The following morning, Ellie awoke to the sound of her phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. Groaning, she reached for it, her grogginess fading the moment she saw the number of notifications. Texts, missed calls, and alerts filled her screen.

"Did something happen?" she mumbled, sitting up.

Opening the first message—a frantic one from her best friend Charlie—Ellie froze.

Charlie: "Ellie, you're trending! Who is that witch, and why is she dragging you?"

Her stomach sank. Trending? Dragging? Ellie scrambled to open her social media apps, and there it was—her face plastered across gossip blogs and social media feeds alongside sensational headlines:

"Adrian Blackwell's Mysterious Bride: Who is Eleanor Hart?"
"Socialite Victoria Elise Throws Shade at Blackwell's New Wife"
"A Gold Digger in Designer Heels?"

Ellie's hands shook as she scrolled through the articles and comments. Victoria's sly remarks at the gala had been picked up by reporters and twisted into a narrative that painted Ellie as a nobody who had schemed her way into Adrian's life.

She barely had time to process the onslaught of negativity before Adrian appeared at her door, phone in hand, his expression grim.

"I see you've heard," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Ellie jumped up from the bed, waving her phone at him. "Heard? Adrian, I'm being called a gold digger! They're saying I conned you into this marriage. How is this happening? You said this would stay private!"

Adrian ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "It was supposed to. Victoria's comment was enough to spark speculation, and the press ran with it. This is what happens when you're in my world—every move you make is under scrutiny."

"That's not an excuse!" Ellie snapped, her voice rising. "You dragged me into this, Adrian. You said you'd handle everything!"

"And I will," he said firmly. "But you need to trust me."

Ellie glared at him, her anger mingling with panic. "I can't deal with this. I didn't sign up to have my name dragged through the mud."

Adrian's eyes softened slightly, and he stepped closer. "I know this is overwhelming. But we can fix it. Together."

By midday, Adrian had assembled his PR team in the penthouse's sprawling living room. Ellie sat stiffly on the couch, surrounded by polished professionals who talked in rapid-fire phrases she barely understood.

"We need to shift the narrative," one of them said. "Focus on the charity gala, the work Adrian does, and position Eleanor as someone equally committed to his vision."

Another chimed in. "We could stage a public outing—a photo op showing them as a united front. Something intimate but approachable."

Ellie blinked, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of plans. "So, what? You want us to fake being a perfect couple?"

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what we're already doing?"

She opened her mouth to argue but quickly shut it. He wasn't wrong.

One of the PR managers cleared her throat. "If I may, we could also address the rumors head-on. A sit-down interview with a trusted outlet—one where Eleanor can tell her story and shut down the gold-digger narrative."

Ellie's stomach flipped. "An interview? I can't do that. I wouldn't know what to say!"

"You wouldn't do it alone," Adrian said, his tone reassuring. "We'd prepare you. But it's your choice. If you'd prefer, we can focus on appearances instead."

Ellie hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. Either way, she'd be putting herself in the spotlight—a place she desperately wanted to avoid.

Finally, she took a deep breath. "Let's do the interview."

Adrian's PR team exchanged approving glances, and Adrian nodded. "Good. We'll set it up immediately."

The next evening, Ellie found herself sitting across from a well-known reporter in Adrian's penthouse. The cameras were set, the lighting was perfect, and her nerves were barely under control. Adrian sat beside her, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "Just be honest."

The interview began with a few softball questions—how they met (carefully scripted), their shared goals (vague but convincing), and their experience at the gala. But then the reporter leaned forward, her tone turning curious.

"Eleanor, there's been a lot of speculation about your relationship with Adrian. Some people are suggesting you're only in this for the money. What do you say to those accusations?"

Ellie's breath caught, but Adrian gave her a small nod, silently urging her on.

"I understand why people might think that," Ellie said, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. "Adrian is a public figure, and I'm not. But what they don't see is the real Adrian—the man who's passionate about his work and who genuinely cares about the people in his life.

"This marriage may not have happened in the most conventional way," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "but that doesn't mean it's not real to us. And I'm here to support him, just as he's supported me."

Adrian's hand brushed hers briefly—a subtle, reassuring gesture that wasn't lost on the cameras.

The reporter smiled, clearly satisfied with the answer. "And Adrian, what would you say to those same people?"

Adrian's gaze didn't waver. "I'd tell them to stop speculating about things they don't understand. Eleanor is my wife. That's all anyone needs to know."

The interview aired the next day, and while not everyone was convinced, it was enough to shift the conversation. The public began to see Ellie as more than a mystery—they saw her as a person.

"That wasn't so bad," Ellie admitted as she watched the final segment with Adrian later that evening.

"You handled it well," he said, pouring her a glass of wine. "Better than most."

She smiled faintly, raising her glass. "To surviving the circus."

Adrian chuckled, clinking his glass against hers. "To surviving... and thriving."

For the first time, Ellie felt like she could breathe. The drama wasn't over, but at least now, she knew she could face it head-on—with Adrian by her side.

To be continued...