Daryll was quiet. He’d been doing PR for fifteen years. He’d managed scandals and crises and the kind of bad press that made careers implode. He’d never seen anything like this. A crisis that wasn’t a crisis. A scandal that was actually a hero story. Three stalkers who beca the most credible character witnesses money couldn’t buy. And Sam Pemberton—whose na was now trending alongside Arianne’s, whose elbows had just made her more famous than any runway show ever had.
He rotated his screen toward Monica. "Look at this."
The clip of Sam had been isolated further. Soone had slowed it down, added a caption: Sam Pemberton doesn’t need a stunt double. The comnts were pouring in. The fan forums were buzzing. The entertainnt press was already drafting profiles.
"I gave her to Keller," Daryll said again.
"You ntioned that."
"I should call her."
"Sam?"
"Keller’s fine. He’s competent. But he’s not going to know what to do with this." He gestured at the screen. "She’s about to get offers. Real ones. Not favors for Gilbert Pemberton’s sister. She’s going to need soone who can handle the volu. Soone who can negotiate. Soone who’s seen a mont like this before and knows how to turn it into a career."
Monica was watching him. "You want to take her on."
"I’m thinking about it."
"She’s not going to be easy. She’s not a typical client."
Daryll looked at the screen—Sam’s elbow, Sam’s fists, Sam’s dark hair swinging as she pivoted to et the second man. He’d t her. He knew she wasn’t typical. That was the point.
"No," he said. "She’s not. But neither is Arianne. Neither is Noah." He paused. "Maybe it’s ti I stopped handling the easy ones."
By eight o’clock, the entertainnt outlets had picked up the story.
The framing had completely flipped. The headlines that had called Arianne violent were replaced with new ones: Sumrs and Pemberton: How Two Heiresses Fought Off Five n. Noah Hart’s Partner and Friend Stop Abduction Outside Club. The Video That Changed Everyone’s Mind About Arianne Sumrs.
The photo was everywhere now. Grainy, taken from a distance—probably a passerby outside the station, soone who’d recognized Noah and snapped a picture before thinking. His hand on her shoulder. Her face turned toward him. The headline beneath it: She’s Not Who You Thought She Was.
Legal comntators were weighing in. The charges Arianne had filed—attempted abduction, assault, property damage—were being analyzed by people who understood the law. The compensation demands were being reported as legitimate. Brent’s na had surfaced. His family’s na. The Taylor connection. The Sinclair connection. The story was getting bigger.
"This is the best PR Noah’s ever had," Monica said. "And we didn’t do any of it."
"We didn’t have to."
Daryll was scrolling through the fan forum again. The three fans—Mari, Rina, Tess—were being treated like heroes. Their admission of stalking was being forgiven, even praised, because they’d been honest about it. Because they’d apologized. Because they’d tried to help.
"She’s good for him," Daryll said.
Monica looked up. "What?"
"Arianne. She’s good for him." He gestured at the screen. "Look at this. The sa fanbase that was suspicious of her a week ago is now calling her family. Three won who followed her across the city are posting public apologies and thanking her for saving their lives. She and Sam walked into a fight with five n and walked out without a scratch. She filed charges for strangers. She paid for their dical care. She put the ringleader on the ground with her knee and then told the police exactly what he’d done."
"And Sam," Monica added. "People are loving her too."
"Rightfully so." Daryll shook his head. "Arianne doesn’t need us. She doesn’t need spin or damage control or carefully worded statents. The public loves her for it. They love both of them."
Monica was watching him. "You sound impressed."
"I’m terrified. And impressed. She doesn’t need us. She just—handles things." He paused. "Noah chose well."
"You said that already."
"I’m saying it again. And I’m calling Sam Pemberton this afternoon."
Monica raised an eyebrow. "Keller won’t like it."
"Keller can deal with it. She needs soone who knows what they’re doing."
Monica’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it. "The fan club is asking if they should issue a formal statent of support. Sothing official. On behalf of the entire community."
Daryll considered. A formal statent from Noah’s official fan club, publicly backing Arianne, would be unprecedented. It would also be a declaration of loyalty—a ssage to anyone who tried to attack her in the future that they’d have to go through the fans first.
"Tell them to wait," he said. "No statent from us. No statent from the fan club. Let the story run on its own. The less we manage it, the more authentic it looks."
"And if soone asks for a comnt?"
"No comnt. Noah’s private life is private. We don’t confirm or deny. We’ve been saying that for months. We keep saying it."
Monica nodded. She typed sothing into her phone, then set it aside.
The office settled into sothing like quiet. The news cycle was still churning, but the crisis was over. The story had beco what it was always going to beco: not a scandal—a vindication. Arianne Sumrs and Sam Pemberton had been tested in public, and they’d passed together.
Daryll looked at the photo again. The grainy image of Noah and Arianne outside the station. His hand on her shoulder. Her face turned toward him. The way she was looking at him—not at the cara, not at the crowd, just at him.
He’d managed Noah’s career for years. He’d seen him on red carpets, at press events, in interviews. He’d seen him with co-stars and directors and fans. He’d never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Arianne.
And Sam. She had sothing. Not just connections. Not just a famous brother. Sothing raw and watchable.
He’d call her this afternoon. Before Keller had a chance to fumble the mont. Before soone else snapped her up.
Outside his window, the city was waking up. The story was already spreading. The video. The fans. The fight. By noon, everyone would know what had happened outside that club—two won against five n, and the n never stood a chance.
For the first ti in months, Daryll didn’t worry about what they’d think. He was too busy planning his next move.
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