Visibility changed everything.
Not overnight.
Not dramatically.
But steadily—like pressure building beneath calm water.
By the next week, my name started appearing in places it hadn't before. Industry newsletters. Internal recommendation threads. A panel invite forwarded by someone I didn't know personally.
None of it was hostile.
That was what made it dangerous.
Attention didn't need to be cruel to be costly.
I felt it most during meetings.
People watched how Arvan responded to me.
How often he agreed.
How carefully he disagreed.
They weren't judging me.
They were measuring him.
I realized it during a leadership roundtable when a senior partner leaned back and said, half-smiling, "You've softened, Arvan."
The room stilled.
I didn't look at him.
Neither did Arvan—at first.
Then he said calmly, "No. I've clarified."
The conversation moved on, but the message lingered.
Later that afternoon, I received an unexpected call from Legal.
"Just a routine review," they said. "Nothing concerning."
That phrase had learned to mean everything.
When I arrived, a familiar tension greeted me—polite faces, careful wording.
"We've noticed increased external visibility tied to your role," one of them said. "Given your proximity to executive leadership, we'd like to formalize boundaries."
I listened.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't bristle.
They weren't wrong.
They were afraid.
"Are you asking me to step back?" I asked calmly.
"No," the lead counsel replied. "We're asking you to be precise."
That night, I told Arvan everything.
Not to seek reassurance.
But because silence had no place between us anymore.
He listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
"They're right," he said finally.
I blinked. "You agree?"
"Yes," he replied. "Not because you're a risk. But because systems fear what they can't label."
I leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
He met my gaze steadily.
"I lead without shielding you," he said. "And you lead without carrying me."
I considered that.
"That's… harder," I admitted.
"Yes," he said. "But it's honest."
There was a knock at the door.
His assistant poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt. There's a situation."
We exchanged a glance.
"What kind?" Arvan asked.
"An external complaint," she said carefully. "From a competitor. Alleging preferential influence."
The words landed heavy.
Not unexpected.
But real.
Arvan stood.
"I'll handle it," he said.
I stood too.
"No," I said quietly. "We will."
He paused, then nodded once.
As we walked toward the conference room together, I felt the weight of what visibility truly meant.
Not protection.
Not privilege.
Responsibility.
Being seen meant being questioned.
Being chosen meant being challenged.
And standing beside him now meant something else entirely—
Not safety.
But strength.
And I didn't step back.
Not this time.