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“That shouldn’t have happened.” My throat ached as I took in his stunned expression. But what did he expect? “We’ve taken this charade too far. Like you said, we were just having fun.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s just end things now before we make things worse.”
“And how do you suggest we ‘end things,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers.
“Easy. A breakup post on social media explaining what went wrong to your fans. All the celebrity couples do them.”
He stared at me for a beat, his lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”
I laughed. “No? You can’t just keep doing this without me.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You don’t get to determine whether we continue this or not.”
“Actually, I have a contract that says otherwise.”
My cheeks flushed.Of course he would mention the stupid contract.
“You would hold me to it? If I wanted out, you’d really make me keep pretending?”
He said nothing, and I wasn’t sure what made me angrier, his silence or his obstinance, so I lifted my phone in defiance. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I opened up my own Instagram account.
“Fine,” I ground out as his hand shot out to grab it.
I spun around, deflecting him.
“What are you doing?” he yelled.
“If you won’t do it, I will.”Contract be damned.
I quickly chose a photo of us, then typed out a caption.
Maybe tomorrow I’d regret this. In fact, a part of me knew with certainty I’d regret it, but all I was doing by continuing my fake relationship with Thorne was prolonging the inevitable. There was always an end-game. At least this way, I could control it and prevent myself from getting completely crushed.
“Scarlett, stop. Just listen to me. Don’t do this.” Thorne raked a hand through his hair. “Give me a little longer.”
“For what, Thorne? Your precious reputation will be fine. Trust me. I’ll make myself the villain, and the world will love you even more than they already do.”
“That’s not why.” He spun around, hands laced behind his head, jaw tight. “I don’t care about the stupid publicity stunt.”
I wished I believed him, but that’s what got us here in the first place, so with a shaky hand, I pushed send. “There. It’s done,” I said, with a pit in my stomach.
The breakup of the century was out there for the world to see. Front and center.
Thorne’s wide-eyed gaze moved to my phone before he reached out and took it with trembling hands, blanching as he read.
“You can still delete it.” He glanced up at me, but whatever resolve he found in my expression had him handing my phone back.
With a wrenching in my chest, I took it, wondering what I’d done and why. I only hoped I wouldn’t live to regret it.
And because the pain in his eyes was enough to unravel me, I turned away from him, even as a part of me screamed.
Maybe he didn’t care about the publicity, and what if his feelings were real?
But those kind of thoughts were dangerous—a fantasy. Only hours before, Thorne had been raving about how well our plan worked—how the media and Hollywood loved him. He’d even bragged about how his agent had gotten several calls over the course of the week to inquire about his future availability. He only wanted it to continue to see how far he could take it.
