𝐢𝐢.
𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Neither of them came after us.

Both stay silent until we shut the front door. Then all hell breaks loose.

Screaming can be heard as we walk down the front steps, surrounded by lush lavender bushes. Their vibrant hues stand as a stark, cheerful juxtaposition against the darkness that clings to the walls of the house we left in our wake.

"Cady, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up Max like that." We exchange glances, and I'm relieved to see that she isn't as upset as I thought she'd be.

"It's fine, don't apologize. Saying all of that felt good."

A huff of air leaves me, and I smile faintly at seeing her expression lighten. "If I knew it'd blow up like it did, I would've brought him up sooner. You butchered her. I don't think I've ever seen her that shocked before."

She snorts and scrunches her nose out of contempt. "The bitch got off easy. I was one retort away from punching her right in that freshly pumped-up face of hers. Do you think all that Botox is malleable enough to move around if I hit her hard enough? Would it permanently fuck her face up? God forbid she has any visible flaws."

"I'd pay good money to see that." I laugh.

"Want to go get wasted at Gin's tonight? Heard they've got a deal on drinks: two dollars each. Plus, we haven't gone out for drinks together in literal eons. I miss my old drinking buddy." She nudges me with her elbow.

I'm drinking tonight, alright.

Alone. On my couch. While watching cringe sappy romance movies balling my eyes out.

"Not tonight."

Cady frowns. I stride along the sidewalk, taking three more steps before realizing she's no longer by my side. One look over my shoulder, and I immediately regret my answer.

She's about to hand me my ass tonight, too.

"Sulking around will get you nowhere Ela. Ryan's out trying to get into Melody Wrights's pants as we speak. Just because he's having a good time doesn't mean you can't."

"Cady," I start weakly in an attempt to explain my reasoning, but she cuts me off.

"Go out and show him you're unaffected. Show him what he lost. If he can fuck around, so can you!"

I shake my head. "Doing that would show the whole world. Not just my ex. They'll tear me apart. And after the Melody scandal, I don't think I can handle any more press." Neither can my manager, but that's irrelevant.

She makes her way over until she's an arm's length away. My big sister is genuinely intimidating when she wants to be—no wonder mother looked like she was about to piss herself.

"You're Elara mother-fuckin' Stewart. A bad-ass Darling Devil bitch. Melody practically stole him from you, now steal something from her."

It takes me a beat to realize what—or rather who—she's talking about.

Derek Crimson.

Melody's very recent ex, just as recent as mine, who she left around the same time Ryan left me. Talk about a coincidence, right?

If I thought the media's been harsh about my breakup, I can't even imagine what that man has had to endure. Is still enduring.

I blink at her. Caught between laughing in her face and refusing to believe what I just heard.

"He's out of my league and you know it."

"Is he, though?" Her face scrunches, and her voice raises an octave with each word.

"Yes, Cady. He is."

Considering who his colleagues are, his status? I don't stand a sliver of a chance.

The man has several hit songs with The Weeknd, for fucks sake.

Which means he's friends with the man. Both are untouchable. Even with my connections in the industry, I wouldn't be able to get in the same room as either of them.

Her shoulders shrug. "He follows you on Instagram."

He—what?

He definitely doesn't.

"I think I would know if he follows me on Insta."

In an instant, she's on her phone. I refrain from rolling my eyes and let my sister search through apps without a single comment.

Seconds later, she's shoving the device in front of me.

My eyes widen in sheer disbelief as I struggle to comprehend what lies before me.

She'd typed his name in the search bar underneath the 'followers' section on my profile; sure enough, he's there. Blue check and all.

"I—wait. But... how? And why were you stalking my Instagram?" With lightning speed, I'm pulling up my account on my own phone.

"I'm your sister. It's my job to stalk your Instagram. Plus, your feed is aesthetically pleasing. I like to catch up on all your posts once every few weeks." Cady explains, though I don't catch most of it.

I scroll frantically through my recent notifications until I see it.

thederekcrimson started following you.

My mouth instantly goes dry. He followed me two days ago.

In my defense, it's been three since I've been on the platform.

Between all of the Tik-Tok edits of him and I together, and ones of Ryan with Melody, circling on literally every media platform known to man, I've been avoiding all of my socials like the black plague. Not to mention fan accounts posting old pictures of us everywhere—it's been a lot to deal with, to say the least.

"If you won't get drinks with me at least go out with all those model friends of yours and go find that man."

Wide-eyed, brows drawn, I gape at her. "That's insane."

"If there's anything I know best, it's revenge." Which, for the record, is true. "It doesn't have to be Derek either. You can go after one of her friends. Preferably one of her besties, or all of them, if you're up to the challenge. You can pull anyone you want." She finishes with a wink.

"I had no idea how truly toxic you are until now," I say in between laughs. She smacks my arm, "You know I love you, toxic ass and all."

She takes my arm in hers, leading us to the driveway where our cars are parked. "I know you do. Just like I know you'll get back at that piece of shit, one way or another."

I grimace, uncertain. "I'm not vindictive though."

Cady unlinks our arms and leans against her black sedan, waving her hand around as she rebuttals.

"The man discarded you like trash, got with the girl he told you not to worry about, then went out with her in public knowing you'd find out about it. To me, it's all suspicious as fuck and isn't a coincidence. And if I were you? I'd want more than just revenge."

I hate when she's right.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I weigh my options.

Go home and drink my problems away, or go out and drink my problems away. No paparazzi, tons of paparazzi. Paparazzi times ten if Derek happens to be out. If I'd even be able find him.

I cross my arms. "I'll think about it."

She frowns, knowing what that statement actually means.

"Come on, Ela. Don't do me like that."

A groan of protest leaves me. "My couch sounds so much more comfortable. You've slept on it before; it's incredibly soft, don't you think? And it's waiting for me to get home, so if you'll excuse me," I tilt my head and turn to leave.

Her fingers clamp around my wrist, abruptly halting any chance of escape.

"At least follow him back. Stir the pot a little. For me?" Cady winks once more, then gives me puppy-dog eyes when I don't respond. And like I always do when it comes to anything Cady pouts over, I cave.

"Fine. I'll follow him. Happy?"

She grins. "I need to see you do it."

I scowl at her but inevitably pull my phone out. I make sure she can see me press the follow-back button before I tuck it back into my pocket.

Satisfied, Cady's grin widens. "I can't wait to tell Max that the Derek Crimson followed you. He's going to freak. The man's a mega-fan, I swear!"

Smiling, I roll my eyes. "Goodnight, Cady. Drive safe."

"Let me know when you're in the investigative mood." She throws over her shoulder, about to duck into her car.

"You just want an excuse to meet him, don't you?

An airy chuckle before she says, "Along with the rest of the human population."

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

When I'm finally left to my thoughts on my way home, I find myself considering what Cady had said.

Melody practically stole him from you, now steal something from her.

It'd be different if we'd been broken up for months.

With it being so fresh, so unbearably raw, my head must not be on right. Why am I even entertaining the idea?

Why do I actually want revenge?

Standing in the elevator to my condo on its accent to the thirteenth floor where my condo awaits my arrival, I'm thinking through crazy-ass plots in my head.

What kind of plots, you ask?

The most ruthless, brazen, audacious plans to get back at my ex.

Glitter-bombing his entire apartment, cutting holes in every article of clothing he owns, slashing the tires to all of the vehicles he owns (four total if you include his motorcycles), breaking into his apartment, and stealing back everything I ever bought him. Just to list a few of the more tame ideas.

The others I took from Cady's revenge book (yes, she has one).

Not only that, but I helped her with a few. Dressed in all black with ski masks, I had pretended to rob her ex.

Told him to tie his shoelaces together while Cady snuck behind him. He was a total pussy, and thought that I actually had a gun inside a paper bag when it was actually a mini water bottle. She pulled his pants down while one of her friends poured a bucket of ice water on him. I don't think I've ever run so fast in my life.

Pretty sure he tripped over himself trying to chase after us. Did I mention he was dumb, too? I mean, he thought he could get away with cheating on Cady when she's practically a P. With all the research she has to do for writing and such.

She's definitely done worse.

Slept with her ex's friends, bestfriends. Male, female—since she's bi.

I don't think I could do that, though. In another life, possibly. But with my career? It could ruin me.

But I'm so angry I can't control myself as I pluck my phone from my pocket and dial my favorite party girl. The only true bestie I have in L.A.

She picks up on the fourth ring. "Hey bitch, I was just thinking about you."

"I know. That's why I called."

Julia laughs. "How'd the dinner with your parents go?"

With a heavy sigh I unlock my front door, making sure to punch in the disarm code for my security system once it closes.

"That bad, huh?" She sympathizes. The tone was gentle and caring, with no ounce of pity.

She knows me well enough not to offer pity for my personal life, and the feeling's mutual. Both of us carry the weight of fucked-up childhoods, each with our own set of traumas and horror stories. One drunken cold ass October night, we trauma-dumped until four in the morning. It honestly solidified our best friend status.

"I've had worse. Cady handed Theresa her ass in the middle of it. You should've seen the look on her face. On both of their faces. If there was a best, 'Verbally-Flaming-your-Mother of the Year' award, Cady hands down would've won it."

"Ugh, I love your sister," There's a brief pause followed by shuffling and the slam of a car door, "Speaking of Cady, she sent me a text a few minutes ago."

I enter the kitchen, desperate for a particularly large glass of wine.

"Oh?" I question, feigning curiosity even though I know damn well what Cady texted Julia about.

"I'm sorry to hear about what that idiot's doing. It's fucked up." Her sincerity reaches my heart, aching with every beat. A painful reminder of my grief for a year-long relationship that may or may not have been real, to begin with.

I force myself to take a deep breath, allowing my eyes to close.

"What he does is no longer my concern. How he decides to ruin his reputation is on him, not me. I'm just glad I won't have to clean up his mistakes for him anymore." I mutter as I take a stemmed glass from one of my cabinets and pick up a half-empty bottle of pinot noir I'd opened the night before.

"You and me both. You did so much for him; it's time that you start doing things for yourself." After struggling to remove the cork from the bottle with the old fashion corkscrew, I give into my minimal patience and toss the metal gadget aside. I put Julia on speaker and fumble through my drawers in search of my battery powered wine opener.

"Starting with this bottle of wine. If I can find the fucking bottle opener."

I shriek a quick "ah-ha!" once I find it buried in my utensil drawer, and immediately get to work.

"Pour me a glass too, would you?"

I pause.

A smirk pulls either edge of my mouth. "Of course. How far are you?"

"Hi Gregory," Her voice turns low and sultry as she greets the handsome doorman outside of my apartment complex. "How're the kids?"

God, I love Julia Alvarez. There's no amount of words in the English dictionary that can even begin to explain my utter devotion and appreciation for her. She's my other half, my soulmate, ride or fucking die, and I'd do anything for her.

"Flirting with a married man? How scandalous."

She ignores me and continues talking with Greg for another minute, giving me time to pour us both a hefty glass. I finish topping mine off when she finally enters the building.

"Scandalous is my middle name, Ela baby." I can practically hear the sly smirk stretching across her features.

My lips purse as I debate bringing up Cady's scheme. "Speaking of scandals,"

"Yes?" The elevator dings perpetually in the background as it passes each floor.

"I'm sure Cady also filled you in on her—proposition," I say, unsure what to call it.

"She did," Another pause, "I won't pressure you too much about it. But if you want my honest opinion..."

I fill my mouth with a generous amount of liquid courage and down it like a shot. Then, putting the glass back on the white marble counter with a soft clink, I prepare myself for an answer I already know. "Hit me."

She doesn't hesitate. "I think you should do it."

"Derek Crimson is an idol. A lyrical god and a musical icon. An unobtainable, untouchable force to be reckoned with. There's no way he'd ever go for me. I bet he didn't even know who I was until this whole Melody shit-show aired." I take yet another sip of wine, reveling in its instant relief.

"But you both have something in common, don't you?" The elevator beeps a quick little tune, signifying it's reached the designated floor.

I rip off my shoes as I make my way over to the door. "And what's that, exactly?"

"You both got screwed the fuck over. And a simple revenge plot would be right up Derek's alley."

"And you know this from what, experience?"

I open the door before she can knock.

Julia's dressed too nicely for a quick get-together. Her silk maroon dress hugs every delicate curve of her body, the mid-thigh length accentuating those long, model legs of hers. Black hair straightened and cut just above her collar bone, silver sparkling hoops in either ear, and face beat to the gods—she looks like she'll be going out after this.

"Well, if he's anything like how he depicts himself in his songs then you should know, too. He's the definition of toxic."

"It could just be a persona." At this she scoffs and enters my condo, black stilettos clacking against the sleek hardwood.

"Please. I've heard things about him through the grapevine. The man is a walking, talking red flag. Which means he'd easily go for a back-stabbing plan like Cady's." Once we both reach the counter, she picks up her glass and takes a sip, eyeing me as she does so.

"So I'm supposed to just casually spot him out and about, and what—seduce him on sight? Or blurt out my plans to him? Then cross my fingers, hope to die, and pray he's in the mood to play house?"

Which would likely be the last thing he'd ever want. Since the majority of his recent songs (recent as in two years ago) involve infidelity, doing all sorts of hard drugs, and fucking every woman he sees.

He's only been featured with other artists during that time, flaunting his bad boy status as usual.

Which was the best P.R. stunt in celebrity history by the way. After all of those European scandals—yes, plural—he took the image the public painted him as and used it to his advantage. He absorbed it, made it a part of him. Either that, or the man has perfect timing.

The idea of fixing a man so toxic, broken, he's made all of it an entire personality trait, making him all the more desirable to the masses (a.k.a his stans).

It's what made a lot of artists as big as they are now. They've glorified every good and bad aspect of fame. The life of a modern-day rockstar.

"He follows you on Insta, doesn't he? Why don't you ask him yourself?"

I almost spit out a mouthful of Pinot Noir at her words.

"Message the most famous man on earth and possibly make a complete fool of myself? I don't think so."

"If you don't message him, I know where he'll be tonight. Or rather where he is right now."

My brows furrow. "How?"

She leans against the counter, both hands cupping the glass in front of her. "I may or may not have gotten in touch with your manager, and you may or may not owe him a favor."

"You have Wilson's number?"

Julia nods. "Turns out the man knows a lot more than you'd think."

"Favor... what favor?"

"Well, I pitched the idea of the whole revenge story. A tragic, toxic love quarrel and he and I both agreed that it aligns with your new bad-girl image. Obviously it works for Derek, too, but we already went over that." She waves a dismissive, manicured hand.

"You still didn't answer my question. What favor?"

She smirks. Clearly she's been up to no good as of late.

"I'll let Wilson tell you about that. But he signed off on it. The man approved and got Derek's plans for you to make a move. So Derek might know about it, which has to mean he's down, right?" I remain still.

Unmoving as I gawk at my best friend. Unsure if I should kiss her for caring so much about me—even if this is the strangest way of showing it—or be upset at her for going behind my back to my manager.

"I don't know, Jules."

He's a big fucking fish. Bigger than Melody. It'd also put me right in the middle of his life.

Putting myself in the limelight, fame on a scale I can only imagine, and into celebrity status. I used to want it. Desperately. But as of recently... I'm not sure if that's what I truly want.

And I thought I knew what I wanted from this life up until Ryan uprooted everything. I factored him into every aspect of my way of being. Now, a piece is missing from the puzzle, and I'm trying to figure out how to fill it.

My eyes flick to my phone lying face down a few feet away. Wouldn't hurt to try, right?

Fuck, am I actually considering doing this?

When I thought it was impossible I wasn't sure.

But now?

If there's a chance I can get back at Ryan, to spit right in his face, with Derek at my side flicking ashes from a cigarette at Melody Wright like he did in one of his music videos for his second album—could I do it? Have just as much nerve as Ryan?

When I look at Julia, that sly little smirk is back as if knowing what's going on inside my head. Daring me to message him. Damn her and her know all, see all talent of hers.

At this moment, I decide that this version of me—post-heartbreak Elara, will not back down from a challenge.

Before I can second guess myself, my phone is in my hand, and I'm opening the app.

"That's my Ela baby," Julia says, full of pride, satisfied as she takes another sip.

But my mouth instantly falls to the floor at what I see.

My thumb, which hovers above the screen, starts to tremble.

A man of his influence, a household name across several countries—messaged me first.

He sent it when I had yet to follow him back.

I try to calm myself. Taking a deep breath in, I tap on the chat and read what he said. My mouth drops as I reread it to ensure it's real.

"What? Why are you all frozen like that? Let me see—" Within seconds, she's at my side, the nosy bitch. I'd call her out on it if I wasn't so stunned. "Holy fuck," She whispers.

Holy fuck is right.

𝗗𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗼𝗻 ✔︎
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘬𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯 • 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆
97.2𝖬 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 • 188 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌
𝖥𝖱𝖨 7:56 𝖯𝖬

𝖬𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖧𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖻
𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖫𝖠 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝟣𝟣𝖯𝖬.
𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.