The first time Olivia saw her name and Jake’s in the same sentence in a *non*-gossip outlet, it was in a draft.
“Try not to throw up on the keyboard,” Laura said, sliding the printed mock-up across her desk three days later.
At the top: *Metro*’s logo. Under it: **Note to Our Readers.**
She swallowed.
“Is this… happening?” she asked.
“Do you want it to?” Laura countered.
Olivia read.
> In recent months, Metro’s coverage of TerraNova and its founder, Jake Morrison, has sparked significant public discussion about the relationship between private code and public life. > > We believe in transparency—not just from the institutions we cover, but within our own newsroom. > > As previously disclosed, staff writer Olivia Martinez and Mr. Morrison were in a relationship a decade ago, prior to the founding of TerraNova. In light of their decision to pursue a relationship again, we want to clarify how we will continue to cover this important beat.
Her throat tightened.
The words that followed were clinical. Clear. The result of hours of back-and-forth between Ethics, Legal, and the EIC.
> - Ms. Martinez will no longer be assigned to primary coverage of TerraNova’s corporate activities, Mr. Morrison’s personal profile, or any financial reporting involving TerraNova. > - She will continue to cover the Public Algorithms Accountability and Oversight Act, community oversight boards, and the broader intersection of technology and urban life. > - Any mention of Mr. Morrison in her pieces will include a standard disclosure of their past and present relationship. > - All stories on this topic will continue to go through rigorous editorial and fact-check processes, with particular attention to potential conflicts of interest.
At the bottom:
> We are committed to holding power to account—even when power is intertwined with the personal histories of those who report on it. > > —The Editors
She looked up.
“It’s… fair,” she said slowly.
“It is,” Laura said. “It’s also… unprecedented. We’ve never had to write something like this before.”
“We’re trendsetters,” Olivia said faintly.
“Don’t get used to it,” Laura said. “You’re not getting a column for your wedding.”
Olivia choked.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “One joint statement at a time.”
Laura’s eyes softened.
“You ready?” she asked.
“No,” Olivia said honestly. “But… do it anyway.”
Laura nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll run it Sunday. Jake’s team is publishing their own version in their shareholder letter the same day. Coordinated, but not… joint.”
“Of course he’s integrating his love life into a shareholder letter,” Olivia said, half exasperated, half fond. “On brand.”
“He insisted on mentioning that oversight would remain robust,” Laura said. “It read like a vows draft for policy wonks.”
Olivia groaned.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be in a 10-K footnote,” she said.
“You always wanted to be in the fine print,” Laura said. “Now you are.”
***
On the other side of the river, in TerraNova’s boardroom, Jake faced a different kind of trial.
Carla paced at the end of the table, tablet in hand.
“Let me get this straight,” Max said, fingers steepled, expression a mix of bemusement and caution. “You want to acknowledge, in our official communications, that you are dating the journalist who has been most critical of us this year.”
“Yes,” Jake said.
“And you think this will… reassure investors,” Max said.
“I think,” Jake said carefully, “it will reassure them that we are not trying to hide anything. That our governance is strong enough to handle the fact that I… have a personal life.”
“And if someone sues?” a board member asked. “Claiming bias. Claiming damage. Claiming… anything.”
“Then,” Jake said, “we will have, on record, the steps we took to manage that bias. The oversight structures in place. The ethics processes at *Metro.* If anything, this makes us more defensible.”
Carla gave him a look that said, *Nice try marketing it to the board,* but didn’t contradict him.
“Also,” Jake added dryly, “if we don’t say something, the gossip sites will keep… making things up. I’d rather not have our ‘PR strategy’ dictated by anonymous sources named ‘a friend of the couple from high school.’”
“That last one got your mother’s maiden name wrong,” Carla said. “Which offended her more than the rest of it.”
“She sent the editor a correction,” Jake said.
Some of the board members hid smiles.
“Look,” Jake said. “This is happening. With or without… public acknowledgment. I’m not going to end something that matters to me because a tabloid printed a grainy photo. I’d rather do the work to make it safe—for the company, for the city, for Olivia. Transparency is part of that.”
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, one of the older members—Naomi, who’d been in tech longer than half of them had been alive—spoke.
“When I was your age,” she said, “we all pretended not to have lives. We hid our kids and our divorces and our breakdowns. It didn’t make us better leaders. It made us liars.”
She gave Jake a measuring look.
“You’re doing this with open eyes,” she said. “You’ve got oversight out the wazoo. You’re not asking for special treatment. You’re putting safeguards around your own… mess. I can live with that.”
Max sighed.
“If Naomi’s in, I’m in,” he said grudgingly. “But if a single analyst uses the phrase ‘wife guy risk’ on an earnings call, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”
Jake rolled his eyes.
“I’m not… proposing yet,” he said.
That *yet* hung in the air anyway.
Carla pointedly ignored it.
“Okay,” she said. “We have the language. We sync with *Metro*’s timing. We brief comms and legal. And then we all take a deep breath and watch the internet do what it does best: lose its mind.”
***
Sunday.
The joint-but-not-joint statements hit.
*Metro*’s note ran at the top of their homepage for six hours.
TerraNova’s shareholder letter circulated among financial reporters, the relevant paragraph excerpted in thinkpieces and on Twitter:
> “In the spirit of transparency that underpins both our products and our corporate governance, I want to share that I am in a personal relationship with journalist Olivia Martinez. Ms. Martinez’s reporting on TerraNova has been critical and, at times, challenging—but ultimately valuable in shaping our approach to public accountability. > > We recognize the potential concerns such a relationship may raise. TerraNova remains committed to independent oversight, rigorous compliance with the Public Algorithms Accountability and Oversight Act, and full cooperation with media and regulatory scrutiny. Our board and I have worked with Metro’s editorial leadership to ensure that appropriate ethical boundaries are in place.”
Reactions were immediate.
Some cynical.
@MediaWatchdog: *Billionaire and journalist do the “we’re ethical, we swear” dance. Color me skeptical.*
Some supportive.
@UrbanistNerd: *Honestly? This is the most grown-up way they could’ve handled it. Clear boundaries. No pretending. Now let’s hold them to it.*
Some… unhelpful.
@ThirstTech: *“We recognize the potential concerns” = we recognize that we are both hot and this is distracting you from the real issue.*
Olivia muted that last account on sight.
Her inbox pinged.
From: *oldprofessor@stateu.edu*.
> Liv— > > Never thought I’d see the day my former sleep-deprived student was the subject of a media ethics note. > > You handled it well. Keep making them squirm. > > —Dr. Patel
She smiled, tension she hadn’t realized she was holding loosening.
Jake texted.
> That could’ve been worse.
> Which part, she replied. > Being in a shareholder letter or in a note to the entire city?
> Both, he sent. > At least they didn’t use your high school yearbook photo.
> Yet, she wrote.
> You okay? he asked.
She looked at the screen.
At the lines that bound them now, publicly.
At the freedom in knowing the secret was out, and the weight of what that meant.
> Yeah, she wrote. > Weird. > Exposed. > But… okay.
> You?
> All of the above, he sent. > Plus Max keeps making heart hands at me in Slack.
> Send help.
She laughed out loud.
Raj peered over.
“You’re trending,” he said. “Under ‘journalist ethics’ and ‘billionaire boyfriend.’”
“I hate the internet,” she said.
“Same,” he said. “Congrats.”
***
That night, over takeout Thai on his couch, they debriefed.
“I feel like I just came out,” Olivia said, cracking open a beer. “Again.”
“In some ways, you did,” Jake said. “As… a person who has sex and feelings.”
“Gross,” she said.
He smiled.
“Seriously,” he said. “You… okay? No second thoughts?”
She thought.
“No,” she said. “I mean… I hate that my work had to share headline space with my personal life. I hate that some people will never read another thing I write without picturing your face. I hate that some trolls will feel vindicated. But…”
“But?” he prompted.
“But,” she said slowly, “I also… feel less like I’m hiding in the shadows of your life. Or mine. If we’re going to do this, I don’t want to do it… with one foot always out the door because of optics.”
He nodded, eyes warm.
“Good,” he said. “Because I like you in my light.”
“You sound like an Instagram caption,” she said.
“I’m workshopping for our inevitable couple’s post,” he said.
She threw a napkin at him.
He caught it, grinning.
“Do you realize,” she said, “we’ve just voluntarily invited more scrutiny into our lives?”
“We did,” he said. “But this time… we set the terms. Not… gossip.”
“And if we fuck it up,” she said, “it’ll be… in full view.”
He sobered.
“Yeah,” he said. “It will.”
They sat there, the weight of that between them.
Then he nudged her knee with his.
“Hey,” he said. “Maybe… we… don’t.”
She snorted.
“Optimistic,” she said.
“Occupational hazard,” he said.
She leaned over, kissed him.
“I like this hazard,” she murmured.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her against him.
For a while, they just… sat.
Watching some dumb show on Netflix. Eating noodles. Trading occasional commentary on a character’s unrealistic apartment size.
Normal.
Boring.
Wonderful.
Neither of them knew, yet, that outside their bubble, something was shifting.
In the code.
In the contracts.
In the hearts of those who watched them.
Fault tolerance had been built.
But there was one more shock coming.
One that would test everything they thought they’d reinforced.
---