The media landscape shifted with the fickle cruelty of a storm. The public, fueled by the Duval family's failed "love letter" narrative, had collectively decided that Arm was the tragic hero of the decade.
Every news cycle was now a tribute to Arm's perceived nobility. Editorialists wrote long-form pieces about the "Stoic Sacrifice of an Armitage," painting a picture of a man who had cherished his bride, only to have his heart broken by his own blood.
"He wasn't running from a wedding," one talk show host declared solemnly to a nodding audience. "He was running from the ultimate betrayal. He saw his cousin and his fiancée in each other's eyes and chose to walk away rather than cause a scene. Armitage is a victim of his own decency."
Mileh's world had shrunk to the cold, echoing confines of her bedroom. The final blow—being publicly branded a double dealer—had accomplished what Arm's rejection couldn't: it had extinguished her desire to fight.
