Painted

Chapter 25

Sarocha sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, while Rebecca leaned back against the armrest, sipping her coffee. The muted light filtering through the curtains made the room feel cozy, but the atmosphere between them was electric with focus.

The clock on the screen ticked over to 9:00 a.m., and the video call connected, revealing the familiar faces of their PR team: a composed woman named Songjet, with her signature crimson lipstick, and Babe, their tech-savvy communications strategist.

“Good morning, ladies,” Songjet greeted them, her tone polished and professional. “I trust you had an eventful weekend?”

Sarocha smirked, catching Rebecca’s sidelong glance. “You could say that. But let’s cut to the chase. I want us to take charge of the narrative surrounding... us.”

Songjet raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “Go on.”

Rebecca straightened up slightly, setting her mug down. “The media’s never going to stop sniffing around. No matter how much we try to lay low, the stories won't die down completely. We want to take back ownership of the whole narrative, tell our story ourselves, our way, rather than let them twist it.”

Babe nodded, typing something into his tablet. “That’s not a bad instinct, but how public are we talking here? A statement? A press release? It could be risky if we lose control of it.”

“Bigger than that,” Sarocha said, leaning forward, her tone firm and deliberate. “We let a reputable magazine do an interview. Something high-profile but respected—think Forbes or Fortune type publications. We’re not just talking about our relationship. We’re talking about our work, our vision, and how we’re shaping the future together.”

Songjet pursed her lips, considering. “It’s a bold move. You’re suggesting framing the personal within the professional.”

“Exactly,” Sarocha said, her eyes sharp with determination. “We emphasize how our relationship strengthens our collaboration, how it’s driving the success of our current project. We turn what could be tabloid fodder into a narrative of partnership, innovation, and excellence.”

Rebecca chimed in, her voice steady but with a note of apprehension. “But we’d need to tread carefully. I don’t want this to feel... performative or like we’re exploiting our personal lives for attention.”

“Which is why it has to be the right publication,” Sarocha said, turning to her. “Something with credibility. We control the story, set the terms, and make sure the focus is where it belongs—on what we’re building, together.”

Songjet leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled thoughtfully. “It’s a smart strategy, but there are risks. The media will scrutinize every word, every look, every gesture between you two. If there’s even a hint of contradiction or discomfort, they’ll pounce. Are you prepared for that kind of exposure?”

“We are,” Sarocha said without hesitation. She glanced at Rebecca, her expression softening. “We’ve talked about this. We’re on the same page.”

Rebecca nodded, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “We know what we’re stepping into. It’s just... better than letting others define the narrative for us.”

Babe adjusted his cufflinks, chiming in. “If we’re going this route, we need to plan carefully. The tone of the article has to balance the personal and professional seamlessly. We’ll need to provide some exclusivity to the magazine to make it worthwhile for them, but we don’t want to give away too much.”

“And,” Songjet added, her gaze sharp, “you’ll need to prepare for the aftermath. Even if we control the initial story, it’ll open the floodgates. Other outlets will dig deeper. They’ll scrutinize every detail of your personal lives—and your working dynamic. You need to be rock-solid, both as a couple and as professionals.”