He didn’t speak until we were alone.
He sat at the island, staring at a plate of leftover fruit from the shoot. His fingers hovered over a slice of melon but never touched it.
“I don’t like it here,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even look at me.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“He’s not good at connecting with people,” I said carefully.
“Then why do we stay?” Eli asked, looking directly at me. “Is it because of the baby?”
My mouth opened. Closed. I had no version of the truth that wouldn’t sound like betrayal.
He pushed the plate away.
“I’m not hungry.”
He walked upstairs. Closed his door softly.
That quiet click sounded louder than a slam.
....
That night, the sounds started again.
Cal and Syd. Down the hallway. Loud. Unapologetic. Moans. Bedsprings creaking rhythmically. Her laugh, high, breathless, almost theatrical. His low groan vibrating through the walls.
I walked to Eli’s room.
He was awake, sitting upright with his headphones already on, eyes shadowed with frustration.
“Again?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just try to rest.”
He sighed deeply, pulling his blanket over his head.
I closed his door gently and locked mine behind me. I slid down onto the floor, back pressed against the door, hands shaking as I texted Zariah.
I’m drowning.
My phone rang seconds later.
“Had,” she said immediately, voice tight with anger and worry. “Tell me what happened.”
I told her everything. The photoshoot. The staged baby announcement. Cal’s coldness. Eli’s questions. The sounds echoing through the hallway.
She didn’t interrupt once.
When I finished, she exhaled sharply.
“You don’t deserve this,” she said fiercely. “None of you do. That photoshoot? That’s exploitation, not damage control.”
“They said it would shut down rumors about Cal sleeping around,” I whispered. “Make him look stable. Responsible.”
