Headlines screamed João’s name like a siren. Rumors, gossip, twisted stories about who he was who he was dating, what he’d said, what he hadn’t. The media was hungry for drama, but all João craved was the truth that lived quietly in your eyes. He paced the hotel room, phone buzzing nonstop with notifications. You sat on the bed, calm and steady, watching him.

“Let them talk,” you said softly. “They don’t know the half of it.”

João stopped, running a hand through his hair. “They never do. It’s like living under a microscope.”

You stood, walked over, and cupped his face in your hands. “But you’re not alone.”

His eyes found yours, dark and fierce. “You keep me sane.” You smiled, brushing your lips to his temple. “Always.” Later, at the press conference, João held your hand under the table, a silent vow in the chaos. The headlines might try to write the story. But you and him? You were the real story.