[tw: targeting of innocent Hawthornes, embarrassment, hot news reporter]

❝HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, DARLING.❞

❝YOU TOO, PRETTY BOY.❞

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"TAYLOR SWIFT - Labryinth"
★01:11 ━━━━●───── 04:11
ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡ 

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

I thought the plane was going down.
How'd you turn it right around?

[ NO ONE ]

ARLENE WAS DRAGGED OUT OF HER ROOM against her will, your honor. This was not consensual.

"For all that's falsely considered holy," The brunette rubbed her sleep-filled eyes, yawning a few stray tears away, "Alisa, I've been through hell already. Do we really need to take this interview?" Gold eyes glared softly at the Ortega. 

"The world waits for no one, Arlene," The woman in her white power suit practically embodied, urged Arlene into her changing room, "Especially not billionaires who have been through hell."

"Well, can't it wait for the sisters, then?" Avery, the youngest Grambs, leaned against the doorframe, equally sleep-deprived as her sister beside her and the one inside, "Why are all of us required for this?"

The lawyer woman scrolled through her schedule for the day, speaking in a calm and composed voice, "Because the interviewer requested to interview with all those acquainted with Arlene."

"Is she on case or something?" Libby brushed her hair, the vibrant blue locks jerking with every stroke and bouncing with volume.

"No," Alisa shrugged as professionally as possible, "Why would she? I'm right here and I haven't had a word of controversy yet."

"Get ready for a few thousand," The elder heiress walked out, her hair tied up in a simple navy blue scrunchy that matched the rich, blue sweater she had layered over a white collar shirt, both tucked in her belt and beige pleated skirt, "You have no idea," She let out some stray flicks of hair to frame her face, "the shit I have been up to, Ms. Ortega."

Now Alisa didn't seem as composed as she was.

"Leena?" Oren knocked on the door, "She's here." To which he got a kind 'In a bit' as a response. 

"Let's get this over with." Libby stretched, her youngest sister matching her tired expression, "It should be illegal for interviews to be this early in the morning..."

Arlene fixed on her earrings and heels. 
Some little birdy told her that this interview would be the most fun she had had in a while.

And her biggest nightmare at the same time.

·······•✦•······

They met the Hawthorne's in the living room. Mind you, the 'living room' was the size of a ballroom, with couches, embellishments, chandeliers, and statues adorning every nook and cranny of the chamber.

The session was taking place at the core of it all. The Hawthornes were perfectly placed, disciplined, and picturesque.

And then there was Arlene who–despite the copious about of coffee–looked like a dead corpse walking.

"God save me..." She sighed as Alisa sat her down in the center.

"Not today, Leens!" Xander wrapped her arms around her shoulder from the back, squeezing her tight.

The brunette coughed, patting his arm, "Easy, boy! Dying here..."

After the entire grave incident, the older Hawthornes were cold and sharp with Arlene. A little more than usual, so one could say.

But on the contrary, The Hawthorne Brothers had gotten closer to her. Due credit to some eavesdropping on very serious conversations, the Brothers made themselves as much as Arlene's friends as her personal affectionate versions of Oren.

Well, most of them had, anyway.

A certain pair of grey eyes still refused to look at her.

Arlene couldn't help but glance at his way. He was perfect, and that wasn't a compliment. It was a fact.

His perfection was his everything. Not a stray or split in his delicately combed hair, not a lint in his impeccably pressed suit, not a speck of emotion in his window for eyes.

Unfortunately for him, Windows she could see through, clear as day.

Gold averted from silver. Not now, she mentally chided.

Everyone settled in place. Arlene smiled and waved at her bodyguards. Plural.

Turns out Ezra was, in fact, miraculously not fired.

The men and women on the reporter's team hustled around, checking mics, connections, stats, and whatnot.

And yet the interviewer herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Alright, everyone," A girl with a bird's nest for her, so much caffeine that her hands were shaking and big round eyes, smiled, grabbing the attention of the room, "Ms. Daotha is going to be here in just a moment, apologies for the inconvenient delay! If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Hawthorne—Grayson, please sit a little closer to Ms. Amira-Grambs." 

Sweet lady, who the fuck asked you to be so sweet?

Arlene didn't dare let her eyes leave the woman as she felt the presence beside her grow closer.

"A little bit more sir," The woman shyly instructed.

Arlene wanted to shyly die because that Hawthorne had his stupid Hawthorne Magnet on. Grayson, himself, wasn't so pleased with the arrangements, given by the barely noticeable but present, tense in his shoulders and clench of his jaw. But he came closer.

By an inch.

"Sir—"

"Oh, she's not going to eat you, Grayson!"
A cheery voice rang out with the click of heels. She was tall, tanned, and had the most chocolatey brown eyes I'd ever seen. Her hair was fluffy and bouncy, tamed by an overly large and elegant black hat. She wore multiple rings on her fingerless-gloved hands and her outfit itself screamed old money.

A sleeveless navy blue vest with wide lapels, worn over a crisp white blouse. The blouse had a deep V-neckline, giving the outfit a chic and sophisticated edge to her. She wore matching navy blue, high-waisted pants that hugged her waist and curves (which were mostly prominent), jeweled with a black leather belt and a gold buckle.

Her makeup was what my stylist did to me this morning; loose, voluminous curls and a polished look with a soft, warm-toned lip color. Her neck was bare and defined deeply, but her ears were adorned with hoops.

She was dazzling to look at.

"Although, I doubt you'd really mind if she did."

Now a little less dazzling.

The Hawthorne brothers snickered, the only exception being a cold-eyed Grayson, staring her down. "Kindly refrain from voicing your unnecessary comments, Ms. Daotha. You are here to ask questions and get your answers. It would be in everyone's best interest to keep it that way."

That certainly did not make things more awkward. 

"Oh, hush," The woman simply rolled her eyes as she strode up to us and shook her head, "No can do. We need this to be imperfection-free."

She then proceeded to physically place them around the way she wanted them.

It went something like this:

Nash and Libby were put together at the end of the couch, followed by Xander and Ezra on the other side. Oren sat on a bean bag beside the main couch. Zara, Contastine, and Skye were sat somewhere to the right of the screen. Nan sat on the armchair to the left, Alisa by her side.

Avery and Jameson were separated, Jameson beside Arlene and Avery beside Grayson, sandwiching the two into the center. 

The interviewer hummed, tapping her chin in thought. Something was still missing...
The core.

When she came to touch Arlene, something in Arlene coiled up as she jerked back from the touch. Her eyes no longer tired, but full of warning. 

Out of the blue, a warmth sat on Arlene's shoulder. The blonde matched her stern look to the interviewer, subtly (and not) keeping Arlene in place. "I think we have dealt with your assertiveness enough, Ms. Daotha. You may start the interview."

The smile on the reporter's face never wavered. In fact, it seemed to have grown. 

"Impatient much?" She chuckled sitting in the chair she was supposed to, "Let it roll."

And so, the event went live.

·······•✦•······

"Today, dear viewers, we have an exclusive interview with the beloved Hawthorne family and the most controversial, juicy, and endearing Grambs who have gotten into more scandals than the fingers on your hands, along with everyone they have gotten close with!"

What a way of introduction. 

The Hawthornes offered a curt nod; the Grambs waved.

"Today, we have questions from our dear readers that they would love you to answer!" Daotha turned to us, "Coming up first in line is a question for our dear main heiress, Arlene."

So Arlene was the first to go. Amazing.

"We start off with very basic questions, to get to know you better!" Daotha smiled, "What is your favorite color, food, and song, Arlene?"

Arlene mimicked the curve on her lips, "Well, my favorites are variables, most of the time. But if I had to pick one, my favorite color would be..." She took a moment to think it out.

Because for a terrifying moment, the mental image of grey eyes flashed in mind. 

Absolutely not. 

"Blue." She nodded, not letting even a moment of hesitation show in her own eyes, "Favorite food? Now that's tricky..." She giggled. Arlene was not feeling giggly.

"You like brownies, and have a sweet tooth for chocolate," Avery grinned, leaning over to look at her sister, "I swear, one night you tried to propose to a chocolate fountain, remember?"

That got a laugh out of the Grambs and even some of the Hawthornes, "Oh my god, I hadn't slept for a whole two days," Arlene rolled her eyes at her own ridiculous memory, "This close to going crazy with hallucinations." She made a pinch form with her fingers.

"And your favorite song?"

"Ever heard of Gracie Abrams?" The brunette leaned back, "That's So True has to be the literal definition of my life, right now."

"That is so true." Xander shook his head. Another round of soft laughter. 

"But I think I like this song, White Mustang, more than others." The Grambs shrugged, "Lana Del Rey; it's beautiful."

"You are a fan of Lana Del Rey?" Daotha arched a brow, seemingly intrigued.

"You could say that. I mean, I haven't heard as many of her songs as I have of Taylor Swift or Sabrina Carpenter, but she's good." The gold-eyed woman smiled. Not knowing that finally, a pair of grey eyes were on her.

"Great! Now, onto the next question," The reporter flipped her page in an a swift motion, "And a fair and advance apology, these are gonna get up and personal."

And to think god would cut me some slack, Arlene let her lips keep up that soft curve.

"What are your views on women?"

She blinked, "I'm sorry, what?"

"What are your thoughts and opinions about women? Do you have a preference for them, or maybe some other gender?"

"Oh..." Arlene did an excellent job hiding the heat behind her neck. From the world, not herself. "Well... the thing is, don't get me wrong, I appreciate a beautiful woman but..."

And to add to her misery, her sisters started snickering. "Arlene can't like women even if she wanted to," Libby shot her sister a smirk.

Is it too late to commit homicide? 

"Oh?" Why was Zara so suddenly interested? "And the reason?"

"I—"

"Every time Leena looks at a woman, thinks she's pretty and slash or cute," Avery matched her eldest sister's smug expression, "she gets reminded of us, all the similarities to us, imagines the woman as us and virtually vomits at the idea of ever lusting after us."

Arlene's life update: when the fuck will this misery end?

Nash burst out laughing, "No! That's just sad!" Soon the entire room joined, hell even Oren snorted out a few hidden chuckles.

"Laugh it up, laugh it up..." Arlene rolled her eyes, "Moving on."

The air around Daotha changed. It turned more sinisterly mischievous, "Ms. Grambs... this is a question asked mostly anticipated by our viewers. I hope you are ready for this one," Brown eyes then landed on the two Hawthornes on either side of her, "and you too, Jameson and Grayson."

All senses were on alert.

"Roll the clip!"

The clip rolled. The clip of Arlene laughing as she drove with Jameson and Avery. The clip of Arlene running through the fire. The clip of Arlene getting carried by Grayson, bridal style in her ripped dress and scarred feet. The clip of Arlene dancing with Grayson in that fast-tempo music at the ball. The clip of him pinning her to the wall so long ago.

And the worst of them all.

The clip of Grayson kissing Arlene.

.

.

.

"ARELENE AMIRA GRAMBS!"

Yeah. Arlene was screwed.

·······•✦•······

"When did this happen?!"
"How are we only seeing this now?!"
"You two kissed?!"
"Why is the world burning?!"
"Why is your dress half ripped to shred?!"
"You two are dating?!"

Arlene's eyes blew wide at the copious amount of questions thrown at her, left and right. The poor girl couldn't even keep the shock and embarrassment away from her face, much less get out a word to speak.

Stop asking everything to me! She wanted to scream, I'm not the only one in those clips!

But they didn't stop. Arlene found it petty.
How little bits of panic started to settle in her chest. Making it harder to breathe. 

Her expression carefully blanked. Hiding her inner turmoil. 
Calm down, her mind blared, calm down. You're not having an attack on live TV. Not in front of Lib or Ave. Not in front of the Hawthornes. Not. Now.

Daotha had a perfectly confused face. But in her eyes, Arlene could see amusement. And some sympathy.

Grayson slipped his fingers between Arlene's and squeezed. He placed their intertwined hands on his clothed thigh. "I believe," His voice was powerful, composed, and in control. The true heir's voice that cut through the chaos in a single clean slash. Commanding silence, demanding discipline, "It is Ms. Daotha's job to be asking the appropriate questions. Neither yours nor ours."

Silence. Arlene could breathe again.

Squeeze. Squeeze. Relax.
Thank you.

Squeeze. Relax. Squeeze.
No need, Doll. 

Something affectionate sparkled in Daotha's eyes as she caught a glimpse of the scene.

"Right, well," She cleared her throat, "The viewers would like some explanation to the shown videos, Ms. Grambs, Mr. Hawthorne. Is it true that you two are dating?"

Arlene, now Arlene again, shook her head confidently, "Fabricated," She lied in such truthful way, the world would know nothing but her honesty, "The video is clearly fabricated. Yes, I was in a dangerous situation of the same depiction but I was alone in that burning building. Only after I could get out, could Grayson carry me to safety due to my collapsing from exhaustion. To which I am very grateful to him."

And for many other things.

Daotha clearly had other things to say but nothing to prove them, so she offered a nod. Understanding how Arlene dodged the question. If she pried on the dating aspect, she would seem nosy and invasive, hence put down by the company sooner or later. "The next question..." Her eyes scanned the paper, "Is for Grayson."

Grayson nodded. His hand still tangled with the gold-eyed woman's.

"Please," Daotha gestured to the screen, where another clip played.  The clip of him getting tied with his own tie by Arlene after he caught her from falling from her room window. "Give us some context on this, if you would."

Fuck. Grayson's eyes narrowed and that was about it. But Arlene could see the reddening of his ear tips. Arlene, who was struggling not to burst out into a fit of dying laughter.

"An unfortunate predicament," Grayson offered as a reply. 

"Very unfortunate." Arlene smiled.

"And, not to mention, she stole his bike keys from right under his coat!" Jameson grinned, looking a little less tense compared to when he saw the clips.

'You ride bikes?" Daotha's grin widened.

"On rare, fortunate days," He lightly crushed the elder heiress' hands, making her comically wince and squeeze back, "when I am not obliged to catch a woman who jumped out of her window right after surgery and still had the physical capability to trick me into being bound by a once harmless fabric. Yes, I do ride bikes."

Was this remotely Arlene's fault? Nah.

"Now this calls for some getting-to-know time for you, Mr. Hawthorne," the reporter tapped her heel against the floor, "Rumors say you have a soft spot for fashion. True or False?"

"I suppose I do keep mind of my clothing," Grayson fixed his cuffs, "it is what any sophisticated and admirable person should."

"So, what are your thoughts on Black Leather Pants."

The Hawthorne brothers burst out laughing at the utter, pure, and absolute disgust etched into every feature of Grayson Davenport Hawthorne's face. Even the elders were covering their mouths, masking their twitching lips with coughs.

"Ahem, Grayson," Arlene gently prompted. 

He finally seemed to realize the expression on his face and cleared his throat, "Apologies. Next question."

The interview went on, Daotha asking questions to each and every member present. And soon before you'd know it, it was over.

Arlene did the courtesy of walking her interviewer out to the gate.

"You know, Ms. Grambs," Daotha hummed, staring up at the clear blue sky.

"Yes?" Arlene watched as the woman took off her hat, letting the wind sweep through her hair, flying it like a gentle cape behind her.

"I think you'd make a fine model."

Where did that come from? Arlene blinked in surprise. Not only did the woman speak those words with no context, but there was a little, mean voice whispering in Arlene's ears how it would never be possible. With her body, her muscles and most of all...

Her scars. 

There was no way any modelling agency would take her. Good for her anyways, she wasn't interested in joining that