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Sleep is the last thing on my mind tonight. I lie in bed, my phone clutched tightly in my hand as I scroll through old messages in Ric’s chat. My heart aches with every swipe, and I wait — hope — for the familiar ping of a notification, for his name to flash across the screen, offering even the faintest thread of connection. But the sound doesn’t come, and neither does the relief I so desperately crave.The silence feels like an accusation, and I blame myself entirely.Why did I let Ric think my frustration — the aggravation I felt when I read that damned article — was about him? That I was upset because of his presence in my life, rather than the timing and implications of the article itself?It wasn’t about him.It was about Mike.About how his cruel, calculated interview laid the groundwork for the gossip to twist the narrative. How it painted me as someone who was with Ric long before I even knew about Mike’s infidelity — as if I had been the one betraying our marriage all along.
The morning air feels heavier than usual. The faint, crisp scent of the new freshener I tossed into my suitcase and brought back from the lakehouse weaves through the penthouse, momentarily distracting me as I drag myself out of bed. It’s strange how something so small, so simple, can hold my focus for longer than it should, pulling me away from the bigger, messier things weighing on my mind.I force myself to move, to start the day despite the sluggishness clinging to me like a second skin. After a quick shower and a few lazy attempts at pulling myself together, I convince myself to get ready.Just as I’m pulling out potential outfits from the walk-in closet, Maisie, the housekeeper, arrives. It’s been days since I’ve seen her, and her presence is a sharp reminder of how long I’ve let things slide. I know it’s Meera’s doing — her subtle way of ensuring the penthouse doesn’t devolve into chaos while I’m too busy to notice.Maisie moves with quiet efficiency, her footsteps soft against
Before I can even think, I grab my phone and snap a picture. The soft shutter sound feels louder than it is, but my focus is razor-sharp.“What are you doing?” Meera hisses, swatting my arm with just enough force to bring me back to the present without causing a scene. Her eyes dart around nervously. “You can’t do that!”I glance at her, my grip tightening around my phone. “Meera, look at her,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I tilt my head toward Hayley. “How is she drinking wine if she’s pregnant?”Meera freezes, her expression shifting as she finally registers what I’ve just said. Her gaze snaps back to Hayley, who’s now laughing lightly at something her companion has said, her hand grazing the rim of her glass.“I…” Meera’s voice falters as her brows knit together. “I almost forgot she was pregnant with everything else going on.”“Well, I didn’t,” I snap, my voice sharp but quiet. My thoughts race as I try to process what I’m seeing. Could she have lost the baby? The thought str
Anya calls me the second I step into the penthouse. “Natalie, I don’t care what distractions are swirling around you right now. Focus. Get through the audition, nail it, and: Land. That. Role. Anything less will be a disappointment, and I don’t tolerate disappointment.”A disappointed Anya is a force of nature, one I’d rather not face. She hangs up without waiting for a response, leaving her expectations lingering in the air.I exhale and toss my phone onto the couch. “No pressure,” I mutter to myself, because if I don’t land this role, the most disappointed person will be me. The next day becomes a blur of films. I curl up on the couch, immersing myself in Ryan Haymitch’s work. Movie after movie, scene after scene, until my butt is sore and my eyes burn. I feel like a student cramming for the most important exam of her life, only this isn’t about grades — it’s about everything.Haymitch’s work is as mesmerising as I remember. His storytelling is a symphony, every note is precise and
I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching the phone in my lap like it holds the answers to the universe.It’s best if we stop seeing each other. For you. For me. For everything.Ric is leaving me.The thought loops endlessly in my mind, squeezing the air out of my lungs with each repetition.I try to piece together his reasoning, but it feels like grasping at smoke. Why would he say this? Sure, he was upset about how I reacted to the article that dragged his name into the mess of my life. Was it the article itself? Or the backlash he must’ve faced after it circulated? Did something happen at work? Or did I do something wrong?Then another thought creeps in, insidious and unwelcome.My father.It has to be him. He must’ve said something to Ric. Twisted his words to sound like wisdom, like advice. But if that’s the case, why would Ric frame it as something that’s best for him too?I clutch the phone tighter, as if it might offer clarity, but the questions only multiply.I want him. I know I
Anya’s voice is sharp and ruthless, “What were you planning to do? Ruin her like you ruined me?”I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.Her next words make my stomach churn. “I can’t believe you preyed on her when she was at her weakest! What did you tell her? Did you pretend to be an all good prince charming? Did you sweep her off her feet, pepper her with compliments? Showed yourself to be something you’re entirely not?”“Anya, this isn’t your business.” Ric’s voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it I haven’t heard before.“Not my business?” Anya’s laugh is bitter, almost venomous. “You’re making it my business, Ric. Listen to yourself! You’re acting like this is nothing to you, which is something I can believe. You’ve always been selfish, and heartless. But that girl is naive, and young! How could you even — ugh! That mask you wear can fool the world, but it can’t fool me. Don’t you dare act like you’re the noble one here, pulling out now to ‘protect her.’ You and I both
The audition room is larger than I expected — cold, clinical, yet suffocatingly intimate. It’s the kind of space where every flaw feels magnified under the harsh fluorescent lights. My heels click against the polished floor as I follow the casting assistant to the center of the room, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence.When I glance toward the table at the back of the room, I falter for a moment, unable to believe my eyes. It’s not common for the director to attend auditions, especially the initial ones. But this isn’t just any role, and Ryan Haymitch isn’t just any director.There he is, seated at the far end of a long table, flanked by a handful of others — producers, writers, perhaps studio execs. Haymitch’s presence dominates the room effortlessly. He’s everything I’ve heard and more: piercing eyes that seem to strip you bare, a calm yet calculating air, and an unspoken challenge hanging in the air—prove to me you’re worth it.“Miss Jones,” someone to Haymitch’s left says, t
“Empty threats,” Anya says, her tone as dismissive as the flick of her wrist while she settles on the couch, crossing her legs. She’s giving off that same cool detachment I used to find comforting, but now it feels like ice down my spine. “He’s contesting the divorce. Everything is under legal scrutiny now, and he should know better than to threaten you over a phone call. Too bad you didn’t record it — those could’ve been useful.”“He faked a pregnancy,” Meera cuts in from her spot by the wall, arms crossed. “He wanted Nat to back off, and that’s emotional manipulation at its finest. Sure, his case is weak, but we did release the CCTV footage.”“We did,” Anya agrees curtly, her gaze slicing toward Meera as if daring her to challenge her authority. “How to get out of this unscathed and emerge as the victor is the lawyer’s job. Natalie’s job is far simpler — being an actress, looking stunning on the red carpet, and reminding the world why she was its darling in the first place.”The arro
From the outside, Hayley’s family home looks like any other middle-income house. The lawn is modest, edged with flower beds that have seen better days. The curtains are drawn, casting a somber shadow over the brick facade. It’s the kind of place that holds echoes of laughter, birthdays, and quiet evenings spent together. A happy home, or at least, it was.Today, it holds grief, heavy and suffocating.The street is a circus. Paparazzi crowd the sidewalks, their lenses glinting in the gray light. The air buzzes with the hum of whispered speculation and the rapid clicks of cameras. Their presence here is insulting, but I acknowledge that they could do worse, and have done worse. I step out of the car, the sound of my heels on the pavement sharp. Immediately, the crowd shifts, a swarm of bodies struggling for a better angle. Questions are shouted, their voices slicing through the air, but I don’t acknowledge them.I don’t smile. I don’t wave.This isn’t the red carpet.Anya walks beside
I expect to hear something from my father, having signed the deal, but there’s not much to be disappointed about. At one point, I could have laughed like an evil maniac after this achievement — despite knowing this win wouldn’t have been possible without Ric’s help — but now it’s just meh. Thank you, next. Meera, however, wants to celebrate with pizza. When she sees my confused face, she tells me I deserve it for just what a joke my life has become. She’s not wrong. And then she casually slips to me that I got the role in Haymitch’s movie.I almost choke on the piece of pizza I’m chewing. “When did that happen?”“Oh, the call came when you were in the meeting. Anya was thrilled, believe it or not,” says Meera. The mention of Anya takes away any bit of appetite I had. “She was?”“Yeah,” Meera agrees with a mouthful. A bit of sauce oozes out of her mouth and begins to drip down her mouth, but before I can say anything, Matt wipes it off with a tissue. I pretend to not notice the exc
I leave my penthouse with Meera by my side, the world outside feeling too bright, too loud, for the space I’ve been hiding in. The air feels sharp against my skin as if it knows what I’ve been up to these past few days. I slip on sunglasses, trying to disappear into the back seat of the car, but Meera’s voice keeps pulling me back to reality.“You ready for this?” she asks, flipping through something on her tablet, probably the calendar she’s micromanaged for me since forever.“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, staring out at the blur of buildings passing by.Am I ready though? I don’t know. My mind drifts to the last time I stood in my father’s office, barely escaping the scrutiny that was hurled at me. No preparation, no defense — I’d walked into that room a girl playing dress-up. I still remember the way those boardroom vultures had smirked, like they couldn’t wait to watch me fail.I haven’t heard from my father, Elliot Jones, in weeks. Not a call, not a message, not even a col
Between kisses that leave me breathless and stolen touches that make me forget the world outside, Ric and I pore over the details of my presentation for the rest of the day. It’s a strange bubble we’ve created, a space where nothing else exists — no expectations, no consequences. Just the steady rhythm of our work and the occasional hum of desire pulling us back into each other’s arms.But the bubble was always bound to burst.The next morning, as sunlight creeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reality rears its ugly head. My phone buzzes once, twice, three times. I don’t bother checking it, knowing exactly who’s on the other end. The knocks come next, sharp and demanding, echoing through the penthouse like an alarm bell. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.“Who is it?” Ric’s voice is low, groggy from sleep, but his body is already tense beside me.“Anya,” I whisper, dread curling in my stomach. She always ignores the bell, and knocks instead whenever she’s fuming.He sits
I call Maisie and tell her not to come in today. No cooking, no cleaning. I tell her I need space, a day to myself. It’s a lie, of course, but she doesn’t press. When Meera calls asking if she can swing by, I cut her off with another lie. “I’m binge-watching some mindless show,” I tell her, feigning a lazy yawn. “Having you here would just remind me of the tragedy from yesterday. Let’s catch up later?” Anya’s call comes next. She wants to go over interview questions, her usual no-nonsense approach taking precedence over everything. “I can’t,” I say, forcing a hoarse rasp into my voice. “I think I’m coming down with something. Maybe tomorrow?” One lie after another. I weave them effortlessly, piling them up like bricks to fortify my cocoon. Because the truth is, I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to do anything except stay locked up in my penthouse with Ric. Ric, whose lips are currently tracing a path of fire down my thighs. My fingers knot in his hair, pulling and ho
We fall asleep on the couch that night, tangled together in a mess of bad decisions and fleeting comfort. Ric’s arms remain firm around my waist, and my head rests on his chest, rising and falling with his steady breaths. The nightmares don’t come, and I wonder if it’s the warmth of his embrace or the devil’s presence itself keeping them at bay.I’ve killed people, Natalie.The words echo in my head as the first rays of sunlight filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing us in soft, golden light. My cheek is pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong beneath me. For a while, I just lie there, letting the rhythm soothe me in ways I don’t understand, in ways it shouldn’t.His arms don’t budge, even as I lift my head to study his face. The man who held me so tenderly last night. The man who kisses like he’s burning but pulls away like he’s drowning. The man who has killed people.I trace my finger along the lines of his face, memorizing the edges as if they could
I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “Yourself? That’s what this is about? You think you’re some kind of monster I can’t handle? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds, Ric?”His eyes darken, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t understand, Natalie. I’ve done things… things that would make you look at me differently. Things that would make you run.”“Then explain,” I challenge, my hands tightening on his face. “Stop assuming I can’t handle it.”He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. When he finally speaks, his words are raw and jagged, like they’re being ripped from his soul. “I’ve killed people, Natalie.”Suddenly I can’t breathe. All the air around us seems to have vanished. I blink, my hands slipping from his face as his confession settles between us like a bomb.“What?” My voice is barely audible, but it’s the only word I can manage.He doesn’t look away, his gaze piercing. “I’ve killed people. It’s not something I can take back, and it
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline coursing through me or the way his dark eyes hold mine, as if he’s searching for something he’s terrified to find.“Try,” I say again, my voice shaky. It’s a plea, a desperate attempt to save this. Save us. Whatever we are, I know it’s worth saving. I don’t know what thoughts are swirling behind those dark eyes, what decisions they’re weighing, what explanation he’s trying to weave into coherent words. All I know is that — whatever it is, I’ll take it. God, I hate him for making me feel like this — so exposed, so vulnerable. But I hate myself more for still wanting him, for needing him, even now.And when his eyes return to me it’s all I can do to not run to him and wrap my arms around him. A part of my brain tries to remind me of the way he dismissed me, disregarding all the time we spent together, all the kisses. But he did just say that he couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t matter, right? “Ric,” I prompt, unable to keep my patience any longer. “I
You may not have even realised.Those words follow me for the rest of the evening, haunting my every waking moment. I didn’t realise, no. Not until just a few hours ago when it seemed like a possibility. The possibility of being pregnant with Ric’s child. I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, until the very last second before the doctor reentered with the results. But miscarriage had never struck my mind. It seems so bizarre now. A cruel joke, almost. Here’s a problem, but wait there’s a solution. And I’m not satisfied with either. The doctor said there had to be some more tests that needed to be done because she found something suspicious. I was too dazed to be concerned, but Meera stepped forward and asked if it was something to worry about. A lost child.I don’t think anything can take your attention away from that. A child you didn’t even realise you were carrying. On the way back, Meera tries to uplift my sullen mood by saying that it wasn’t quite a baby — just a bunch