Let Them Whisper

There's a strange kind of power in doing something quietly.

No announcement. No press release. No approval needed.

Just action.

On a rainy Thursday morning, I took my first real risk.

I posted.

Not a selfie.

Not a quote.

Not a photo with Aiden.

I posted a flat lay:

A glass dropper bottle, pale beige packaging, and the words: Soft Power: Coming Soon.

No brand tag, No mention of Monroe Skin.

But the caption? That was intentional.

"For women who have been underestimated even by themselves."

The post didn't go viral.

But it stirred something.

Within hours, my DMs lit up.

Stylists. Makeup artists. Old acquaintances from my modeling days. Editors from magazines I hadn't spoken to since my wedding.

Some didn't even message, just liked it and reposted with things like:

"She's been cooking something."

"This feels rich. Can't wait."

"She's always been more than the dress."

I sat on the floor of my bathroom, still in a robe, hair wrapped in a towel, reading message after message.

And for the first time since the Nova scandal, they weren't asking about him.

They were talking about me.

That night, at a dinner party hosted by Aiden's latest film director, I wore no eyeliner.

Just light bronzer. Gloss. A slicked bun.

Aiden did a double take.

"You sure you don't want the glam team for tonight?"

I met his eyes in the mirror.

"I look like me," I said simply.

He smiled like he didn't know what to say.

Because he didn't.

This version of me wasn't the one he married.

But she was the one I missed.

The party was loud, Hollywood loud.

Crystal glasses clinking, Performative laughter echoing across a rooftop drenched in money.

But I didn't float this time, I walked in with intention.

And it paid off.

Halfway through the evening, I found myself face-to-face with Clara Hastings, one of the most influential beauty columnists on the West Coast.

She was holding a glass of white wine and scrolling her phone.

When she saw me, she raised an eyebrow. "You're the wife."

I smiled. "I'm Leah."

Something flickered in her eyes.

Recognition. Respect, maybe.

"I saw your post earlier. Soft Power. That yours?"

I hesitated.

Then nodded. "It will be."

She took a slow sip. "Ballsy move. Subtle, but it hit. You've got people whispering already."

"Let them," I said, before I could think.

She grinned. "I like that."

Later, while Aiden talked shop with the director, I sat on a low sofa by the terrace, listening to two women whisper nearby.

"She's… different lately."

"I thought she'd fade into the background after Nova dropped that track."

"Honestly? I think she's playing the long game."

I didn't interrupt, Didn't correct them, Didn't introduce myself.

I just sat there, still.

Like power in a room no one saw coming.

By the next morning, Clara Hastings had posted a blurry photo from the party on her Story, me holding a champagne flute, mid-laugh.

She captioned it:

"Watch her. That's all I'll say."

Just six words.

But they cracked the ice.

Suddenly, I wasn't just Aiden Cruz's wife.

I was something else.

Something uncertain, Mysterious, Interesting.

And in a world like ours, mystery is momentum.

Simone called me two hours later.

"You just got us three meeting requests," she said. "One's from a boutique distributor in L.A. The other two? London and Singapore. Singapore, Leah."

I blinked.

"Are they real?"

"Real enough to schedule. They want samples. A teaser. Something, anything."

I looked down at the small lineup we'd been testing for weeks.

A cleanser, A hydrating essence, The serum.

It wasn't ready.

But maybe I was.

That night, Aiden came into the kitchen while I was emailing Simone and asked if I wanted to join him at an awards event the next evening.

"You know the red carpet loves us," he added with a wink.

I looked at him, tall, perfect, glowing with a confidence he'd earned over a decade of sold-out premieres and international fans.

And I thought… you don't even know what I'm building yet.

I smiled. "I will pass on this one. You go ahead."

He looked surprised. "You sure?"

"Positive. I've got a call with a distributor at midnight. Singapore time."

His brows raised, but he didn't push.

I wasn't waiting for permission.

Later that night, I curled into bed, watching his award show appearance on my laptop.

He looked flawless, charming, the perfect star.

The headlines read:

"Aiden Cruz Glows Solo on the Carpet."

"Where's Leah? Fans Notice Her Absence."

"Wife Missing From Event, Trouble in Paradise?"

I closed the tab.

Then opened my pitch deck.

Because I wasn't missing, I was building.

Let them whisper.

By the time they catch up, I'll be too far ahead.