She’d taken control of the narrative, all right.
And made everything worse in the process.
Chapter 39
You don’t see the lines as you cross them—
the “too lates” are painfully clear.
The silence of the hotel room was unbearable.
For a moment, Leah’s absence had felt like a relief—no more tension pressing between them.
But it didn’t last. Emma pictured her at the event instead, all laughter and bright energy, surrounded by brilliant, charming people who actually knew what they were doing.
Regret burned through her. Why had she even come to Comic-Con? She didn’t belong here. Never should’ve let herself believe she could.
She ordered room service, as if keeping up appearances mattered with no one there to see. When the tray arrived under a polished silver lid, she barely lifted the cover. Fries went limp, the burger cooled, melting ice turned her soda into a watered-down syrup.
The strain across her chest wouldn’t ease. Her ribs felt bound—like a corset laced too tight. She paced the carpet thin, then dropped onto the bed, only to start again. Dark thoughts circled like carrion birds—hovering, threatening, never letting her rest.
Finally, she mustered the courage to check social media.
It was a feeding frenzy. She scrolled through the hashtags, detached, as strangers hurled harsh words at her. Cold. Fake. And worse ones, far worse.
But the more sober comments cut deeper.
Yeah, I don’t care what happened, that’s not a professional way to talk about an industry peer @emmawhitehart
So...Darren: pours buckets of love on her in front of a live audience. Emma: dismisses him in public. WTF is wrong with you??#ColehartGate
Can’t believe how cold she came off. Always liked her before. Poor Darren, choose better next time bb #IllComfortYouDarren
A few people still defended her—or at least gave her the benefit of the doubt—but they were drowned out instantly, attacked for even trying.
The verdict was clear. She was being burned at the stake in real time—tied to a hashtag and set on fire.
She kept scrolling, letting wave after wave of hatred crash over her until she barely felt anything at all.
Then her eyes caught a post that sliced through the numbness. One that made her heart lurch.
Guys, new Darren interview, he’s commented!!! Starts at 2:13 in the vid. FYI @emmawhitehart, this is how you keep it classy...
She clicked the link, skin prickling feverishly. The smell of ketchup from the sagging burger was making her nauseous, but she didn’t care enough to put the tray away. A video window opened. Emma went utterly still. And then—
Darren.
Just the sight of him made her throat ache. He was wearing the same T-shirt she’d seen him change into before. She knew how it smelled. Clean, warm,him.
He sat alone, plain backdrop, noDarkreachbranding. The male host beside him was loud, gesturing wildly. Emma winced at the burst of volume and turned it down. Her eyes stayed locked on Darren, reading every line on his face. He looked composed—too composed.
His beauty hurt, like something she’d lost the right to look at.
Everyone else saw his appearance, his charm, his wit. She’d seen what lay underneath. The way he cared, fast and fierce. His protectiveness. His stubborn need to be his own person, no matter what.
She clicked the timestamp the post had pointed out, jaw tightening.
Straight to the good stuff.
