Elise gestures to the seat across from me. “Sit, Rithy. We’re fixing this.”
He drops into the armchair across from Kiri, still smiling. “By all means.”
A voice cuts in from Elise’s phone speaker—Dawn, PR in New York, all purpose and polish. “Gentlemen. Keep this simple. No blame, no drama, no third parties. Two artists, one misunderstanding. That’s the narrative.”
Rithy tilts his head. “So no mention ofwhyRafe went all pitbull?”
The gleam in his eyes when he glances at me makes my jaw lock.
I lean forward. “You bring her name into this, and I walk.”
Dawn sighs through the phone. “Rafe—”
“I’m not negotiating. You want your apology, you’ll get it. But if a single headline ties her to this,I’m out.”
Rithy laughs under his breath. “Still playing her white knight.Cute.”
“No,” I say, voice flat. “Just beingprofessional,something I guess you forgot how to be.”
Elise steps between us. “Enough. Rithy, shut it. Rafe, sit.”
I slam back onto the bed. He shrugs, pressing the ice harder to his nose. “Fine. Wouldn’t want thegood doctor’sname dragged throughmy beautiful blood, right?”
I shift forward again, but Kiri’s already on his feet, silent and immovable. He stares until Rithy’s smile falters.
Elise exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose, while Dawn lays out the game plan with practiced PR precision.
“Here’s what happens. Go to your corners, clean up and meet back in an hour. You film a thirty-second video. No veils for sincerity points, smiles on. Exhaustion, long tours, too much passion is the script. You hug it out. We flood the brotherhood angle. No interviews, no livestreams. Both of youare grounded. That meansno leaving, no airports, no photo ops, and you’re off all socials forseventy-two hours.The less we give it the quicker it dies. Clear?”
Silence.
“Clear?” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Crystal,” Rithy adds.
“Good.” Elise clicks the end call button and makes it halfway out the door before her phone is already ringing. Ronan follows to stop her from killing whoever’s next. Kiri stays, our silent sentinel.
Rithy watches me from across the room, ice melting through his fingers. “You think you’re protecting her,” he says. “But secrets always sell better later. You’ve just given the storyteeth.”
I rise slowly. “Then pray it never leaks. Because if it does, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactlywhostarted it.”
His grin twitches, fear and defiance threaded together. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Chapter 36
The Red Light
Rafe
We smile on cue and say the lines, heated disagreement, creative tension, lessons learned. All the right words, perfectly hollow. When I lean in and put an arm around him, I feel the moment his shoulders drop, a tiny moment of surrender. He exhales, leans back into it, and for a heartbeat it almost feels real. The regret flickers in his gaze, something human beneath all the cruel distance. Then it’s gone, and we’re back to the script. Masks on again. When the red light cuts out, no one moves. Rithy gives a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, mutters something about needing air, and walks out before I can say a word.
Back in the room, I cue up the footage. It’s already everywhere, different angles, slowed down, dissected frame by frame. The thumbnail alone makes my stomach drop: me mid-swing, Rithy’s head turned, blood pouring from his nose. The comments are worse, armchair psychologists, old fans mourning the death of “brotherhood,” people betting on when the band will break up.
I close the screen and scrub a hand over my face. Doing the math, she’d be landing about now. I type fast before I can overthink it:Ignore anything you see. I’ll call when you get home. I’m sorry.
