Gianna itched to move away from the sofa she shared with Zane as the interviewer blabbered on about this and that, her voice filling the studio with unnecessary comntary.
She questioned Zane about the recent conversations surrounding the supposed decline of his company, about market whispers and public opinion, and then—inevitably—about whether it was karma for the ill he had committed against Gianna.
Gianna thought the woman’s words were harsh. The tone, even harsher.
There was sothing faintly accusatory beneath the polished cadence, sothing that bordered on satisfaction. But she didn’t particularly care.
As far as Gianna was concerned, she had already done enough.
She had agreed to the charade. Agreed to sit on the sa sofa as Zane, close enough that their thighs were almost touching, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him.
She had done this just to announce to the world that the past was the past, that whatever history existed between them had been neatly folded away.
That they were choosing peace. That they were moving forward with their respective careers.
At least, that was her goal. Move forward with her career.
If Zane’s jewellery company was affected in the process, so be it. She wasn’t shrinking her shine because of him—not now, not ever.
After all, he still had other subsidiaries of the Whitman empire to manage, other ventures demanding his attention. Maybe he should put all his focus there instead.
"As much as what you did back then was questionable," the interviewer continued smoothly, "considering you have refused to give your reasons...does it perhaps cross your mind, Mr. Zane, that this was done to bring down your company and elevate your ex?"
That caught Gianna’s attention. The subtle implication in the woman’s voice.
Her head turned before she could stop herself, the glare escaping her eyes unfiltered. It was brief but lethal, sharp enough to make the interviewer falter mid-sentence, stumbling slightly over her next words.
"That’s an allegation, Miss Pierce," Zane said calmly, his voice hardening into steel. "And I would suggest you choose your words carefully before speaking."
The woman bobbled her head in a quick nod, her fingers twitching nervously in her lap beneath Zane’s unyielding stare, earlier composure all gone.
But Zane continued anyway, clearly aware—keenly so—that Gianna was paying close attention to every word he said, to how he handled the situation, to whether he would falter or deflect.
"With proper research, we have so links to who aired the video and why," he went on evenly. "We’re still working through that process. So stop making accusations like that. No one would want their past paraded across the dia. That kind of act is devilish."
His gaze sharpened. "And so is anyone who trivializes it."
The interviewer nodded again, faster this ti, like a pendulum swung too hard. She cleared her throat, visibly chastised.
Her eyes flicked toward her boss—the head of the dia team Zane himself had chosen for this interview.
A decision he was already regretting. He had thought they would be less cynical, less sarcastic.
Apparently, everyone wanted to carve out their own juicy piece of the saga.
A ssage passed between the interviewer and her boss, silent but clear. Then she turned back to Gianna, whose brows were cocked in quiet challenge.
What?
The interviewer cleared her throat again, hating this role, hating that she had begged for it—even slept for it.
And now she was unraveling on live television. Making a spectacle of herself. At this rate, she might be sanctioned by the sa boss she had tried so hard to impress.
Another throat clear.
"Do you have anything to say, Miss Gianna?" she asked carefully. "Any ideas on who your attackers might be? Is it the sa people who broke into your office back at the Becketts?"
Gianna shrugged lightly, the movent deceptively casual.
"Most likely," she said. "Since they couldn’t stop from presenting at the convention, couldn’t stop from winning, they decided to try sothing else. A post-attack. Sothing to quench the public’s appetite for scandal—or maybe to deaden my creativity."
She paused, a soft smile slithering across her lips.
"Well," she continued, "this is a ssage to them. Their plan failed. I’m still standing. Still creating. And I have no intention of stepping down. Yes, my past was dark—but it’s in the past. That’s why we have the future, right? To do better. To beco better. There’s no need beating ourselves over who we were."
The interviewer nodded slowly now, genuinely, a faint smile replacing the earlier patronizing one.
It was a far cry from the sarcastic, pitying expression she’d worn at the start of the session.
"And about my relationship with Zane here," Gianna added, gesturing lightly between them, "we’re cordial. Fate entangled us with mutual friends, and those relationships matter more than whatever history we share. Forgiveness is a virtue—necessary, if moving forward is to an anything at all. I can’t create effortlessly sweet designs if the past sits at the front of my mind."
"Wow," the interviewer breathed, truly awed. "That’s an incredible take."
Gianna held her smile.
Forgiveness?
Damn right.
Gianna didn’t think she would ever forgive Zane for the loss of her child. Or her parents.
She could forgive him for jilting her—for walking away—but not for the losses she had endured.
No. If anything, it would seem she wasn’t mourning well. That she was forgetting.
"So..." the interviewer chirped suddenly, snapping Gianna back.
"Since you’re friends now...our listeners are curious. Is your past affair what’s stopping either of you from finding the right person? Of course, Mr. Zane is known as sothing of a ladies’ man, but he hasn’t been known to settle down..."
She trailed off, sensing it too late—the atmosphere freezing solid.
She didn’t dare look at Zane.
"Of course not," Gianna chid in smoothly, laughing lightly as she spoke for both of them.
As Zane had told Ewan earlier, he rely supported her words with a nod and a barely-there smile.
He didn’t charm his way out of it. Didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t ntion a model or actress he was supposedly dating.
The energy simply wasn’t there.
Instead, his thoughts snagged on her earlier words.
Forgiven and forgotten?
He scoffed internally. Hell would have frozen over.
If she truly had forgiven him, he wouldn’t feel the towering wall between them, a distance so vast it felt mounted to the ceiling.
His ears tingled however, his thoughts cut short when he heard Gianna say—casually—that she was dating. That she had a fiancé.
His breath caught. He forced his expression blank, mustering every ounce of control he possessed.
"You have a fiancé?" the interviewer exclaid, delighted. "Wow... that’s—"
She shook her head, turning theatrically toward the cara. "Who is he? Or is he a secret?"
Gianna laughed, shaking her head. "You already know him. We made the news a few days back. We’ve been together for a while now."
The interviewer yelped like soone handed their favorite dessert, clapping her hands.
"Of course! Mr. Noah Newman!"
She remained blissfully unaware of the hopelessness quietly drowning Zane.
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