The woman is in my house.
If that isn’t shit going nuclear, I don’t know what is.
But he clearly has no idea, so I’m not about to feed that dumpster fire.
Traffic crawls. Normally, that would irritate me on a Saturday. But not today.
By the time we hit Manhattan, I’ve followed Ava Alvarez’s digital footprints so far that they’ve circled the globe and doubled back on themselves.
The ascent.
The climb.
The parts she learned to sand down and polish for public consumption.
Each appearance is more refined than the last. More polished. More controlled. Armored to the hilt and traced with a sadness that wasn’t always there.
Her ex doesn’t help.
As it happens, she was telling the truth. Dipshit really is her ex. A small shot of glee filled me when I read her official statement to that effect.
Though, by the looks of it, he doesn’t appear inclined to accept that. Just before she barged into my dressing room, the weasel was forcing her hand with the paps.
I crack my neck. Pierce Maddox has moved to the very top of my shit list.
The rich prick’s had one too many lapses in judgment. And if he puts a hand on Pix again, so help me…
Why Pix isn’t kicking him to the curb is beyond me.
Instead, her manager confirmed that she and Pierce Maddox will be working together. Closely. For six fucking months.
She literally winked when she said it.
It’s become a gif.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The thought swims through my chest like an eel. I hate it almost as much as I hate the truth underneath it.
She isn’t mine. So why am I getting so worked up about it?
On autopilot, I flip over to Instagram. At least her fans are relentless. Loud in her defense. They’ve got her back.
They were the driving force behind #GiveUsAva. A campaign to solidify her place as Princess Luna.
They’re calling it the next big thing. A cultural moment.
Princess Leia for a new generation.
Which drives the stake a little deeper.
Ava Alvarez doesn’t just live in another world.
She lives so far outside my orbit, we’re barely in the same universe.
It’s not a gap I can close.
And by tomorrow, I’ll have to let her go.
Travis pulls to the curb, and I get out. “Thanks.”
