Nick barely looks up, feigning innocence as he exhales a slow stream of smoke into the crisp afternoon air.
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me.” I narrow my eyes. “You said you quit.”
“I did.” He takes another drag, unbothered. “But I’ve been dying to pretend we’re in Italy—sitting on a terrace, watching the locals stroll by, lovers kissing in the golden light, the air thick with garlic and butter from the kitchen. And it’s been almost six months since my last cigarette, so cut me a little slack.”
“Don’t expect me to kiss you later.”
“Gross,” Sophia groans, barely looking up from her plate. “I’m happy you guys love each other and all, but can we not do sexy-talk while I’m eating?”
I bite back a laugh, twirling my fork into my mussels and clams linguine. The sun is warm against my skin, the autumn breeze threading through my hair—something I never got to experience in California. I used to think it was the best place in the world, a paradise I’d never leave. But now, the thought of going back turns my stomach. It’s not the beaches or the hills I hate—it’s him.
My stepfather.
Hollywood.
The corruption runs deeper than anyone wants to admit.
I push the thought away, but the universe has other plans.
“The story just keeps getting worse,” the reporter’s voice cuts through the patio’s soft hum of conversation.
I glance up at the TV mounted in the corner of the restaurant.
“Big T, as the industry calls him—formerly known as RichardThompson. 120 new allegations have surfaced, vetted and represented. Twenty-five involve minors.”
My stomach turns to stone.
The news plays a montage of him—smiling at the Oscars, shaking hands with powerful men, whispering in the ears of actresses in shimmering gowns. Every image feels like a knife carving into my ribs.
The longer I’m away from him, the more I see him for what he truly is.
A monster.
And no matter how far I run, he always finds a way to haunt me.
“Although there have been many similar stories, what makes this one not only horrific, but different about Ashley Roberts' story, is just that, her name. It’s front and center and she chose not to remain anonymous in her lawsuit like many others. What’s also different is she wasn’t at a party, or at an audition, She wasn’t even in the industry or entertainment world, In fact she said she never even met Richard Thompson in person before this had happened. Her fifty two page complaint is filled with detail and is one of twenty lawsuits Thompson is now facing in addition to facing federal criminal charges that could potentially put him away for twenty years or life.”
“Holy shit,” Sophia whispers, barely audible.
“Change it,” Nick demands, his voice sharp.
But Sophia doesn’t move. She’s frozen, her knuckles white around the remote.
“I said, change it,” Nick snaps, louder this time.
“No,” I say firmly, catching his wrist as he moves to grab it. “I want to hear this.”
Nick studies me, his head tilting slightly, concern flickering in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I promise.”
Reluctantly, he eases back into his chair, but I see the tension coiled in his shoulders as he turns toward the TV. The restaurant around us fades to static, the clatter of silverware and distant hum of conversation drowned out by the news anchor’s voice.
“I’ve read the complaint, but Ashley is here to fill in the blanks tonight. She says the gang rape happened at a mutual friend’s house in the Valley back in 2020. She claims Thompson singled her out after she publicly disrespected him during a FaceTime call—accusing him of being a child molester.”
My pulse slams against my ribs. The sound of my own heartbeat roars in my ears, drowning out everything else.
