The red carpet was controlled chaos.
Velvet ropes, timed arrivals, smiling handlers pretending they weren't managing risk in designer suits.
Visibility as leverage.
---
Aria stepped out of the car into a wall of sound.
Names shouted.
Flashes firing.
Questions overlapping.
Noah's voice was steady in her ear. "Multiple observers active. Some official. Some… not."
"Good," Aria said. "Let them negotiate in public."
---
She stopped exactly where the light was worst.
Forced cameras to adjust.
Forced handlers to wait.
A small act of defiance wrapped in grace.
---
A studio rep leaned in, whispering through a fixed smile.
"Five minutes, then inside."
Aria didn't move. "I'll decide."
The rep stiffened.
Negotiation.
---
A reporter asked, "How does it feel to be back?"
Aria smiled for the lenses.
"It feels honest," she said.
Not safe.
Not easy.
Honest.
---
Behind the scenes, Noah tracked signals.
"They're rerouting security around you," he said. "No command source."
"Consensus without orders," Aria replied.
---
She turned, answered another question—slower this time.
"Are you worried about scrutiny?"
She met the camera.
"I welcome it," she said.
---
The handlers exchanged glances.
Public unpredictability made private control harder.
"They can't pull you without making it obvious," Noah said.
"Exactly," Aria replied.
---
When she finally moved inside, the balance had shifted.
No contracts signed.
No threats issued.
But lines had been redrawn.
On the red carpet, under lights meant to blind, Aria had renegotiated the terms.
Not in rooms where power hid.
But where everyone could see it struggle.