My Husband Is An International Idol

The fan war continued to dominate social media for days.

Every hour, new edits, opinion videos, reaction posts, and debates flooded every platform. Some defended Chris with unwavering loyalty, while others stood firmly behind Liliana, insisting she had handled the situation with grace. The discussion spread beyond the Philippines, reaching Pulse’s international fanbases across Asia, Europe, and the Americas.

Inside St. Claire Entertainment’s temporary headquarters in Paris, however, no one responded.

Not Chris or Liliana. Not the chairman. Not Robin. Not even the company’s public relations team.

After a brief meeting, Matthew made the decision himself.

"We’re staying silent."

The executives nodded in agreement.

Robin closed his tablet.

"Any statement will only make both sides argue even more."

Sarah Clifford, who had remained in France to assist with security after Carl’s disappearance, agreed.

"The internet feeds on reactions."

"If we give them one..."

"They’ll simply ask for another."

Matthew folded his hands.

"One week."

"That’s all."

"Our priority isn’t social media."

"It’s Pulse."

"And Rhythm."

Everyone understood.

The largest concert of Pulse’s European tour was only seven days away. There was no room for distractions.

That afternoon, the entire company shifted into full preparation mode.

The rehearsal building, usually lively but relaxed, transformed into a hive of nonstop activity. Staff hurried through the hallways carrying costumes, lighting plans, stage layouts, camera schedules, and production equipment while managers coordinated with French organizers almost every hour.

Every department operated at full speed.

For Rhythm, the pressure was greater than ever. This concert wasn’t merely another performance. It would be their introduction to the world.

Thousands of people inside the arena would witness them for the very first time. Millions more would watch online. Their official debut was still months away. But this stage would determine whether the public remembered their names.

Mary gathered the six young women inside one of the practice studios.

She smiled encouragingly.

"I know everyone is tired."

"But this is your opportunity."

Nicole nodded confidently.

"We won’t waste it."

Rose adjusted the microphone in her hand.

"We’ll do our best."

Audrey stepped forward first.

"As leader..."

She looked at her teammates.

"I want everyone to remember one thing. We’re not here to compete with Pulse. We’re here to prove we deserve to stand beside them."

Hailey clenched her fists.

"Then let’s make them remember Rhythm."

Catherine grinned brightly.

"They’ll remember us."

Helena smiled shyly.

"I’ll work harder."

Emily entered moments later carrying several garment bags.

"I love that attitude."

She placed the outfits across a nearby rack.

"But confidence alone won’t help if you wrinkle these."

Everyone laughed. The tension eased.

Then rehearsal began.

For the next several hours, the six women repeated the same choreography repeatedly.

Again. And again. And again.

One mistake. Restart.

A timing issue. Restart.

A formation slightly off. Restart.

Sweat soaked their practice clothes. Their breathing became heavier. Yet nobody complained.

Nicole remained steady during every vocal run.

Rose perfected each dance break until every movement looked effortless.

Audrey adjusted the group’s spacing with remarkable precision.

Hailey refined her rap delivery until every word landed exactly where it belonged.

Catherine continued singing despite her voice becoming slightly hoarse.

Helena repeated difficult formations without losing her smile.

Whenever one member grew tired, another encouraged her. Slowly, Rhythm stopped looking like six trainees. They began looking like one team.

Across the building, Pulse’s rehearsal looked no less demanding.

The five men had performed on countless international stages. Yet they treated every concert as though it were their first.

Leo reviewed transitions between songs with the stage director.

Aaron practiced dance formations until every movement synchronized perfectly.

River refined audience interactions, making sure each segment flowed naturally.

Nathan rehearsed speaking in French, determined to greet the local audience without making mistakes.

But Chris worked harder than everyone.

Because after rehearsal ended, his work wasn’t finished. While the others rested, Chris returned to the recording studio.

Their newest album would debut during the concert. There were eight songs in total, but two were unfinished.

The pressure was enormous. He sat alone before the piano. One melody then another.

He erased the lyrics. Then rewrote them. Changed arrangements and recorded temporary vocals before deleting them again.

The clock quietly moved past midnight.

Robin entered carrying two cups of coffee.

"You should sleep."

Chris rubbed his tired eyes.

"I can’t."

"You’ve been awake almost twenty hours."

"I know."

Robin placed the coffee beside him.

"The songs are already good."

"They’re not finished."

"They’re good enough."

Chris shook his head.

"They’re not good enough for the people waiting."

Robin sighed.

"You haven’t changed."

Chris smiled faintly.

"I hope not."

Robin looked at the pages scattered across the piano.

Eight songs.

Each one represented months of work.

"This album..."

Robin asked quietly.

"...is it different?"

Chris looked toward the unfinished lyrics.

"It is."

"Why?"

He smiled without realizing it.

"Because for the first time, I’m writing while knowing the woman I love also loves me."

Robin laughed softly.

"No wonder these songs sound happier."

Meanwhile, Liliana’s schedule had become just as demanding.

Every morning began before sunrise.

Fashion houses invited her for fittings. Luxury brands requested private meetings. International magazines competed for exclusive interviews.

She attended campaign discussions alongside Nicolo almost every day.

Several French designers personally requested her presence. Even brands that had never worked with Asian models expressed interest.

Nicolo adjusted his tie while waiting outside another showroom.

"You know..."

Liliana looked at him.

"What?"

"I think we’re becoming busy."

She laughed.

"I noticed."

He smiled.

"When we first arrived..."

"I thought we’d mostly support Pulse."

Liliana nodded.

"So did I."

Instead, their own careers had begun expanding faster than either of them expected.

During one afternoon fitting, a stylist quietly whispered to another,

"She photographs beautifully."

The second nodded.

"But that’s not the most interesting part."

"What is?"

"The way she carries herself."

"There isn’t any arrogance."

"Only elegance."

Liliana never heard the conversation. She remained focused on reviewing tomorrow’s schedule with Mary.

Lunch meetings blended into afternoon fittings. Evenings became rehearsal reviews.

Days passed almost without anyone noticing.

Late one night, Chris finally left the recording studio. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders.

As he walked through the nearly empty hallway, he noticed a familiar figure sitting quietly near one of the windows.

Liliana.

She had fallen asleep while waiting for him. A script rested across her lap. Beside her sat a paper bag containing dinner that had long since gone cold.

Chris’s heart tightened. He carefully approached. The untouched food told him everything. She had waited for him again.

Without waking her, he gently draped his jacket over her shoulders.

Liliana stirred slightly. "...Chris?"

"I’m sorry."

She immediately smiled. "You finished?"

He nodded. "You should’ve gone back to the hotel."

"I wanted to wait."

He looked at the cold dinner. "You didn’t eat."

She laughed softly.

"I forgot."

Chris shook his head before taking her hand.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find food."

"It’s almost midnight."

"I know."

He smiled warmly.

"But my wife still needs dinner."

Liliana looked at him for a long moment before quietly intertwining her fingers with his.

Outside, Paris glittered beneath the night sky.

Inside, the rehearsal building remained brightly lit.

Only seven days remained before Pulse stepped onto one of the biggest stages of their careers.

Seven days before Rhythm introduced themselves to the world.

Seven days before new songs, new dreams, and new beginnings unfolded beneath the lights of France.

No one complained about the long hours.

Because every drop of sweat...

Every sleepless night...

And every sacrifice brought them one step closer to the future they had worked so hard to reach.

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