Sinclair’s Private Jet Lifestyle: A Deep Dive Into Her Carbon Footprint
October 10th
TABLOID DRAMA: “Bad Girl” Reese Sinclair Spotted Partying While Reformed Bad Boy Dante Hastings Remains on the Sidelines—Sources Say She’s “Desperate” to Derail His Olympic Comeback!
I takea sip of my Berg water as I scroll through the headlines.
An uncomfortable feeling churns in my stomach. What is happening?
Photos from the burlesque club shouldn’t even exist—they had a strict no-phones policy. It’s a grainy picture taken from what looks to be under a table. What a way to spend your Saturday night, I guess. Being an absolute creep and sneaking in phones to places where phones shouldn’t be.
I skim the headlines again and cringe. Calling my dance a “striptease” is a stretch. That slip had more fabric than half the gowns on red carpets these days.
How do I fix this?
I’ve seen this happen countless times, where the media turns on women overnight. But I had a plan.
The voice of doubt returns. Heather and Geraldine warned me about this. How I wouldn’t be able to fix my reputation after diving headfirst into this new version of myself.
But maybe I can still handle it. I hope so.
Heather sends another message, and my pulse spikes as I open it.
Heather
Tell me you didn’t?
Article link: Did She Really Cut It? Sinclair’s Shocking New Hairstyle Leaves Fans Questioning If It’s for Robyn Hood or Her New Image by Susan Martin for the Stone Times
My eye twitches.
Is this day going to continue to get worse?
Twenty-four hours since my haircut, and the world already knows. The picture in the article looks like it was taken this morning—Dante walking me to the gym. His hood is up, but my new hair is on full display.
What on earth do these reporters have against me? From the snakes atA!to the journalists atSweet Southernand these jerkfaces at theStone Times. I read the byline. Susan Martin.
What on earth have I ever done to you, Susan?
Ever since that first leak, when Dante and I went to the beach, theStone Timeshas had a permanent stakeout in my life. Ugh. I was silly to think I could keep it quiet for a little longer.
Panic bubbles in my system, and I hold the cold water bottle to my chest, focusing on the coolness against my skin.
Four. Seven. Eight.
Maybe I can still get control of the situation.
What’s true?
I love my new hair. It’s bold. It’s mine.
Which means I won’t let them twist it into something I regret.
“Reese, break’s over! Got you all racked up for chest presses.” Tori’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. She’s already got the barbell ready, two twenty-pound weights on each side. A new record for me, but I’m too distracted to care.
I need to burn through some of this anger coursing through me.
I grunt, shoving my anger into the next two sets, each press harder than the last. Tori adds another five pounds on each side—ninety pounds total.
