ALEX’S POVThe city hummed around us as we drove to the studio. The morning air was crisp, sharp with possibility, and Ariana’s hand rested lightly on mine. Her touch grounded me, reminded me why we were doing this, not for the headlines, not for the investors, not for Jerry but for us.The car slid into the valet lane at the studio. Cameras flashed, and the murmur of the press followed us like a wave. Ariana’s grip on my hand tightened for a second. I gave her a small, reassuring squeeze.“Ready?” I asked.She nodded, smiling, though I could see the tension behind her eyes. “As I’ll ever be.”We walked inside. The studio smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood, a familiar scent that always seemed to calm me. Producers and camera crews hustled around, wires trailing like vines across the floor. Lights hung above us, ready to spotlight every word we said.The interviewer, a poised woman with an easy smile, gestured toward the set. “Alex, Ariana, thank you for joining us today.
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