Rewrite the Rules

All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 73

Days blurred into a whirlwind of happiness and love making. The next leg of the tour was two weeks and six concerts in New York but truly New Jersey.

The tabloid lay crumpled on the plush white carpet of the Grand hotel in New York City, the stark headline screaming at me:

"Namjoon & Rowan, wet and wild!"

Fury boiled in my gut, hot and acidic. My hands clenched into fists, the cheap paper crinkling under my grip. This wasn't supposed to happen. This private time, stolen from the sanctity of a romantic getaway, was now plastered across every gossip rag imaginable. A violation of our privacy, a cruel twist of the fame they all craved.

Namjoon slammed the phone down, the reverberation echoing through the New York City hotel room. His voice, usually a deep rumble, had risen to a furious yell. There was nothing, and no one, scarier than the full fury of Kim Namjoon.

"I need a cigarette," he growled, scanning the pristine room as if searching for a hidden pack. A quick text sent, and a staff member appeared shortly after with a pack and a lighter.

"Joonie, TMZ is out front with cameras, be careful," I warned, my voice laced with concern.

"Fuck them too," he muttered, putting the cigarette in his mouth but not lighting it. "What the hell are you smiling about?"

His question caught me off guard. A small, nervous laugh escaped my lips. His dark eyes narrowed, then a hint of a smile played on his own lips.

"Sorry," I stammered, "it just popped into my head. Think we could send Jungkook or Jimin out to the pool shirtless? Take the heat off us?"

The corner of his mouth twitched further, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Emma!" he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Joonie," I said, resting my head on his shoulder, "we both know it could be worse. Way worse. Yes, this sucks. But at least they're not accusing me of being a drug addict or some kind of alien."

He cupped my face, his gaze filled with worry. "You were almost nude, baby. That's what scares me."

"I've dealt with this kind of thing a thousand times," I assured him. "Remember, I'm Rowan, the socialite. I've seen every photo op and read every trashy article. I can't let it affect how I feel about you. You're more important than any photo.

He paused, his eyes searching mine. Then, a slow, sly smile spread across his face.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a desperate, reaffirming kiss, a promise that wouldn't be shaken.

"What do you need right now? I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart.

He pulled back, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I need you to be really mad about this," he said, a glint of defiance flickering in his eyes. But beneath the anger, I saw the flicker of gratitude, the knowledge that he wasn't alone in this storm.

"That fucking newspaper!" I exclaimed, a smirk tugging at my lips as I playfully punched my hand.

Namjoon burst into laughter. "Oh my gosh! I've never heard you swear before! This is hilarious!"

"Whoever took those photos can go straight to...well, you get the idea," I grumbled, feigning anger.

"Thank you, baby. I love you," he said, still chuckling as he headed for the door. "But seriously, I need to get to sound check."

With Namjoon gone, I settled back in the hotel room. BTS had made some changes to their sound checks and concert routines.

Since Vegas, the sound checks were now closed to fans, and the special song where they brought a fan onstage was nixed. The way some interacted with that fan – the inappropriate touching and grabbing – had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth.