Chapter 234: Are You Together?
The ballroom was half-full at eight in the evening.
Early for a press event. Most of the reporters looked like they’d rather be in bed. Franz didn’t blame them. He’d rather be anywhere else.
The backdrop behind the table read "The Second Cut — Season 2" in white letters on a blue wall. Three producers sat to his left. The showrunner sat to his right. Franz was in the middle. That was intentional. He was the reason anyone showed up.
Daryll had wanted to reschedule.
"You don’t have to do this today," he said backstage, pacing in front of the craft services table. "We can blame weather. Blame scheduling. Blame anything."
Franz stood in front of the mirror. The makeup artist had already left. His face was clean. His jacket was black. He looked at his own reflection. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual. He hadn’t been sleeping.
"I want this done," he said.
Daryll stopped pacing. "They’re going to ask about Miranda. About the rumors. About the woman in the photos."
"Then they’ll get answers."
"That’s what I’m afraid of."
Franz straightened his jacket. The fabric pulled across his shoulders. "My career is fine. My patience is not."
He walked out. Daryll followed, already on his phone.
The signing part was easy. Franz sat down. The cameras flashed. He signed the contract with a black pen and handed it to the showrunner, who held it up for the cameras.
"Noah Hart is the heart of this show," the showrunner said. "We’re thrilled to have him back for Season 2."
Franz smiled. "The writing is exceptional. The cast is family. There was never a question."
That was true. He’d signed the deal weeks ago. The press conference was just for show. Everyone knew it. They all played along anyway.
The first few questions were soft. Season 2 plot. Character development. Working with new cast members. Franz answered each one. Short. Polite. Nothing anyone would remember.
Then a woman in the third row raised her hand. Franz recognized her from The Chronicle. Her name was Kelly.
"Noah," she said, "there have been significant rumors about your personal life over the past week. Involving Miranda Kline. And a woman from the Aurelle campaign. Would you like to address this?"
The room changed. Phones came up. Recording lights turned red. The producer on Franz’s left stopped breathing.
Franz looked at Kelly. Then at the cameras. Then back at Kelly.
"Yes," he said. "I would."
He leaned into the microphone. The room went quiet.
"I’m aware of the rumors about my personal life. I’ve always kept my private life private. I intend to continue doing that."
He paused. The lights felt hot on his face.
"But the rumors about Arianne Summers are different. They’re not speculation. They’re defamation. Someone deliberately spread false information about her character. About her professional history. About who she is."
His voice dropped. He didn’t raise it. He didn’t need to.
"She didn’t ask to be in the public eye. She didn’t ask for her name to be in magazines. She didn’t ask for strangers to write lies about her."
Kelly spoke again. "Are you saying Miranda Kline is responsible for those lies?"
Franz shook his head. "I’m saying the stories were false. I’m saying whoever started them knows they’re false. And I’m saying I won’t allow anyone to defame someone I care about without consequence."
Another reporter jumped in. A guy from one of the entertainment blogs.
"Noah, last month you told Variety you weren’t seeing anyone. You said you were focused on work. Were you lying then, or are you lying now?"
Franz met his eyes. "I wasn’t lying then. I was protecting my privacy. That’s different."
The reporter didn’t let go. "So are you saying you are seeing someone now?"
Franz’s jaw tightened. He kept his voice even.
"I’m saying my private life is my own. I’m not discussing it. I never have. The only reason I’m standing here is because the lies about Arianne Summers had to stop."
A woman from the back raised her hand. She worked for a gossip site.
"But people will draw conclusions," she said.
Franz leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under him. "People can draw whatever conclusions they want. That’s not my concern. My concern is false statements being treated as fact. Everything else is speculation."
"So you won’t confirm or deny—"
"I won’t discuss my private life. I’ve never discussed my private life. I’m not starting today."
Kelly raised her hand again. "Then why mention her at all? Why not let the rumors fade?"
Franz’s hand rested on the edge of the table. His fingers pressed into the wood.
"Because she was being attacked while she wasn’t here to defend herself. And I wasn’t going to let that stand. That’s not about my private life. That’s about what’s right."
He looked at the cameras. The red recording lights blinked back at him.
"I’ve said what I needed to say. I hope people can respect that some things aren’t for public consumption."
He stood up. Pushed his chair back. The legs scraped against the floor.
A reporter called out from the side. "Noah — are you and Ms. Summers together?"
Franz stopped. Turned his head.
"I’m standing here telling you that someone tried to destroy a woman’s reputation with lies. And your question is about my relationship status?"
He walked off stage.
Daryll was waiting in the wings. His face was pale. His phone was buzzing.
"That was—" Daryll started.
"I know what it was."
"Your publicist is having a heart attack. The showrunner is having a heart attack. The network is reviewing the footage."
Franz took his phone from Daryll’s hand. The screen was full of notifications. Headlines already loading.
Noah Hart Defends Mystery Woman.
Actor Blasts Defamation at Press Conference.
Noah Hart Refuses to Confirm Relationship.
He handed the phone back.
"Tell them to review faster," he said.
Daryll followed him toward the exit. "You didn’t confirm anything."
"I know."
"They’re going to assume."
Franz stopped at the door. Looked back at Daryll.
"That’s their choice. I didn’t lie. I didn’t confirm. I said what I needed to say. Handle the rest."
He walked out.
The car was waiting. Franz got in the back. The door closed. The city blurred past the window.
His phone lit up again. He didn’t check it. He knew what it said.
He thought about Arianne. About the twins. About Lily’s voice asking when she was coming back.
None of this mattered if she wasn’t home yet.
He turned the phone face-down on the seat and watched the buildings go by.
The car dropped him at the house. The front door was quiet. Aunt Estella was in the kitchen. She looked up when he walked in.
"They’re asleep," she said. "Lily asked about Arianne before bed. Leo didn’t say anything. Just held the whale."
Franz nodded. "Did they eat?"
"Lily ate. Leo pushed his food around. He’s worried."
"Me too."
Aunt Estella put her hand on his arm. Then she went back to the stove.
Franz walked to the twins’ room. The door was open. He stood in the doorway.
Lily was on her back. One arm thrown over her head. Her mouth was open.
Leo was curled on his side. The whale was tucked under his chin. His hands were wrapped around it.
Franz didn’t go in. He just watched for a moment. The rise and fall of their breathing. The small sounds of sleep.
Then he walked to his bedroom.
The left side of the bed was empty. The pillow still smelled faintly of Arianne’s shampoo. The scent was fading. He pressed his face into it anyway.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Pulled out his phone. Typed a message to Arianne.
Call when you can.
Then he put the phone on the nightstand and lay down.
He didn’t sleep.
The house was quiet. The wind picked up outside. Branches tapped against the window.
He stared at the ceiling.
The press conference was over. The statements were made. The headlines were already changing.
None of it brought her home faster.
He turned on his side. Faced the empty pillow.
Closed his eyes.
Listened to the wind.