"Yes," he says, his gaze unwavering. "Exactly."
"With me," I push, just to hear him say it again, to confirm this is actually happening.
"Yes."
I sit back, suddenly tired. "You want me to sell a lie to my followers, every single day, for who knows how long. And smile while I'm doing it."
"No, what we're asking you to do is survive," he says.
His words cut through all my sarcasm. They strip away the performance. That's all this is about now. Not thriving. Not winning. Just surviving. It's a bitter pill to swallow. All that hustle, all that ambition in my life, reduced to staying alive.
"You're insane. You're actually, truly, certifiably insane. This is the most idiotic plan I've ever heard. Do you know how much work goes into a fake relationship, especially one for the public eye? Do you know how much acting I would have to do? I'm an influencer, not an actress."
"I'm not insane, I'm practical," he replies. "There's a difference. And you, my dear, are a very good actress. Your entire career's based on a performance. A curated performance for your millions of loyal fans."
This cannot be my life. "And if I say no?"
He takes a step closer. Not threatening, not quite. But close enough that I feel the heat roll off him, a dangerous warmth that prickles my skin. His scent, something clean and masculine, fills my nose. It's both intoxicating and disorienting.
"Then I release you back into the wild," he says, his tone soft, almost a caress, but the words are pure ice. "Which, for you, will end exactly how you think it will. Your friends, your family, your followers. They won't be looking for a missing person. They'll be looking for a ghost. A forgotten hashtag. You'll vanish, and no one'll ever know what happened."
"What about my parents? Will you let them think I just died? Or abandoned them?" I spit the words out, the bravado barelycovering the knot of fear in my stomach. The thought of my mom, frantic with worry, freaks me out. I can't let her go through that. She's done too much for me in my life to deal with this crap.
He fixes me with that cold stare until I glance away. "Let's talk about your parents, now that you've brought them up. They're a wealthy couple from Silicon Valley, right? Where you grew up in a private school for rich kids? The kind of life where you travel to Europe every summer, just for fun?"
Damn it, he knows. The bastard knows the truth and he's threatening to expose my lies to my followers.
My carefully constructed facade, the one I'd spent years building, shattered in an instant. The story about my 'wealthy parents' was a cornerstone of my influencer persona, a glittering lie I told to give me a boost.
In reality, it was only me and my mom, Penny, who worked herself to the bone with three jobs in a suffocating Florida trailer park, trying to save every spare dime to help me get started with ring lights and cameras. She believed in me and I promised not to let her down.
And I never have, until now.
My income allows her to live comfortably in a suburb near Orlando. She's a long-distance lifeline, sending me care packages with her homemade cookies and calling just to make sure I'm eating. The thought of her finding out about any of this makes me physically ill. Whatever happens, I can't let her get drawn into this too.
"What are you?" I ask. "A bonafide stalker now? What else do you know about me?"
"Everything."
"What's in it for me?" I ask. "I need something tangible beyond, you know, breathing."
He actually smirks this time, a full-blown, arrogant curve of his lips. It's annoying. And, yet annoyingly, attractive. "Youget to live. You get to post. You get your audience back. You get freedom curated through a very expensive lens, of course. No more cheap travel vlogs. We're talking private jets, designer clothes, five-star resorts every other week. Your feed will be the envy of every influencer out there. You'll be living the dream, on my terms. The next few weeks will be the biggest party of your life. If all goes well, you'll eventually get your freedom."
"Freedom," I echo. It's a bitter joke. Freedom to exist under the watchful eye of a man who abducted me. Some freedom that is.
"And what happens if I mess up?" I ask. "Accidentally or not? What if I slip? What if I say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing? Accidents happen, you know."
"Then we enact option two. Permanently. There'll be no second chances. No appeals. You'll simply disappear and no one'll ever find you."
The threat is absolute.
And I believe every word.
"You're not subtle," I mutter.
"I know,” he replies. “Subtle doesn’t keep people alive.”
I exhale slowly, a long, shuddering breath. Well, this is it. The end of my old life and the beginning of whatever this new, twisted thing is going to be. "Okay then. If this is the way it must be, then let's do this. Let's build a lie that feels more real than the truth.
