The Interview

***

The studio lights burned bright, cold, and unrelenting. Every shadow on her face was magnified through the unforgiving lens of the camera, exposing the fine lines etched by sleepless nights and silent tears.

She sat rigid in the sleek black chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The smile she wore was practiced, the kind learned through years of public appearances — polite, distant, unreadable.

Across from her, the host adjusted her notes. Short hair framed a sharp face, her eyes flicked between the papers and the camera like a hawk. Her tone was clipped, professional — but there was something underneath it, something colder.

“Lily, your latest novel has taken the literary world by storm. Fans say it’s darker, more raw than anything you’ve written before. Where does that darkness come from?”

The question was soft but loaded, like the first crack in a glass.

Lily’s lips twitched — almost a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She swallowed hard.

“I write from what I feel,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

The host nodded, but didn’t let up. She leaned forward, gaze sharpening.

“There are rumors about your past — that you rarely speak of. Care to share what really happened?”

A sudden weight pressed down on Lily’s chest. Her hands clenched the chair’s arms until her knuckles whitened. The air felt thick, suffocating.

The camera zoomed in, capturing every flicker of pain that crossed her face.

Her throat tightened. Then, without warning, tears welled up. The controlled mask shattered.

“I don’t… I don’t remember everything,” she choked out, voice breaking. “Some parts are lost to me.”

Her breath hitched as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. The room fell into a strained silence.

The host’s voice dropped, colder now.

“Why hide it? Your readers deserve to know the truth.”

The pressure crushed her. The room spun. Her vision blurred.

Suddenly, the second woman — always her silent shadow — rose from her seat backstage and stormed onto the set.

“That’s enough,” she said firmly, stepping between Lily and the host.

Her eyes blazed with protectiveness.

The host’s lips pressed into a thin line. A flash of resentment — or jealousy — flickered in her eyes before she snapped the papers shut.

The cameras cut. The interview ended abruptly.

Backstage, Lily leaned heavily against a wall, wiping tears from her face. Her body trembled, but relief washed over her as the second woman gently took her arm, steadying her.

“You’re safe now,” the woman whispered.

Lily closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the fragile quiet.

***

The crowd was still there.

Dozens of people gathered outside the studio gates, their umbrellas scattered like black mushrooms against the gray sky. Some held signs, others held phones, recording, shouting, pleading. Their voices collided with one another in a wave of concern, confusion, and outrage.

“That interview was too much!”

“Did you see her cry?”

“Who let them ask that on live air?”

“She looked scared.”

The security guards tried to keep order, but the noise swelled louder with every passing second. The media vans hummed nearby, their long antennas standing tall like metal trees in a concrete forest.

And in the center of it all — hidden behind a wall of tinted glass — sat Lily.

She bowed her head as the car door opened, hiding her face from the flashes and phones. Her hands trembled. Not from fear of the crowd, but from something deeper — the lingering sting of that interview, of words she didn’t ask for, memories she couldn’t control.

She climbed in quietly, her breath unsteady.

Beside her, the unnamed woman followed quickly. She closed the door and tapped once on the glass that separated them from the driver.

“Drive. Now.”

No hesitation. The engine rumbled to life and the car pulled forward, away from the flashing lights, away from the curious stares. As the vehicle sped through the city, the world outside began to blur — a mosaic of gray buildings, smudged windows, and slowly darkening skies.

Inside, Lily pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane, her eyes distant. The reflection staring back at her was pale, glassy-eyed, unfamiliar. She didn’t look like the woman on the posters or the covers of the books.

She didn’t look like Lily, either.

The car made a soft turn as the first drops of rain began to fall, dotting the glass like teardrops from the clouds.

The woman reached across the seat and pulled Lily gently toward her, wrapping her arms around her like a barrier. No words at first — just warmth, silence, and protection.

And then, quietly:

“It’s alright. Let it out.”

Lily didn’t hold back. She buried her face in the woman’s shoulder and sobbed, her tears hot against the cold ache inside her chest. The rain outside thickened, a soft storm rising just as the one inside her broke loose.

The woman whispered something to the driver — a sharp word, quick, like a command — and the car picked up speed.

The city blurred into darkness as they left it behind.

***

They arrived at the estate as twilight bled into night.

The grand gates opened with a soft metallic groan. The stone driveway curved gently toward the mansion, slick with rain. Lamps glowed dimly along the path, their golden light catching the falling droplets.

The driver opened the door. The woman stepped out first, offering her hand without speaking.

Lily took it.

They moved inside quickly, shoes echoing softly across the marble floor. The air in the house was warmer, but it did little to melt the cold wrapped around Lily’s shoulders.

Through the grand hall, past the portraits and empty silence, they made their way to the bedroom upstairs.

The woman guided her gently to the bed, not asking, not pushing — just being there, quietly tucking a blanket over her lap.

“Try to get some rest,” she said, kneeling beside the bed.

Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a storm — not of sadness, but fury. She stood up just as her phone buzzed sharply in her pocket. She glanced at the screen.

Something in her gaze changed.

***

The room was dim and silent, except for the distant tapping of rain against the tall windows. The downpour had thickened into a curtain of gray, smearing the outside world into soft shadows and silver streaks.

Lily sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress. Her breathing had slowed, but her eyes were glassy, unfocused — locked somewhere deep within the storm of thoughts she couldn’t name.

The unnamed woman stood nearby, one hand resting on the doorway frame, the other still holding her phone. She watched Lily in silence for a moment, as if deciding whether to speak — or scream.

Then the phone vibrated again.

She looked down. The screen lit her face, and whatever she read made her eyes darken instantly.

She walked across the room, slowly, deliberately, and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Who the hell allowed that?” she said, voice low and cold.

Lily lifted her head, startled by the sharp edge in her tone.

There was a long pause, a distant voice speaking on the other end. Muffled. Male. Calm — too calm.

The woman didn’t respond immediately. She turned toward the window, her back to Lily now, her hand shaking slightly.

“You think that was okay? Humiliating her like that?” Her voice didn’t rise, but the venom in it was unmistakable.

“That wasn’t journalism. That was an ambush.”

The voice on the other end tried again. Defensive now. Excuses. Maybe even laughter.

Lily could only hear pieces of it. She couldn’t understand what was being said — but she didn’t need to. She could feel the rage building in the woman across the room.

Then came the silence.

And in that silence, the woman whispered something — low, in a voice like frost.

“If you ever put her through something like that again...

I will bury your entire career. Don’t test me.”

She ended the call without waiting for a reply.

The room was still. The only sound was the steady rhythm of the rain. The woman’s shoulders rose and fell once — slowly — as she steadied her breath.

She turned back toward Lily, her expression hard but not cruel. Her eyes softened only slightly as she walked closer.

She knelt again at Lily’s side, this time with more weight, as if anchoring her there.

“Rest now, Lily. Please. You need it.”

Lily didn’t answer. Her hands were still trembling. But something in the woman’s voice made her finally lay down.

The woman stayed for a few seconds more, brushing Lily’s hair away from her eyes. A gesture full of silence, and memory, and grief that had no name.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “No matter what they say. No matter what they do.”

Then she stood and left, the door closing softly behind her.

Outside, the rain poured harder, washing the world in quiet fury.

Inside, Lily stared at the ceiling with tear-streaked cheeks, her eyes wide open.

She didn’t know if she could sleep.

But she knew… someone had fought for her.

And for the first time in a long time — that meant something.

***