The morning after the broadcast, the city was trembling with gossip.

Every news outlet, every social feed, every whisper in cafés and offices carried one name: Rosemary Lane.

Some called her brave.

Others called her insane.

But everyone was watching.

Rosemary stood by the window of her apartment, wrapped in a shawl, her face pale from exhaustion. The sunlight poured across her face, but it gave her no warmth. The victory she’d longed for had come — yet it felt hollow, fragile, and uncertain.

Her phone buzzed again, flashing Adrian’s name.

She ignored it.

She couldn’t face him. Not yet.

Because no matter how much truth she had revealed, a...