Nash slams a palm down. “No. We’re not letting them win.”
“Easy to say when you’re not the one with your tits on every headline,” I snap, instantly hating myself for it. The table goes quiet. I look around at my guys: Blake blinking fast, Dare biting his lip, Tris back to scrolling, Nash glaring at the wall, Keaton nowhere to be seen.
A jarring, tinny chime interrupts, and the laptop Dare was using lights up. Izzy’s face appears, sharp and all business even through the webcam.
“Good, you’re all there,” she says, not waiting for hellos. She doesn’t even notice Keaton is missing. “We have a problem. The story is running at full tilt on every major outlet. Collectively, comments are over a hundred thousand and climbing.”
“Is there a way to kill it?” Tris asks, all business.
Izzy shakes her head. “No. The damage is done. The only question is how we respond.”
“We can’t exactly deny it,” Darius mutters, “not with these pictures.”
“No,” Izzy says, eyes flicking to me. “So we manage the narrative. You want to survive this, you don’t let them define you.” She glances at her other monitor, reading something off screen. “Raina, listen. There will be a hundred think pieces today alone. Most will be trash. Some will dig for your exes, some will hound your parents, some will go after your men one by one. They’ll say you’re a manipulator. They’ll say you’re unstable.”
She lets out an unhappy sigh. “They will try to tear you down simply because they can. Which is why you have to decide right now how much of yourself you’re willing to show the world,” she continues, her jaw set. “You want to own it, or you want to hide?”
I look at the boys. Nash’s knuckles are bone white, Blake’s lips are pressed so tight he might swallow his own words, Darius’ hands are shaking, and Tris, for the first time since I met him, looks scared.
But it’s Keaton who speaks, stepping back into the room so quietly I almost miss it. “It’s not a scandal unless we let it be.” He stares me down, steady and unblinking. “This is family.”
Something in my chest unclenches. I nod once. “We own it.”
Izzy exhales, a sound halfway to a laugh. “Good. I’m sending security to the property to keep the paps out, and then I’ll draft the statement. Something simple and honest with no excuses. You’re adults; you make your own choices. You’re not hurting anyone.”
She clears her throat and seems to pin me with her stare through the device. “Did you see the timestamp for when the first news article hit?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think to check something like that. Why?” I ask, but I instantly have a feeling where she’s going with this.
“It was only a few hours after Lexington Productions had an emergency board meeting. Now I don’t know what happened in that meeting, but it seems strange that this story is spreading like wildfire shortly after.” She leans back in her seat, giving me a moment to let that digest.
Of course, it’s Dickless up to his old antics. I should’ve assumed it would be him in the first place. Especially with how the lawsuit went. He was fucking livid with the ruling.
Darius looks at his screen, then at me. “Raina, it’s not your fault.”
But I can’t shake the feeling it is. I’m the one who wanted all of this—the music, the comeback, the love. I’m the one who needed them so badly I let down every wall. I’m the one whose happiness is now a weapon for strangers to twist.
I glance at the phone on the table, still buzzing with notifications. My face is already a meme. My name already a punchline. But when I look up, I find five pairs of eyes staring back—worried, angry, scared, yes, but loyal. Mine.
This isn’t the end, it’s simply the next fight.
By dusk, the house is wrapped in a hush. We haven’t talked much since the kitchen, but you can feel something working in the air—like we’re all recharging, every hour smoothing out a little more of the panic from the morning.
At ten sharp, my phone lights up with a video call from Izzy. She seems tired, but the relief is clear when she sees us all together.
“It’s late, and I know it’s been a long day, so I’ll cut to the chase. The draft I sent you is three sentences long. I was hoping you’d approve.”
Blake checks his messages and reads it aloud: “We love each other. We make music together. We’re grateful for anyone who chooses kindness over cruelty.”
“That’s it?” Nash says, a little incredulous.
“That’s it,” Izzy replies.
“I like it,” I say. “Simple and to the point. No reason to give them more than what’s needed.”
Her eyes get a little glassy, but she covers it with a sharp “Good. Then let’s post it and never talk about this again unless you want to.” She holds our gaze for a moment. “I’m proud of you. All of you.”
It’s not long after I curl up on my side, comforter tugged to my chin, phone balanced on the pillow beside me while I wait forTristan to finish brushing his teeth. I know I shouldn’t look, that the comments and DMs and mentions will only cut deeper, but the urge is unstoppable.
