I don’t open anything yet.
I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the hum of the city seep in through the windows. Letting the reality catch up to what my body already knows.
Cam called me his wife.
Out loud. In front of witnesses. In front of a man whose job is to notice things and make them go viral.
Of course this is happening.
I sit up and finally look.
My name trends in three categories at once.
Music. Marriage. Manipulation.
I close the app before my pulse can climb too high.
The penthouse is already awake by the time I step into the living room. Manny is pacing. Sasha is on a call, voice tight but measured. Someone has turned the coffee machine on.
Everyone looks at me when I enter.
But there is no Cam.
His jacket isn't slung over a chair. His coffee cup isn't on the counter.
I register it and keep moving, knowing my team is here for a reason.
“Okay,” I say, sitting down slowly. “Talk to me.”
Sasha doesn’t sugarcoat. She never does. “The marriage rumor is everywhere. People are split between romantic and furious.”
“Furious?” I ask.
She tilts her screen toward me. A post from my ex—already climbing.
My stomach drops.
“He posted ten minutes after the first headline,” Sasha continues. “He’s implying you married Cam to distract from ‘the truth.’”
Of course he is.
Manny turns to me. “We can get statements out. ERS is already drafting language.”
“No,” I say.
Both of them pause.
I pick up the tablet and scroll through the comments, the speculation, the way people dissect my life like it’s a puzzle they’re entitled to finish.
“I’m done responding to him,” I say quietly. “Like Cam said, I need to tell him to stop.”
“A cease and desist?” Sasha asks.
I look up.
“Yes,” I say. Firmer now. “That.”
Manny exhales slowly. “Once we send it, he’ll escalate before he complies.”
