Then:
Scott:
The label is thrilled. You and Olive—unexpected brilliance. They’re calling it your ‘image redemption arc.’
Scott:
Nice work, Ryder. Proud of you. In other good news—plaintiff just agreed to drop the law suit against you. Their counsel is filing a dismissal with prejudice in the morning. No payment, no admission. PR will issue a one-liner.
Ash:
Wait. For real?
Scott:
For real. Breathe. Also: donottweet about it. Let legal finish.
Ash:
Copy.Thank you.
I release a slow breath. Jesus. I can’t believe how well this turned out. Everything is going exactly the way it should. Lawsuit: gone. Image problem: gone. All thanks to Olive.
Exactly what my team wanted—a perfectly executed PR stunt. And I want to show her this—our success. I want to see her face when she realizes how many people are watching, how much they’re talking.
I want her to laugh, roll her eyes, maybe blush and say something like, “Well, I was serving main character energy.”
But of course, her side of the bed is already empty.
She’s at the kindergarten, completely unaware that the internet has crowned her the new duchess of rockstar fiancées.
I check my phone again, half-hoping she’s texted.
Nothing.
I flip back to Safari.
And that’s when I see it.
At first, it’s subtle. A headline that rubs wrong.
“Ash Ryder’s New Fiancée: Cinderella or Calculated Career Climber?.”
I click on it, pulse already starting to throb.
The article is trash—thinly veiled skepticism pretending to be journalism.
Then the forums. The gossip threads.
Photos of Olive in her dress last night, side-by-sides with my exes. Speculation about why she “doesn’t fit my usual type.” Snide comments about her being “just a kindergarten teacher.” Worse—grossshit. Obscene. Demeaning. Like she's a pawn, or worse, a groupie who got lucky.
“Bet she’s loving the free designer clothes.”
“Cute, but obviously temporary.”
“This one’s playing the long game. Next stop: baby trap.”
“She’s so plain. How did SHE land him?”
