Aaron's.
Rosaniah stood, her breath shallow.
The sound stopped.
Then, from the other side of the wall, her husband's room, a door opened.
She waited.
And waited.
Someone was awake.
And for the first time in years, Rosaniah wondered if coming back to this house had been a mistake.