Rahul gulped, cutting her off. "We're finished. Do you realize how bad this would look? Sponsors will pull out. The board would fire us instantly."
"All of our careers will be finished," Sanya whispered, her voice hollow.
In the background, another voice, a makeup artist named Nina—scoffed bitterly, though her voice was laced with fear. "For once, we're the ones feeling threatened. Imagine if people knew the stuff we've been hiding, the lies we've spread. The careers we've ruined—all for the sake of ratings."
Meera inhaled sharply, feeling a strange pang of guilt mixed with her fear. She glanced at the others, noticing the same dread etched on every face. Her voice was barely audible when she finally spoke. "So, what do we do?"
Rahul shook his head, frowning as he rubbed his temples. "The letter was clear. We either apologize and clear Suri's name, or—"
"Apologize?" Sanya interrupted, her tone sharp with disbelief. "Do you even realize how humiliating that would be? We'd be admitting that we've lied, that we've manipulated the narrative. It would destroy our credibility."
"Credibility?" Meera snapped back, a fire igniting in her eyes. "We lost that the moment we started tearing her apart without a shred of evidence. And this is what we've earned."
The room fell silent, her words hanging heavy in the air.
Nina cleared her throat, her face pale. "Look, maybe... maybe this is just a warning."
"We've pushed people to the edge before, ruined lives just because it made good headlines. But this? We haven't received such a threat ever. This means it was directed to Suri. The one behind this wanted us to stop targeting her so..."
"Yeah, who knows? It might be Suri herself," Rahul muttered. "We all know she isn't someone to be messed with."
The younger assistant nodded slowly, her voice steadier than before, surprising the room with her boldness. "If we don't apologize, this person will leak everything. Then not just our reputations—they'll take down the whole network. No one will ever trust us again."
Rahul sighed, finally breaking the silence. "Fine. We're going to craft an apology. We'll set the record straight on Suri's story, issue a statement to the public, and pray that whoever's behind this is satisfied with that."
Evan looked out of the window and then thought of Suri.
"Aurora, also make sure that they won't be able to use any social media platform no matter what they do for a few days. If they break down then let them be."
[Roger that!]
Stretching his arms, Evan let out a yawn. "I'm feeling sleepy."
Just then, a voice chimed in his head. [Are you feeling sleepy—or missing Suri?]
Evan raised an eyebrow, maintaining his composure despite hearing the system's words.
"Is there really a difference?" Evan replied, leaning back into his seat with a practiced air of nonchalance. But in truth, ever since sharing a bed with Suri and feeling her warmth beside him, sleeping alone had become quite a struggle. It was a comfort he hadn't realized he'd been missing.
"Having someone there... it does feel different."
[Exactly why I told you to find a girl,] the system remarked bluntly. [What's the point of life if you live and die alone?]
Evan chuckled. "It's not like I had the time for that. Besides, I wasn't exactly looking for anyone before."
[A true loner, then,] the system remarked, its tone tinged with disapproval. [All that nonsense about loneliness making you stronger is completely ridiculous. What's the use of strength and achievements if there's no one who will appreciate it?]
Evan laughed, caught off guard by the system's unexpected lecture. "Why do you keep slipping into motivational speeches in between huh? Aren't you supposed to be a system? Just stick to your programming codes made by the universal laws or whatever."
If anything, this system was a strange one. Most systems were focused on productivity, pushing their users to accomplish tasks efficiently. But his? It was as if it had a personality of its own. Evan wouldn't even be surprised if he entered a VR world someday and found this system lounging on a virtual beach, sipping a digital cocktail, looking every bit like the lazy salted fish it often joked about.