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CHAPTER SIX
ANDREA
"I never wanted to leave her," he confesses, his voice thick with regret. "I loved her, and I still do. I think she loves me too, but..." He trails off, his gaze distant. "Andrea's trapped, consumed by fear."
"Of what? Who is she afraid of?" The interviewer is eating out of the palm of his hands.
"Her manager."
Logan's confession escapes his lips, each syllable weighed down with regret. His face contorts with anguish, as if the very act of speaking these words is a betrayal of his soul.
The captivated audience hangs on his every word, sensing the depth of his turmoil.
He's a fucking bastard, but a very good actor. I’ll give him that.
The interviewer looks troubled. “Brandon Stanton?”
Logan nods, and the woman scribbles on her cue cards.
She looks as contrite as he does. She pities him, you can see it in her eyes, and I hate him for it.
The rest of the audience is probably in a similar state, pitying my ex-boyfriend while he spouts all sorts of lies about me.
His elbows rest on his knees and his hands are clasped between them. Logan stares at the floor. He hesitates before he speaks and seems to think twice about each of his statements. This causes him to appear as the spitting image of a pained and heartbroken man.
"Brandon controls everything Andrea does. Her every step. He tells her what she should eat, how she should act, and where she should go.
"He controls who she can interact with. He and I didn't get along because I wanted Andrea to be free from the beginning, but he wouldn't let that happen.
"He pushed us apart as soon as he realized that our love was strong enough to free her from his yoke."
"What a fucking bastard!"
The unexpected words make me jump as the television abruptly shuts off.
Brandon stands in front of me, the controller in his hand. His face is red, and his glasses have been pushed comically to the bridge of his nose. Still, the gesture isn’t funny, but rather, it’s intimidating.
He’s clearly upset, to the point of destroying Logan with his bare hands if he were ever to get the chance.
"Sooner or later, we knew he would resort to this." Sighing, I settle back on the couch, leaning back against the cushions as I try to remain calm.
Brandon is not as calm as I am. "Don't you understand, Drea? This destroys your image. This makes you look weak and submissive."
In a way, that’s not a lie.
"Either way, the press will believe what they want. They’ll juice this story for a while, but then it’ll die down."
Everything eventually passes, and people forget their words sooner or later. I don't forget them, though. They’re my scars, after all.
Brandon looks indignant. He crouches down in front of me and gives me one of those protective, paternal looks.
"Drea, you don't understand. This could affect you, and I don't want it to affect you. The label is already pulling away from us. This could be the end of your contract."
My lips tighten into a smile. "But you'll work as usual to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Of course," he replies immediately.
I pat his shoulder and stand up. "I need to get back to the booth."
