Chapter 171: Immersion Technique

[Chapter 171: Immersion Technique]

"I love you, husband," Taylor whispered.

"I love you too."

Taylor clung tightly to Ryan's neck, her left hand reflecting the warm orange glow of the bedside lamp.

"..." Taylor's eyebrows raised in a playful, exaggerated frown.

The first night in their new home felt particularly long.

"Honey, you're incredible!" Taylor gasped, her mouth forming an "O" shape.

She was utterly impressed.

"Are you satisfied?"

"More than satisfied, husband. My friends are going to be so jealous." Taylor adjusted herself on the bed.

"Superman, I want to try to see tomorrow's sunrise." Taylor closed her eyes again.

"What if you end up in the hospital?" Ryan chuckled.

"Then you'd just have to take care of me," Taylor laughed lightly.

...

"I was just making an analogy!" Taylor cried out the next afternoon, having woken up feeling miserable.

"You need to help me up; I need to supervise the cleaning staff," she waved to Ryan.

"You need rest; supervision isn't necessary," Ryan replied, lying back on the bed, holding Taylor close.

"No way, you need to keep an eye on them."

"Alright," Ryan pretended to get up.

"No, wait -- hold me for a bit longer." Taylor summoned her last bit of energy to cling onto Ryan, breathlessly asking, "Is that thing even rechargeable?"

"Isn't yours the same? You drank a bottle and a half of water last night," Ryan quipped.

"Without hydration, I might as well be dead!"

Their banter had its simplicity.

"I think I might have broken a bone."

"Where?" Ryan inquired.

"Everywhere! Everything hurts; you're bullying me -- boo hoo." Taylor whimpered as she tightened her grip around Ryan's arm.

"That's what happens when you forget to turn off the faucet," Ryan laughed.

"Only you could come up with an excuse," Taylor huffed, burying her face in Ryan's shoulder.

To be fair, normally it wouldn't have been this exaggerated. But last night was different; the longing from not seeing each other in a while mixed with the excitement of officially moving in together brought their feelings to a boiling point.

It wasn't something they could typically hold back from. In fact, Beyonce had alluded to it in her lyrics about staying up until dawn, making sure everyone knew how amazing her husband was.

"Get the scale," Taylor nudged Ryan.

Noticing that Ryan wasn't moving, she nudged him a few more times.

Ryan complied as Taylor swung her legs off the bed, then stood on the scale with Ryan's support.

The number flashed 121 pounds.

"I've lost weight! I really do weigh less -- 3 pounds less!" Taylor exclaimed in disbelief.

"I heard this could help with weight loss, but I didn't expect it to be real," she said, gazing up at Ryan as if she had just discovered a new continent.

"It's mostly just water loss," Ryan reminded her.

"I've been trying for half a month and didn't lose nearly this much."

"It'll probably come back in a few days anyway."

"Still, it counts as weight loss. If I kept this up for a month, do you think I would..."

"You'd probably end up fainting," Ryan answered without hesitation.

Taylor took that very seriously.

...

That evening, Ryan brought a tray of food into their bedroom.

"Madam Rivers, it's dinner time." Ryan adopted the tone of an old-world butler.

At that moment, Taylor adjusted her glasses, scribbling on a notepad. Instead of writing a diary, she was drafting lyrics.

She showed Ryan her new songs from this period.

There was the heartfelt Never Grow Up, the emotionally charged Better Than Revenge about a heartbreak, Ours about unrequited love, and the accusing tone of Haunted.

"This time I learned a whole new songwriting technique that I call immersion technique. The psychologist said I was self-delusional, so I leaned into it. In Never Grow Up, I imagined having a child with you. In Better Than Revenge, you were taken away by Daddario. In Ours, it happens in another parallel universe where we don't know each other and are just colleagues, and in Haunted, you're the heartbreaker who dumped me!" Taylor playfully kicked at Ryan's side, glancing sideways at him as if she were truly immersed in her stories.

Ryan didn't mind, as long as she was writing songs, he could endure a few playful kicks. Besides, Taylor's legs were smooth and delicate; any man in love would see it as a reward, not a punishment.

He started to consider a different angle; now that Taylor was writing songs, shouldn't she aim to chart a few singles like he did?

After a day without food, Taylor dove into her dinner.

"Aren't you worried about gaining weight?" Ryan asked.

"Not with you here. I can't gain weight -- I'll need your extra effort!" Taylor laughed, chewing away.

"Also, I've been thinking; you should come with me to LA. You've got to attend the Grammys, and spending a few extra days with me wouldn't hurt. You haven't had much time to spend with me since the proposal," she said, batting her eyes playfully.

"Did you spend New Year's with Erica?" Ryan asked.

"Just come with me this time," Taylor said, her tone softening.

"Fine, but first, I want to hear you call me Daddy," Ryan teased, nodding.

"Ugh..." Taylor rolled her eyes at Ryan before calling out quickly.

"What?" Ryan leaned in closer, trying to catch her words.

"Forget you heard anything," Taylor pouted.

"I need to work on my new track."

"I don't care; you made me call you that, and I did it! It's not like you can't move your stuff over there."

...

Three days later, Ryan and Taylor arrived in Los Angeles. The moment they landed, they were swarmed by reporters.

With Hollywood comes a massive paparazzi culture; anyone could be in on the act -- bystanders, taxi drivers, restaurant servers.

"Ryan, there have been no suspects captured in the death of Tyran's brother. Do you know anything about the whereabouts of the killer?" a reporter asked.

"What kind of bullshit question is that? This has nothing to do with me."

"Ryan, you gave the deceased's family a compensation fee; what was your reasoning behind that?"

"Just to help them grieve; it's that simple -- she was an employee of mine after all."

"And how was your relationship with Tyran while she worked at the record label?"

"I get along well with all my colleagues."

"How about you, Taylor?"

"Use your eyes to see," Taylor responded matter-of-factly.

...

At the airport, Ryan and Taylor had prepared by wearing sunglasses. With bodyguards in front and assistants behind, they exited in a carefully coordinated convoy.

"These paparazzi are the worst -- why can't they let this go?" Taylor grumbled.

"As long as there are eyes watching, they'd put anyone's mom's pictures in the news -- as long as they're wearing something scandalous," Ryan shrugged.

In fact, the online narrative had started to flip.

Several enthusiastic American netizens began investigating the issue deeply, arguing from multiple angles that Ryan was not the real culprit behind Tyran's brother's death.

More and more rational voices emerged online, suggesting it was merely a coincidence.

"Next, we just need to wait for the killer to be caught," Taylor mused.

"What if the killer admits their guilt and I'm still considered involved?" Ryan posed suddenly.

At that moment, Erica, sitting up front, turned around, her phone ringing in the background. "Paula is on the line; the local police spokesperson is holding a press conference. The perpetrator has been identified...

but the person is already dead!"

*****

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