The internet never sleeps

Mordred scrolled through his phone, his thumb mindlessly flicking past articles, tweets, and photos from the Celebrity Artist Music Awards the night before.

Same headlines. Same praise. Same obsession with his face.

He was used to it. The world never saw him as a person—just a perfect image they could idolize, criticize, or fantasize about.

He was about to lock his phone when something odd caught his eye.

A blurry photo.

Of him.

Standing on the balcony.

With a woman.

He frowned, clicking on the post.

"Mordred spotted having a private moment with a mystery woman. Who is she?"

"Who is this girl, and why does she get to breathe the same air as Mordred???"

"She better know how lucky she is."

Mordred stared at the image, his jaw tightening.

So, someone had taken a picture.

Of course, they had.

His entire life was public property. Even a casual conversation wasn't safe from speculation.

He wasn't even sure why this annoyed him.

Maybe because it was ridiculous.

The internet had decided this random journalist was important just because he had spoken to her?

He scrolled further. More comments. More wild theories.

"They look so good together."

"Mordred, who is she, and why aren't you dating yet???"

"She's a reporter, right? What if she's writing some expose on him? Or worse… what if they're secretly dating??"

Mordred snorted.

Dating? He didn't even know her last name.

He tossed his phone aside, exhaling sharply.

This was exactly why he didn't trust people.

The world would always create stories about him. Even when there was nothing there.

Still…

His mind drifted back to their conversation.

To the way she had looked at him—not like a crazed fan, not like a vulture reporter trying to twist his words—but like someone who actually saw through him.

Mordred shook his head, shoving the thought away.

It didn't matter.

She was just another journalist. Another person passing through his life.

And he had bigger things to focus on.

---

Nevaeh sat across from Mr. Callahan in his office, her fingers curled around the armrest of the chair. The newsroom outside buzzed with activity, phones ringing, keyboards clicking, voices overlapping in a symphony of deadlines.

She had rehearsed this conversation in her head all morning.

"Just say it, Nevaeh. Be professional. Be firm."

Mr. Callahan leaned back, watching her with mild curiosity. "So, you're requesting to be taken off any news coverage related to Mordred?"

Nevaeh nodded. "Yes."

Silence.

Callahan tapped his pen against his desk, considering. "Any particular reason?"

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I've seen how celebrity fans react to journalists. If I keep covering Mordred, people will start making assumptions. I don't want that."

I don't want my name dragged through every fan forum. I don't want my face in clickbait articles. I don't want to wake up to hateful messages from strangers who think I don't 'deserve' to talk to their idol.

Mr. Callahan exhaled, nodding. "I understand."

Nevaeh blinked. She hadn't expected it to be this easy.

He smirked slightly. "You're a sharp journalist, Nevaeh, but you're not blind. You know what happens when a reporter gets too noticed in celebrity coverage. And Mordred's fans…" He chuckled, shaking his head. "They're intense."

She didn't argue. He was right.

"Alright," he continued. "I'll have someone else take over the Mordred stories."

Nevaeh let out a quiet breath of relief. "Thank you."

Callahan tapped his pen again. "Ellie will take your place."

Nevaeh raised an eyebrow. "Ellie?"

"Ellie Martinez."

Of course.

Ellie was one of the most polished, camera-ready reporters in the newsroom. She wasn't just good at her job—she looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Her presence commanded attention.

Not that Nevaeh was intimidated. She just… noticed.

If the media had to pair Mordred with someone, they'd eat up the idea of Ellie more than her.

And honestly?

That was perfectly fine with her.

She had gotten what she wanted. No more Mordred assignments.

As she walked out of the office, she felt lighter.

But somewhere deep inside, buried under all her logic and professionalism…

A strange, unexplainable feeling settled in her chest.

---