The photos leaked on a Tuesday.

They were grainy, taken through the café window from across the street, showing Arianne at a plastic table with Dominic across from her and the late afternoon light falling between them. The headlines wrote themselves. Arianne Summers Meets with Ex-Fiancé at Hospital Café. Are She and Noah Hart Still Together? Has the Romance Ended?

The fans descended before Franz had even finished his morning coffee.

They flooded the forums, picked apart the pixels, and noticed the distance between the chairs—too far for lovers—and the lack of physical contact, plus Arianne’s car visible in the parking lot, which meant she hadn’t arrived with him. Within hours, the narrative flipped. Leave sister-in-law alone. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation.

Franz saw the photos and scrolled past the headlines. Then he put his phone down and finished his coffee.

He trusted her. Everything else was noise.

–

The livestream had been scheduled for weeks.

Franz had been endorsing the game for years—a fantasy role-playing title with an elaborate online world and a dedicated player base. His involvement predated the awards, the fame, and the careful construction of Noah Hart as a brand. He enjoyed it and he was good at it, and twice a year he went online and played with his fans while the internet lost its mind.

His study had a dedicated setup: dual monitors, a mechanical keyboard with customizable backlighting, and a headset that had cost more than his first talent fee. Arianne had raised an eyebrow the first time she saw it but said nothing. She had learned not to question the hobbies of a man who had been acting since he was a teenager.

He went live at seven o’clock.

His face appeared on screen with the game’s loading screen behind him, and the comments flooded in before he’d even said hello.

"Good evening," he said, adjusting his headset. "Yes, I’m early. No, I haven’t forgotten how to play. It’s been a few months, but I’ve been practicing."

The comments scrolled too fast to read, but he caught fragments: NOAH WE MISSED YOU. PLAY THE MAGE CLASS. IS SISTER-IN-LAW OKAY? THE PHOTOS ARE FAKE RIGHT? WE TRUST YOU.

His hands moved on the keyboard, automatic and familiar. He read comments when he could and responded with the easy rapport he had built over years of public appearances.

"Someone asked if the mage class is viable this season. It’s viable if you know what you’re doing, and I know what I’m doing." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

More comments came faster. Where’s sister-in-law? Is she sick? Is she okay?

He glanced at the camera. "She’s taking a nap. She’s been recovering from exhaustion—the doctor said she needs rest. She’s doing well, so don’t worry."

The comment section detonated.

SHE’S NAPPING. HE KNOWS SHE’S NAPPING. THEY’RE TOGETHER. THEY’RE DEFINITELY LIVING TOGETHER.

Is she really okay?

The photos at the hospital. He knows about the photos. He doesn’t care. He trusts her.

THIS IS WHAT A REAL RELATIONSHIP LOOKS LIKE.

Then one question scrolled past, bold and unignorable: Noah, are you aware she met with her ex?

Franz’s eyes tracked it across the screen, but his hands never stopped moving on the keyboard.

"Yes," he said. "I’m aware."

He didn’t elaborate because he didn’t need to. One word, calm and unbothered, carried more weight than any denial could have. The comments exploded again, this time different, supportive and protective.

HE KNOWS. HE TRUSTS HER. LEAVE THEM ALONE.

Another comment caught his eye: Noah, just focus on being a good husband. We trust sister-in-law.

Franz’s mouth curved into a small, private smile, the kind he usually saved for when he was alone with his family. "I try my best," he said.

The chaos that followed was immediate. HUSBAND. HE SAID HUSBAND. I TRY MY BEST. DID YOU HEAR THAT? HE BASICALLY CONFIRMED IT. THEY’RE MARRIED. NOAH HART IS A MARRIED MAN.

He kept playing while the comments kept coming and the game kept running. It was, he thought, a perfectly ordinary evening.

Then the door opened off-camera.

He heard it through his headset—a soft click, the whisper of the door swinging inward—followed by footsteps, light and familiar, crossing the room behind him. The camera showed only his face and the game behind him, nothing else.

"I brought you water."

Arianne’s voice was rough with sleep, the drowsiness not quite gone. She was somewhere behind him, out of frame, her presence announced only by sound.

Her hand appeared at the very edge of the camera—just her fingers, placed and gone—as she set a glass of water on the desk beside his keyboard. Then her hand withdrew. Her face never appeared, and the door was never shown.

Franz turned his head, not toward the camera but toward her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." Her voice came from off-camera. "I woke up hungry."

He laughed, the sound open and unguarded. "There’s something in the fridge. I brought it home this afternoon, so go check."

A pause, then the soft sound of her footsteps retreating, and finally the click of the door closing. She was gone.

Franz turned back to his game, and it took him a moment to realize what had just happened.

The comments were moving so fast they were unreadable—a blur of capital letters, exclamation points, and keysmashes that expressed emotions language couldn’t contain. He caught fragments as they flew past.

SHE BROUGHT HIM WATER. THEY LIVE TOGETHER.

HER HAND. I SAW HER HAND. DOMESTIC. SO DOMESTIC.

HE LAUGHED WHEN SHE SAID SHE WAS HUNGRY. HE BROUGHT HER FOOD. THEY’RE MARRIED.

THEY’VE BEEN MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME.

Noah, welcome to married life. You should know by now that our wives are always hungry. If she’s mad, give her something to eat.

One comment, slower than the rest, scrolled past at a readable speed: Noah is someone else’s husband now. I wish them happiness together.

Franz’s face softened as a breath he didn’t know he was holding left his chest. He didn’t confirm or deny. He just smiled and adjusted his headset.

"All right," he said. "Back to the game. Where were we?"

The comments kept coming as the game kept running, and the glass of water sat on the desk beside his keyboard, a small evidence of the life he had built. The secret held, technically, and the marriage remained technically unconfirmed.

The walls were getting thinner every day, and Franz found he didn’t mind.

Later, Arianne would find him at his computer with the livestream ended and the game logged off. She would be eating the pastry he had brought home that afternoon, her expression satisfied. She would ask if the stream went well, and he would tell her yes. He would not mention the comments, and she would not ask about the photos.

They would go to bed together while the world outside kept spinning, and the secret would hold for a little while longer.