Nevaeh wasn't supposed to be here.
Technically.
She had only stopped by the studio to pick up some notes she had left behind, but as she walked through the hallway, voices from the break room caught her attention.
She recognized Ellie's voice instantly.
"—I mean, come on, girls. Mordred's basically a walking fantasy. It would be a waste not to use him."
Nevaeh frowned, pausing just outside the door.
A second voice, unfamiliar but equally amused, chimed in. "You really think he'll agree to it?"
Ellie laughed. "Agree? He doesn't have to. We just need the right angles, a little editing, and boom—Mordred, the heartthrob, starring in our project."
A third girl snickered. "So, we're making him the leading man whether he likes it or not?"
"That's the plan," Ellie said smugly. "And honestly? The guy's so used to cameras, he won't even realize it's happening. We'll frame it like a natural, off-the-record moment. Something intimate. Something that'll go viral."
Nevaeh's grip on her notebook tightened.
She had heard enough.
She stepped back, heart pounding with irritation.
So that's what Ellie was after. Not journalism. Not real coverage. Just another viral clip to boost her career.
And Mordred?
He was nothing more than a tool for them. A face. A product.
Nevaeh wasn't naive. She knew the industry could be ruthless, but hearing it said so casually, so shamelessly, made her stomach turn.
She could walk away. Pretend she didn't hear anything.
But then she thought about Mordred.
The way he had looked at her during the interview, as if he actually wanted to be understood. The way he had asked Oliver to bring her back, something he had never done for another journalist.
He had trusted her, in his own guarded way.
And now?
Now, these girls were planning to twist that trust into a cheap spectacle.
Nevaeh exhaled sharply.
Not on her watch.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Oliver's contact.
Nevaeh: Tell Mordred I'm back on the coverage.
She didn't wait for a reply.
She already knew what she had to do.
And this time?
She was going to do it her way.
Mordred barely glanced up from his phone as Oliver walked into his suite.
"Any updates?" Mordred asked, trying to sound indifferent.
Oliver smirked. "You're really bad at pretending you don't care."
Mordred rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question."
Oliver took his time, checking his watch, as if enjoying dragging it out. Then, finally—
"She's back on the coverage."
Mordred blinked.
He had expected a maybe. A rejection. A drawn-out negotiation.
Not this.
He leaned forward. "Wait—seriously?"
Oliver chuckled. "Yeah. No clue what changed her mind, but she texted me herself."
Mordred exhaled, something unexpectedly light settling in his chest. He hadn't realized just how much he had wanted her back on this story until now.
"So?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Happy?"
Mordred scoffed. "It's an interview, not a marriage proposal."
Oliver smirked. "Could've fooled me."
Mordred ignored him, grabbing his jacket. "When's the next sit-down?"
"Tomorrow," Oliver said. "She agreed to an exclusive, but on her terms."
Mordred's lips twitched. That sounded like Nevaeh.
And honestly?
He wouldn't have it any other way.
---
Nevaeh
Nevaeh stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down her blazer.
This wasn't just another interview.
Not anymore.
She had agreed to this for a reason—not because Mordred had asked, but because she needed to make sure his story was told the right way.
No fake narratives. No media games.
If Mordred wanted something real, she was going to give it to him.
But that also meant asking the questions no one else dared to.
She grabbed her bag, took a deep breath, and headed out.
This time, there would be no scripts.
No masks.
Just the truth.