“What’s a curb ambush?” I ask.
Sabrina’s expression goes flat. “Someone trying to catch you on camera. Get a reaction. A quote. Anything they can clip and monetize.”
When your existence becomes content for people who’ve never met you.
I nod slowly. “So what do I do?”
“You do exactly what you’ve been doing. Take care of Ben. Don’t give them anything. Let Marco’s team handle security. Let me handle messaging.” She stands. Packs her laptop. “And Jess? Don’t try to out-narrative this. You can’t win against someone who’s willing to destroy you for views.”
She leaves. I sit there processing.
My phone buzzes again. Amara this time.
Haven’t heard back from you. That video is defamatory. Want me to send a cease and desist?
I think about it. Type back:Not yet. Sabrina says radio silence.
Three dots. Then:Okay. But I’m drafting one anyway. Just in case.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. It’s Thursday, so I’m at school pickup without Marco. It goes fine. No silver Mazda that I can see but Jag positions the Range Rover differently. Protective triangle. Filepe does an extra sweep.
I get Ben home. Do homework. Make dinner.Run bath time. Read the Italian story Marco leaves on her nightstand.
Normal. Routine. Like my face isn’t currently being dissected by thousands of strangers who think they know exactly what kind of person I am.
When Ben’s asleep, I find Marco in his home office so I can give the mandatory debrief. He’s on his laptop. Probably reviewing damage control plans with Elena.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
He looks up. Those dark eyes land on me and I feel it. That pull. That want.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Been better.” I lean against the doorframe. “Sabrina says don’t engage.”
“She’s right.”
I smile wistfully. “I know she’s right. Doesn’t make it easier.”
He stands. Crosses to me but stops just short of touching. “I’m sorry this is happening.”
“Not your fault some influencer needs content,” I reply.
“It’s my fault you’re in this position at all,” he says firmly.
I want to argue. Want to tell him I made my own choices. But the truth is complicated and my brain is too tired to untangle it right now.
“Filepe thinks someone might try to ambush me outside,” I say instead.
“I know. We’re adjusting the protocol.” His jaw tightens. “No one’s getting near you or Ben.”
The protectiveness in his voice does something to my chest. Something warm and dangerous and absolutely not helpful right now.
“Okay,” I manage.
We stand there.
Too close.
