“I’m gonna talk to her,” I say.
She smiles. “Good.”
There’s peace in that. A small flicker of control returns to me.
I stand, stretch, and glance around the kitchen. For once, it doesn’t feel like a museum of expectations. It just feels like a place. Somewhere I don’t have to wear the mask.
I walk toward the hallway, thinking maybe I’ll go for a run. Clear my head before figuring out when to call Luna. But my phone buzzes on the counter.
And then again.
And again.
Notifications flood in like a dam breaking:
JJ: Dude. You seeing this?
Dev: Man… I’m sorry.
I frown, jaw tightening as I snatch it up.
Open the app.
The first thing that hits me is her face, Luna’s, in a screen-capped video. Her lips are parted mid-sentence, eyebrows lifted. There’s a subtitle at the bottom in a bold white font:
“You take away the hockey and the family money and what’s left?”
It’s a clip. Choppy, zoomed in, distorted to make her tone sound meaner than it probably was. I know that look. Shewas talking to Maisie and Beth. Probably before anything even happened between us. Just venting.
But out of context? It sounds brutal. It sounds like betrayal.
The caption underneath reads:
“Influencer Luna Wilder trashes her hockey boyfriend for all the world to see. Guess the golden couple illusion wasn’t so authentic after all.”
The comments are already flying in.
@puckingqueen3251: Yikes. I knew she was fake.
@fangirl.liv4pucks: This is so disappointing. Wildaker were my fav.
@catqueenarella29: Beau deserves better.
My throat closes.
I don’t even know who filmed it. Or why someone would post it now, when things were finally feeling like maybe, just maybe, they were real.
I sit back down. Hard.
All the doubt rushes back. And now I want to know if she ever really meant what she said. All the time we spent together… was it just for the campaign? The followers? The image?
Bluebeard trots into the room like he owns the place, jumps onto the table, and headbutts my arm. I let him. Scratch behind his ears automatically.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
I unlock my phone again. Open Luna’s profile.
There she is, crouched in the snow next to a kid in an oversized Lightning jersey, helping her adjust her helmet. She’s laughing, her gloves dusted with frost. The caption reads:
