Safe With You

The Internet Has Entered Panic Mode

Chapter: The Internet Has Entered Panic Mode

~ Alyssa ~

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in fashion, it’s this:

the moment you think you have a quiet day ahead, the universe laughs.

It’s been three days since the photoshoot went live.

Three days since the world saw the engagement, the baby, and the story I’d kept buried for too long.

Three days since I opened up about Mark — the silence, the fear, the way I disappeared for a year, and rebuilt my life piece by piece.

I told everything: the truth behind my hiding, my postpartum struggles, the maternity line born from it all.

The response has been… overwhelming.

Messages, emails, brand requests, and enough tagged photos to make my phone overheat.

Still, today feels almost peaceful.

The AQ office hums with quiet efficiency. Sketches cover my desk — half-finished gown designs, fabric swatches pinned in clusters of silk and lace.

Hope’s photo sits beside my computer, a tiny smile frozen in a frame Quinn insisted needed “glittery hearts.”

The espresso machine whirs. Somewhere down the hall, someone’s humming Still Into You.

Normal. Calm. Perfectly fine.

Until the door bursts open so hard I nearly spill my coffee.

Elle and Kelsi barrel in like caffeinated chaos personified.

Kelsi’s waving her phone like a weapon; Elle’s holding two iced lattes and looking like she’s about to combust.

“Oh no,” I mutter, already sinking back in my chair. “Who died, who’s pregnant, or which designer tried to sue us this time?”

Neither answers.

They just stand there — breathing heavily, wide-eyed, feral.

Then, in perfect harmony, they scream:

“YOU BROKE THE INTERNET!”

I blink. “Huh?”

Elle dramatically drops the lattes onto my desk. “Not broke, Alyssa — obliterated. Vaporised. Nuked.”

Kelsi leans over my computer and starts hammering keys before I can even ask. “Look.”

The AQ homepage flickers onto the screen — and there it is.

My face.

Greyson’s hand on my waist.

Hope cradled in my arms.

The girls twirling in lilac dresses that shimmer like summer air.

The headline reads:

Alyssa Rose: The Woman Who Hid a Pregnancy, Built an Empire, and Said Yes.

Oh. Oh no.

Kelsi scrolls down faster than my brain can process.

Every major publication — Vogue, Harper’s, Vanity Fair, Elle, Architectural Digest, The Guardian Lifestyle — has plastered our shoot across their feeds.

Elle’s shrieking again. “You’re trending in thirty-six countries! Vogue posted your maternity line preview and called it ‘the rebirth of romanticism!’”

Kelsi adds breathlessly, “And Greyson’s being called ‘the architect of the modern love story.’”

I stare at them both, open-mouthed.

And then, like any rational human being confronted with overwhelming global adoration, I collapse dramatically onto the office sofa.

“Someone call Triston,” I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. “Tell him to dig me a grave made entirely of silk samples.”

Elle cackles. “Oh no, you don’t get to hide. Vogue quoted your interview, Alyssa! They called it ‘raw, revolutionary, and unfiltered.’”

“I was unfiltered because Elle told me the word trauma ‘photographs well,’” I mumble into a cushion.

Kelsi grins. “And she was right.”

I peek from under my arm. “So, the world’s not mad about me hiding a pregnancy for nine months?”

Elle shakes her head. “Mad? They’ve turned you into a movement.”

Kelsi gestures wildly at her phone. “Hashtags are insane — #RoseRebirth, #AQMaternity, #GreyLyssaForever, and my personal favourite, #ResilienceIsSexy.”

Elle scrolls. “Look at this one — @RunwayRealist says, ‘She turned survival into style. I’ve never felt so seen.’”

Kelsi chimes in, “And @FashionDadUK wrote, ‘Greyson Riley is proof good men still exist. God-tier spouse energy.’”

“Oh my God,” I mumble. “Does he know he’s a meme?”

Elle grins wickedly. “He does now. Someone edited your proposal photo into a Renaissance painting. With angel wings.”

“Angel wings?”

“Massive ones. Glittering. It’s hauntingly beautiful.”

Kelsi collapses into a chair, wheezing with laughter. “Also, your tattoos have their own fan page.”

“My what?!”

She scrolls through i********:. “@InkLikeAlyssa — six thousand followers in twelve hours. The bio literally says: ‘If resilience were an aesthetic.’”

I flop further into the sofa, hand over my face. “This is a fever dream.”

That’s it — I groan dramatically and flop face-first into the nearest pillow. “This is too much. I wanted to reclaim my story, not become a cultural event!”

Kelsi’s voice softens. “But that’s exactly what you did. You told the truth, and people listened.”

Her tone quiets the laughter for a moment.

Because underneath all the noise, there’s something real — something raw — about how much it means that people understand this time.

Elle leans against my desk, arms crossed. “Do you know how many messages AQ has had from women who said your story gave them the courage to start again? Leave bad relationships? Ask for help? You changed people, Lyss.”

My throat tightens. “I wasn’t trying to change anyone.”

Kelsi smiles gently. “That’s why you did.”

For a long moment, none of us speak.

The air feels full — heavy in a way that makes my chest ache.

Then my phone buzzes on the desk — a text from Greyson.

Greyson 💙: “You’ve seen the chaos?”

Me: “They said we broke the Internet.”

Greyson 💙: “Good. I was worried we were losing our touch.”

Elle giggles, peering over my shoulder. “He’s having the time of his life.”

“Of course he is,” I mutter. “He thrives on being calm while I spiral.”

Kelsi checks her watch. “You should probably check the AQ inbox before it combusts.”

I drag myself upright with an exaggerated groan. “If there’s a diamond-encrusted stroller collab request, I’m moving to the woods.”

Elle smirks. “Oh, it’s better than that. Someone emailed asking if Greyson could officiate their wedding.”

“What?!”

“They said, and I quote, ‘If he builds love the way he builds architecture, we trust him with our vows.’”

Kelsi’s wheezing. “He’s going to love that.”

I just stare at them, speechless — somewhere between hysterical and horrified.

Social Media Snapshot

@VogueUK:

“Alyssa Rose’s maternity debut redefines modern femininity — strength, softness, and self-ownership woven in silk.”

@Harper’sBazaar:

“She hid her pregnancy, built a legacy, and reclaimed her story. Alyssa Rose is rewriting fashion’s narrative.”

@ArchitecturalDigest:

“Greyson Riley: the man who builds homes, hearts, and headlines.”

@FashionForAll:

“Alyssa Rose turned survival into couture. We’re all just lucky to witness it.”

@ParentingPowerBlog:

“Her story is every mother’s reminder that healing isn’t weakness — it’s the ultimate form of power.”

>Media Montage

BBC Morning Show

“Fashion’s golden couple is officially out of hiding. Alyssa Rose’s emotional interview about rebuilding after trauma has captivated millions — and her fiancé Greyson Riley is being hailed as the blueprint for modern partnership.”

ITV Breakfast Chat

“You know a designer’s powerful when the world pauses to listen. I mean, I cried halfway through her article! That maternity collection preview? Stunning.”

Podcast — The Power Edit

“What Alyssa did was bigger than fashion. She reframed survival as art. And that’s why this moment feels seismic — because every woman who’s ever felt silenced saw herself in her words.”

Entertainment Weekly Online

“From hidden heartbreak to haute couture — Alyssa Rose proves resilience never goes out of style.”

Twitter Moments

‘The Internet is collectively adopting Alyssa Rose as their emotional support designer.’

~ Alyssa ~

Hours later, the office finally quiets. Elle’s taken her caffeine high to another department, and Kelsi’s gone to bribe IT for more server capacity.

I sit alone, scrolling through the articles — hundreds of them.

All different languages. All saying the same thing.

She rose. She fought. She won.

For the first time, the noise doesn’t feel like pressure.

It feels like proof.

Proof that the girl who hid is gone — and the woman who took her place finally has the world listening.

And honestly?

I think I can live with that.