The press conference was Adrian's idea.
Evelyn hadn't agreed—technically, she hadn't even been informed until it was already scheduled. She found out like everyone else: through the news alert on her phone.
ADRIAN BLAKE TO ADDRESS MEDIA TODAY AT 4PM REGARDING "RECENT CONTROVERSIES"
She nearly dropped the instrument tray.
The surgical team was midway through a tibial fracture repair when her hands stiffened just enough for Dr. Mukherjee to glance at her.
"You good, Hart?"
She nodded, forcing control back into her fingers. "Just got distracted. I'm okay."
But she wasn't.
And she didn't know what Adrian was about to do.
Meanwhile, across the city, Adrian sat behind a curtain at a sleek downtown hotel, trying to breathe.
His manager paced like a caged wolf.
"This could backfire," she muttered. "You're not obligated to say anything."
He looked up. "Then who will?"
She stopped pacing. "You're doing this for her."
"I'm doing it because she shouldn't have to suffer alone just because she saved me."
He stood, the polished wood podium visible now through the narrow slit in the curtain.
The cameras were already rolling.
By 4:05 PM, nearly every entertainment outlet in the country had cut into programming.
Adrian stepped up to the microphone.
He looked tired, raw—no makeup, no rehearsed smile. Just a man with his truth in his hands, trembling but real.
"I wasn't going to speak," he began. "But lately, silence has felt like cowardice."
Flashes burst. Journalists stilled.
"Six months ago, I was in the darkest place of my life. You all know the headlines. The canceled contract. The overdose rumors. The footage of me being taken from my penthouse."
He paused, inhaled.
"What you don't know is that I was ready to give up. And then I met someone who refused to give up on me—even when I gave her every reason to."
He looked directly into the cameras.
"Dr. Evelyn Hart is not a scandal. She's not some star-struck opportunist. She is the most disciplined, brilliant, compassionate trauma surgeon I've ever met. She saved me. Not because of who I am—but in spite of it."
The room was silent.
"She was never inappropriate. Never biased. She followed every protocol even when it hurt. And if the world is questioning her integrity because I fell in love with her… then let me make it simple: I fell in love after she let me go."
He stepped back from the mic, his final words hanging in the silence like an oath.
"I will not let my past be used as a weapon against the woman who helped me survive it."
Back in the hospital, Evelyn stood frozen outside the staff lounge, where the TV was broadcasting Adrian's words.
Nurses inside stared wide-eyed.
Someone clapped. A few more followed.
She didn't move.
Her chest felt like it was simultaneously caving in and catching fire.
He had meant well. But he'd pulled her further into the light—when all she wanted was to heal in the dark.
That night, she went to his apartment.
He opened the door looking like he'd aged a year since the press conference.
"I needed you to know," he said, voice quiet. "Even if it cost me everything."
She walked past him, into the quiet.
"You didn't ask me," she said. "You didn't give me a choice."
"I thought it would help."
"It did. But that's not the point."
He turned toward her, frustrated. "Then what is?"
"I don't want to be saved, Adrian," she said, turning to face him. "I want to be trusted. That I can fight my own battles. That I can speak when I'm ready."
The room fell into that fragile silence they knew too well.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I thought I was protecting you."
"I know," she said. "But you need to understand… I didn't become who I am by being rescued."
"I see that now."
She walked closer. "You're not the only one with scars, Adrian. But mine are under the surface. And they take longer to explain."
His hand reached for hers.
"Then let me stay," he whispered. "And listen. Until you're ready."
She looked at him.
And for the first time since the investigation began—since the headlines, the scrutiny, the noise—she allowed herself to hope again.
Not because the world was fair.
But because someone saw her, even when she didn't want to be seen.