The flowerbed - Aespa's Giselle x M!Reader

The silence feels deafening

The elevator ride down to PR felt endless. My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as snippets of the day kept replaying in my mind - Giselle's smile during practice, the peaceful morning, moments that already felt like memories slipping away.

Staff members I passed were acting strange - hushed whispers falling silent as I approached, quick glances followed by averted eyes. A junior coordinator actually turned around completely when she saw me coming, practically running the other way.

Something was very wrong.

My phone buzzed constantly but I couldn't bring myself to check it yet. Through the windows, I noticed an unusual number of photographers gathering outside the building. Not the usual entertainment reporters - these had the hungry look of scandal chasers.

The PR department's floor was chaos. People rushed between offices carrying tablets, phones ringing everywhere at once. The normal quiet efficiency replaced by barely controlled panic.

A senior PR coordinator saw me first. The pity in her eyes made my stomach drop.

"They're waiting for you," she said softly, gesturing to Director Park's office.

The walk down that final hallway felt like moving through water, each step heavier than the last. Behind glass walls, I could see teams huddled around monitors, expressions grim as they scrolled through something that had them all worried.

My heart clenched. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

The PR office felt too small, its walls lined with monitors displaying news sites and social media feeds. Director Park stood silently as I entered, his expression grim as he gestured to the main screen.

The photos hit like a physical blow.

There we were, captured in high-resolution detail outside the jazz club - my hand on Giselle's waist, her looking up at me with unmistakable affection. Another showed us at the art gallery, fingers intertwined. But the most damning was from the restaurant, the intimate lighting catching our expressions perfectly as we leaned close over the table.

"These are everywhere," Park said quietly. "Every major site, every forum. Dispatch had them first, but they spread within minutes."

My throat felt tight. "How bad?"

He clicked through tabs rapidly - Naver, Pann, Twitter. Comments sections overflowed with outrage, theories, demands. The words blurred together.

"The company's phones are melting down," Park continued. "News outlets, angry fans, industry contacts. It's trending number one on every platform."

Another click showed fan sites imploding, years of support turning to fury in real time. Videos of their performances now carried accusations - every interaction between Giselle and me dissected for "evidence."

"Shareholders are panicking," he added. "Stock's already dropping."

Park clicked to another screen, his expression darkening. "There's worse."

The monitor filled with messages that made the earlier comments seem tame. Screenshots from private fan cafes and message boards showed detailed threats - descriptions of violence, promises of harm, personal information being shared.

"They found her family's contact information," Park said quietly. "Her mother's been getting calls. Her sister had to shut down all social media."

My hands clenched reading the messages. Detailed threats about catching her alone, waiting outside the dorm, making her "pay" for betraying fans' trust. Some included photos of their building, their regular coffee shop, places they thought they'd been safe.