The air was cooler here, drifting in from the bay, carrying the slap of waves against the pier. Her phone was turned off, just a harmless shard of plastic and glass in her back pocket. She didn’t want to know when the interview dropped. Didn’t want to think about anything at all.
She leaned against the railing and stared out at the water, streaked golden by the sinking sun. Boats rocked gently, their masts sketching restless lines across the sky.
For a few breaths, she pretended she existed outside everything. That the photo never happened. That her name wasn’t currently ricocheting through headlines and hashtags. As long as she stayed here, she was cut off from all of it. Just an anonymous woman watching the waves.
But the silence didn’t soothe for long.
You’re an actor, Darren.
Her own words washed back over her like a tide.
She hadn’t been prepared for his reaction. That flash in his eyes that wasn’t just anger, but pure, unfiltered hurt.
It shouldn’t have shocked him that she’d had doubts—not after what Leah overheard from Max. Not with how briefly they’d known each other.
But fragmented images flashed through her mind. His hollow stare through the windshield when he told her about Alana. The painful bitterness lacing his voice when he confessed it felt right, playing the villain. The determination in his eyes when he’d demanded her room number, seeing her on the verge of breaking.
Did she truly believe he’d been acting in those moments?
He’d made it brutally clear how much he detested dishonesty. And that was the very thing she’d accused him of.
The wind tugged at her hair, whipping it around her face.
But Darren’s words had hurt her, too.Is this you or Leah talking?
He wasn’t wrong. Ever since she had her breakthrough, she’d become more and more reliant on Leah. Willingly letting herself be steered every step of the way.
It had been a relief, leaning on someone who knew how things worked, who always seemed confident, no matter what. She’d grown so used to it that she barely recognized her own instincts anymore.
At least she’d taken control with the interview—stood up to Leah for once. That was progress, wasn’t it?
Except the cold knot in her stomach refused to agree.
The interview kept looping in her head. Maybe her voice hadn’t been that sharp. Maybe she hadn’t really interrupted the host, just...cut in smoothly.
Emma always expected the worst. She was probably just catastrophizing again. It couldn’t have been that bad.
The breeze cut straight through her thin sweater, sending a shiver down her spine. She finally turned away from the water. She couldn’t hide forever.
gig
By the time she reached the hotel, the walk had warmed her skin. But the ice lodged in her stomach didn’t budge.
Inside, the familiar low-grade chaos of Comic-Con closed in around her. She ducked her head and made for the elevators. Whispers pricked at her ears. A fleeting mention of her name, a glimpse of a camera phone angled her way. She turned away from it, not even sure it was aimed at her.
Was this how Darren lived every day? The paranoia alone must have been crippling.
A group of girls inBonds of LightT-shirts was clustered by the reception desk. One of them gasped, eyes widening, and Emma caught the words “that’s her—Emma Whitehart.”
She hurried past before they could approach. They didn’t know what she’d said on camera less than an hour ago. If they had, they wouldn’t be smiling like that.
She pressed the elevator button, exhaling only when the doors closed her off from the rest of the world.
gig
Leah was already in the suite, perched on the sofa with her laptop propped on her knees. She didn’t look up when Emma entered, just kept typing. The silence felt like a verdict. Emma toed off her shoes and went to sit on the bed, pulling her legs up under her.
“Well,” Leah said at last, snapping the laptop shut. “You sure took control of the narrative. I just hope you set the one you wanted.”
