Evangeline

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Of all the headlines I've woken up to, this one has to be one of the worst.

"BREAKING: James Ryder Funneled His Earnings Through His Three Leggy Mistresses While Married to Elizabeth Ryder."

I glance at the byline and feel my shoulders sink. Of course, it's Adrianna Torrence, who is more focused on exposing the truth than worrying about who gets caught in the crossfire. My mother will crumble when she sees this. It's one thing to know she was cheated on—something she's already come to terms with—but it's another to learn that he was hiding assets from her while they were still married.

"She's already on her way over," Kat says, not even looking up from her phone as she continues snapping pictures, her camera clicking every few seconds. "She didn't sound that upset on the phone."

I'm sitting in front of the mirror, my hair stylist behind me, running her fingers through my hair, experimenting with different looks for the gala. The room smells faintly of hairspray and perfume, a smell that sticks to the back of my throat and makes it harder to breathe. Kat moves to the couch across from me, flipping through the shots she's just taken, while I'm caught between trying to focus on the hairstyle and the sinking feeling in my chest.

While I've exchanged a few messages with my mother since I've been back, I've mostly been avoiding her. Partly to avoid the inevitable lecture about how I handled the premiere with Kael, and partly because, between gala preparations and sneaking around with Gabe, I've been... a little busy.

When the doorbell rings, Stu shoots me a knowing look, as if to say, you ready? He's not usually on duty when I'm at home, but since we're heading to brunch right after my makeup trial, he arrived a little earlier than usual.

Truth be told, I'm glad it's him here with me this morning and not Gabe, because being around Gabe lately makes it hard to think straight, and I'd rather not face my family's embarrassing secrets with him standing in the room. I nod to Stu, and he heads into the hallway to answer the door. I hear his low voice, though I can't make out the words before he returns a few seconds later with my mother in tow.

I brace myself, expecting a tear-streaked face and a wine glass clutched in her hand. But to my surprise, she looks put together—almost too put together. She's in a sharp blazer, her hair neatly styled, and there's no sign of a breakdown.

"Oh, not that hairstyle," she says, striding forward to get a better look, frowning at my updo. "We can do better. I think a bun, lower at the nape of her neck, would be more elegant for the gala."

The hairstylist nods immediately, fingers already moving to adjust the style as my mother settles onto the armrest of the couch. I'm still watching, waiting for her to crack, but she's all business.

"Have you seen the news?" I ask.

"I've seen it," she says, smoothing out a wrinkle in her blazer. "I've decided not to let his indiscretions upset me anymore."

I nod, turning back to the mirror as the stylist works. "Good. I think we need to stop living our lives through what the media and everyone else thinks of us, and start—"

"Public opinion is already turning in our favor," my mother cuts me off. She says it like she's reciting facts, not talking about her own life unraveling in the headlines. "A reporter covering your father's trial uploaded a post on TikTok pointing out that we are the victims in this case and the media hounding us is yet more proof of the sexism rife in Hollywood. Several media outlets, including the one she works for, are already running with it." 

Kat looks up from her phone now, scrolling as she speaks. "Your mom's right. Thanks to Adrianna's mini Ted Talk, everyone online is dragging your dad for putting you guys through this. Not just your dad, but Kael too. Remember the interview you gave at the premiere?"

I furrow my brows, confused. "Yeah, why?"

"Some other TikTokker did a deep dive on Kael and all the times he's been shitty to his exes. He's practically being canceled." 

"What does any of this mean for us?" I ask. 

"It means," my mother chimes in, smiling, "for once, we aren't the ones being painted as the villain. People are on our side, Evangeline. I won't pretend to understand these Tik Tok videos,  and I'm certainly not a fan of Adrianna Torrence, given her abhorrent views on Hollywood, but I know a blessing when I see one. Caleb thinks between this and some good exposure from the gala, your father and Kael will cancel themselves and we'll be able to walk away unscathed for once."

I sit back and mull this over for a second. My mother always taught me that the public is fickle—one day, they love you, and the next, they'll turn on you. Love and adoration never last. All it takes is a single moment, one wrong interview or misstep, and those same adoring fans become your haters. Except this time, it's not me being torn apart limb by limb; it's him. And it feels a lot like karma.

"Lilith already has a new plan for after the gala and the trial," she continues, "and—"

"Wait," I cut her off, my head spinning as I take in her words. "After the trial? You said the gala was the last big event before the trial ends. I figured that meant I could maybe take a break after." 

"Well, we don't want to lose the momentum," my mother says giddily. "Lilith has a strategy—"

But I barely hear the rest of what she's saying. Any dreams I had of stepping out of the limelight or running away to some ranch with Gabe instantly shatter, because right now, this is the first time I've seen her genuinely happy in months.

"Eva's done back-to-back events for weeks," Kat says, and I give her a grateful look. Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to have an extra voice when I feel like I can't use my own. "She needs a break after the gala, and then, if she's up to it, we can look at other opportunities, but I don't think we need to pencil anything else in."

"Of course she can have a few days off," my mother says, waving her hand dismissively. "But I really think the team's right about this. These kind of waves never last long, and we need to ride them while we're still on top. Just think about it, honey, okay?"

I glance down at my hands, twisting them in my lap, trying to figure out how to explain the gnawing feeling that's been growing louder with each passing day. Control. That's what's missing. The more I think about it, the more I realize I have none. "I'll think about it."

She smiles warmly, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Now, speaking of the gala, Lilith has made contact with Jude, and he's promised he won't let you down as your date. Lilith was furious when she learned you had to take your bodyguard."

Finally, I find my voice. "I don't trust Jude not to let me down again. I don't want him as my date."

My mother straightens, turning to face me with that familiar look—the one that says she's trying to remain calm, but there's tension bubbling beneath the surface. "Oh, honey," she begins, "Jude is the safest option. You know how much attention the gala will bring, especially with everything going on, and we're out of time to find another date. You'll look great together." She glances at her watch. "I have a lunch date with Caleb, but I'll check in on you later. Lilith will send over the new schedule soon." She gives me an air-kiss, offers Kat a limp wave, and heads out.

The first thing Kat does is get to her feet and hug me. I hug her back, for once letting myself be visibly upset, because I'm tired of holding it together. "I'll talk them out of the whole Jude thing," she says. "Gabe can take you to the gala, you can have one last fairytale night, and then we'll find a way to break it to your mom that you're not going to be her cash cow anymore."

I laugh, wiping away a tear. "You make it sound easy."

"It's not easy," she says softly, "but it's necessary."

I look up now, it only just dawning on me what she's said. "I don't want a fairytale evening with Gabe. I told you, I just feel safer having my bo–"

"First of all, you're a terrible liar—there's a reason you didn't make it as an actress. And second, I know. I saw you two sneak off that night in Miami, and Gabe never went back to his room. So, what exactly was he doing in yours?"

"Who are you, Nancy Drew?"

"Hey, I'm just saying it's nice you've strayed from your usual type." She leans back, smirking. "Another pretty boy like Kael, and I would've staged an intervention."

I almost choke, spluttering at her bluntness. But this is Kat, of course she wouldn't dance around the question.

"I know you're serious about him," she continues when I don't answer, her voice softening. "Or you wouldn't have slept with him. So, where are you on the scale—from wanting to rip his clothes off to running away into the sunset with him?"

I rake a hand through my hair, glancing toward the mirror. "I don't know. I like him. A lot." I look down at my nails, freshly painted a pale pink. "But I'm scared. I don't know what happens after my father's trial. I hate not knowing where I'm headed."

Kat tilts her head, as if the answer is the simplest thing in the world. "So ask him. I would."

Of course she would. That's the difference between us. Kat is effortlessly confident, always sure of herself, while I'm constantly second-guessing everything. She knows exactly what she wants and never hesitates to go after it. She doesn't have to worry about her personal life ending up in the tabloids or people cozying up to her for their own gain. But for me, that's a constant reality. I've learned to be vigilant, to protect myself from being used. Kat was the only real friend I had in school—everyone else only stuck around until they realized I wasn't going to help them get ahead or sneak them into exclusive parties.

Kat reaches across the counter, squeezing my hand gently. "I know you have trust issues—and for good reason—but not everyone is out to use you. Some people just want to be around you because you're fucking amazing."

There's no time to say anything else before the stylist returns, this time with the makeup artist in tow. For the rest of the day, I'm a human Barbie doll—sitting still as they work their magic, their hands moving swiftly, applying product after product. They perfect every detail with an efficiency I'd normally appreciate, but today, it feels suffocating.

I block it all out by scrolling through my phone, desperate for some kind of distraction. If I don't, I'm going to lose it. The TikToks Kat and my mother mentioned are all in my recommendations, and they're right: deep dives that dig into my father and Kael, their connections to each other. For once, the focus seems to solely be on their behavior and attitudes instead of me. I scroll through the comments, most of which mention me in some form or another, having to put up with this treatment, and I'll admit, I'm surprised. They say one day you're on the bottom, the next you're at the top, but Hollywood will never not surprise me.

That's when I see it—suggested for you. A video from Fowler. My stomach tightens as I click on it, the title flashing across the screen: "10 Moments When Evangeline Ryder's Mask Drops."

Of course, because with adoration, love, there is always hate. I watch the video intently, suddenly feeling sick at the clips he's used. It's all there: me crying right after Kael broke up with me, a clip from when I was fourteen, flipping off a paparazzi because I was overwhelmed. I want to scream at him through the screen, tell him these moments don't make me a fake or a monster—they make me human.

But that's the real issue. People like him—and the media—don't see me as a person. I'm not allowed to be upset, angry, or even have a bad day. I'm not allowed to speak up about what's unfair. The moment I don't fit into the perfect image they've created, I'm labeled as worthless or fake. And for years, I bought into that narrative. I believed that if the public didn't like me, if my views or likes weren't high enough, I wasn't enough. I'd failed somehow. But now, watching this video, knowing that this man has been the one making my life a living hell, I realize how ridiculous it is that I ever craved approval from people like him.

Watching his smug face tear me apart sends everything I've been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface. I'd promised Gabe I would leave it alone, but this? This crosses the line.

Without thinking, I open my DMs and start typing, my fingers flying over the screen about how stalking is a crime, I still have his picture, and my legal team will be in touch.

I hit send.

For a moment, I sit back, my heart racing, but there's a flicker of satisfaction.

I feel like I'm in control again.