Serendipity

" even when the whole world turns away, still, the moon is seen. " All the musings and stories of Serendipity

[brattybaddiee]

CHARACTERS BY SERENDIPITY

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Phoebe Hawthorne — @BrttyBaddie

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— CHAPTER ONE

— CHAPTER TWO

— TO MY SOUL SISTER

—CHAPTER THREE

—CHAPTER FOUR

—CHAPTER FIVE

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Alex Monroe — @fucksonvacation

Background: CLICK HERE

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Diana Castillo — @SuckMyCherryy

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Chapter 1: CLICK HERE

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Madeline Miller — @shesalittlemads

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Dean Wilbanks —

@saveahorrse

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Josephine Aida — @hissirensong

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Carli Chen — @swtnspiceyy

Chapter 1: CLICK HERE

Chapter 2: CLICK HERE

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Sophie — @snapcrcklenpop

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[brattybaddiee]

Alexis’s Backstory

Alexis Gray had learned early that silence never saved anyone—it only protected the wrong people.

She’d grown up in a house where nothing was ever said outright. Her mother hosted charity luncheons for women’s advocacy groups while warning Alexis not to “ruin good men’s lives with misunderstandings.” Her stepfather worked in public relations for studios that buried scandals so efficiently they barely left fingerprints. The first time Alexis tried to tell someone what one of his clients had done to her friend, she was fifteen and shaking, and the answer she received was polished and calm and devastating:

This isn’t a hill you want to die on, sweetheart.

So she didn’t die on it.

She learned to climb instead.

By college, Alexis understood the currency of proximity—how close you had to get to power before it started leaking truth. Journalism school bored her; they wanted clean narratives, neat conclusions, good victims and bad villains. Real life was messier. Real life lived in the margins. In the gray.

The podcast started as a joke. A mic borrowed from a friend, a name she chose because it felt like a dare. The Gray Area. Say what everyone else wouldn’t. Ask the questions people hated. She dressed loud on purpose—chaos as camouflage—because if they were staring at the clothes, they weren’t watching her hands while she dismantled them piece by piece.

Alexis didn’t believe in neutrality. She believed in finding the right direction and applying pressure. She never paused to think that her direction might be wrong.

Every guest thought they were using her platform. Every guest thought they were smarter than the girl with the ridiculously over the top outfits and the sharp laugh. And sometimes—often enough to keep her up at night—she crossed lines she swore she wouldn’t. Ambushes. Surprise guests. Emotional landmines disguised as conversation.

She told herself it was worth it. She believed that exposing the truth always felt better than living in the unknown no matter what the cost.

What no one knew—what Alexis made damn sure no one ever knew—was that her first big episode, the one that made her famous, had been built on a lie by omission. She hadn’t uncovered that story. Someone else had. A woman who came to her shaking, hopeful, certain that this time someone would listen.

The woman never went public.

Alexis did.

She justified it the way she justified everything: The truth still got out.

She never Googled the woman’s name again after the obituary crossed her screen six months later.

That was the real reason she hated guests like Phoebe Hawthorne—not because they were complicit, not because they were silent, but because they forced Alexis to look too closely at herself. At all the moments where she’d chosen exposure over care, spectacle over humanity.

Alexis Gray didn’t hunt monsters.

She hunted for proximity to them and made a spectacle of them like she wasn't willingly crouching next to one every day of her life.

And sometimes, late at night, when the studio lights were off and the laughter stopped echoing in her ears, she wondered whether she’d become just another kind of predator—one who fed on guilt, packaged it as justice, and called it truth all to make herself feel better, to justify her own actions.

But the numbers kept climbing.

The audience kept listening.

And as long as people were willing to bleed on her mic, Alexis Gray would keep asking the questions no one wanted answered.

Because in the gray area, everyone was dirty.

Including her.

[brattybaddiee]

Xavier’s Backstory

Xavier Rinadli was raised on the idea that information was a currency, and that whoever spent it last won.

His father believed in truth the way other men believed in God—loudly, recklessly, and without much concern for personal consequence. A working-class investigative journalist with a stubborn streak and an allergy to authority, he treated every lead like a moral obligation. Dinner conversations were about court filings and anonymous sources. Vacations were conferences. Xavier learned to sleep through late-night phone calls and to recognize the particular silence that followed threats.

His mother left early. Not dramatically. Just slowly enough that it took Xavier years to notice she wasn’t coming back. What remained was a household governed by deadlines, paranoia, and an unspoken agreement that love was something you demonstrated by staying alert.

Xavier grew up watching how the truth broke people.

He saw it bankrupt his father, strain friendships, and turn once-open doors into locked ones. He also saw the seduction of it—the way people leaned in when his father spoke, the way stories could bend rooms, the way power flinched when named correctly. He supposed that’s when he first craved that same kind of power.

By fourteen, Xavier understood something his father never did: the truth wasn’t dangerous because it was false. It was dangerous because it was incomplete, twisted, edited.

He was bright but unremarkable in school, the kind of student teachers forgot to worry about. He learned to listen more than he spoke. He cataloged contradictions. He developed an instinct for what people wanted hidden, not because he was curious, but because he was careful—watchful.

When his father died—suddenly, officially from natural causes, unofficially from exhaustion and proximity to the wrong subjects—Xavier inherited a desk full of notebooks no one wanted. There was no manifesto. No smoking gun. Just years of half-finished investigations and marginalia written by a man who believed someone else would eventually finish the work.

Xavier didn’t.

He boxed it all up and put it in storage.

Grief, he learned, was easier to survive when it stayed theoretical.

College was a strategic choice. Communications, then law-adjacent work without the law degree. He didn’t want to argue cases—he wanted to understand leverage. He interned where power lived quietly: studios, firms, political offices. He watched how messes were cleaned without ever being acknowledged as messes.

That was where he noticed the pattern his father never had.

Truth didn’t move systems.

Narratives did.

Xavier learned how to write statements that sounded sincere without promising anything. He learned which apologies calmed shareholders and which inflamed them. He learned the difference between silence that implied guilt and silence that implied control.

People started calling him not because he was ruthless, but because he was calm.

By his early thirties, Xavier Rinadli had become someone whose name rarely appeared on contracts and never in credits. He didn’t erase facts—he reframed them. He didn’t threaten—he forecasted. He made it clear what would happen if a story broke, and then he offered an alternative that felt merciful by comparison.

He told himself he wasn’t lying.

He was editing for impact.

Xavier lived alone in places that felt temporary no matter how long he stayed. He owned expensive clothes but dressed like he was trying not to be remembered. He kept no pets, no plants, no framed photos. The closest thing he had to sentiment was a habit of recording voice memos instead of journaling—short observations he never replayed.

Inwardly he felt like an anomaly. Suppressed personality traits that he had smothered for years felt like they had died to his iron will alone. In his dreams he laughed, joked, smiled and forgot about everyone’s secrets and problems.

At night, he sometimes thought about the notebooks in storage. Not their contents, exactly, but their weight. The way unfinished things pressed against you when you pretended they didn’t exist.

Xavier wasn’t afraid of exposure.

He was afraid of belief.

Belief had ruined his father. Belief made people sloppy. Belief made them forget who paid the price when truth arrived without armor.

So Xavier built armor instead.

What he hadn’t yet learned—what no amount of preparation could teach him—was that eventually every story demands a teller who is willing to be damaged by it.

And when that moment came, all his careful distance would mean nothing at all.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 7

The Wire Saints Drummer and Hollywood Darling SPOTTED

I groaned and locked my screen before tossing my phone back onto the table beside the bed. The headline burned behind my eyelids even after the light disappeared.

A calloused palm—one I could recognize even half-asleep—slid around my waist and pulled me back until I was pressed firmly against a warm, bare chest. Rhett’s body fit against mine too easily, like muscle memory I hadn’t earned yet. His mouth found my neck, slow and lazy, and I bit my lip as heat pooled low in my stomach despite myself.

I still couldn’t believe this was my life.

I was in bed with Rhett-fucking-Monroe.

I was dating him. He was my boyfriend. And for one dangerously blissful month, we’d managed to keep it a secret.

Stolen moments. Backstage passes. Tour stops that blurred together. Hotels that never felt real. Flights booked under aliases. We lived in the cracks between shows and schedules, always chasing the next hour alone like addicts reliving that first night after the concert—sweaty, reckless, electric.

“Who cares who knows?” he murmured near my ear, voice thick with sleep. “It doesn’t change anything, P.”

I swallowed.

He thought my fear was about screaming fangirls or tabloids twisting a narrative. He didn’t understand that I’d already lived through the media turning me into something ugly and unrecognizable. I wasn’t afraid of them. I was afraid of what being attached to me would do to him.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I just… the unknowns worry me.”

I couldn’t be honest. Not fully. There was something lodged between us that I hadn’t found language for yet. We cared about each other—maybe even loved parts of each other. The chemistry was obscene. He made me laugh when I didn’t want to. He made me feel things

I’d taught myself to numb.

But something essential was missing.

A depth I needed. A safety I couldn’t feel.

I couldn’t show him the ugliest parts of me—the history, the damage, the things the internet had already decided were true. Every time I tried, my body shut it down. A warning I’d learned the hard way to listen to.

“We knew they’d figure it out eventually,” he said, voice casual.

Of course, he was never without a beautiful woman on his arm. That was the unspoken truth between us. He hated attending events alone and had even suggested bringing a decoy once, like it was some clever solution. But the thought of him touching someone else while I waited at home made my chest ache with something feral and humiliating.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just wish I could have one thing that was mine.”

He chuckled, amused, and rolled me onto my back, easing between my legs like the conversation had already ended. I bit my tongue, irritation flaring. Sex was his solution to everything. Not that I didn’t want him—but I needed reassurance, not distraction. And he didn’t even know what I actually needed to be reassured about.

I stared at the ceiling as his mouth traced down my skin, teeth scraping just enough to make me shiver. He left marks without asking. He always did. I groaned, half annoyed, half undone, and threaded my fingers through his hair.

“It’s not too late to deny it,” I said softly. “Say I’m just part of a music video shoot or something.”

He pulled back and laughed, sharp and incredulous. “No woman has ever wanted to hide me before, Phoebe. I find it ridiculous that you do.”

The warmth vanished.

He pushed away and climbed out of bed, irritation radiating off him like heat.

Rhett’s temper was something I was learning to tiptoe around. I sat up and watched him flick on his usual ice-cold morning shower—the one I’d dubbed psychopathic. Who willingly punished themselves like that every day?

“It’s not about hiding you,” I said carefully. “I just want privacy. That’s something I’ve never had from the press.”

I drew the sheets tighter around myself, suddenly exposed without him touching me.

He sighed loudly, grabbed a towel, and turned to look at me with narrowed eyes. “I just don’t get why you give a fuck as long as I don’t. What’s the big deal? I’m into you. You’re into me. We’re dating. Nothing anyone prints is going to change that.”

I almost laughed. Almost screamed.

He hadn’t lived through it. Hadn’t watched his name get stripped down to a punchline.

Hadn’t been reduced to headlines and comment sections that felt like public executions.

“I know,” I whispered.

He turned away and stepped into the shower. “Come join me, P. I’ll warm you up.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed too loudly off the tile.

I curled into myself beneath the blankets. Anxiety clawed at my ribs. Maybe I really was broken. Maybe I was exactly what they said I was. But I’d always believed that my person— the right one—would love me anyway. Even knowing the truth.

My phone vibrated again. I didn’t look.

My gaze drifted to the massive photo hanging on his wall. Rhett after a show—drumsticks tucked into his pocket, shirt clinging to him, that effortless smirk in place. The photo had been taken by his cousin, Alex Monroe, some prodigy photographer the industry loved to name-drop. I’d heard Rhett brag about it once, said it was the only shoot he didn’t have to fake anything for.

It had always been my favorite picture of him.

Until now.

There was something I hadn’t noticed before. Something subtle and wrong. Behind the charisma, behind the sweat and stage lights—detachment. A coldness that made my skin prickle.

His eyes were empty.

Not tired. Not brooding.

Empty.

Like dark wells with no bottom.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine.

The shower shut off.

Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I scrambled out of bed and began pulling on clothes from the floor—crumpled jeans, a tank top, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I didn’t want to be naked in this room anymore. Didn’t want to be seen.

The second I reached for my bag, arms wrapped around me from behind, pinning me to a damp chest.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sharp now. “I cleared my whole day for you.”

I looked up and met his eyes.

That same cold distance was there.

“I just need to grab some—condoms. No, uh—female products.”

The lie sounded thin even to me.

He frowned. “You have a drawer here. And I’ve got condoms. Trust me.”

He laughed, low and confident, and my body betrayed me, reacting despite the nausea curling in my stomach. I knew I couldn’t get out cleanly. I’d have to wait. Detach slowly.

Carefully.

He softened, kissed me, grip loosening just enough to feel intentional. “Whatever has you worked up, let’s work it out, P.”

I breathed a little easier—but the warning stayed.

I let him back me against the wall, right beneath that photo, pinning me there. This was how we communicated best. Without words. Without space for doubt.

But even as he pulled me apart, even as my body responded, my mind screamed the same word over and over, louder each time:

Danger.

The part of me still dazzled by him won today.

But deep down, I hoped she wouldn’t keep winning for long.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 6

Was this what I had been missing my entire life?

I kicked my heels off in the grass as my sister grabbed my hand and we screamed at the top of our lungs at the three gorgeous men on stage. The guitarist of The Wire Saints stepped forward and launched into the riff of one of our favorite songs. It blasted over the crowd at such a volume that I couldn’t even hear myself laughing or singing—much less Liv.

I felt alive. I felt like a teenager again.

Coachella wasn’t something I usually found myself at, but my sister and I were on a mission to do more fun things together. This counted, and I was more open to attending a large, celebrity-packed event now that it seemed I was an overnight sensation. Turns out a lot of people wanted to tell Alexis Grey she could “mail me a check for making her relevant.” That had given me a platform—and people wanted to pay me just to use it. It was ludicrous, and I was still adjusting to being positively known to the world around me. Much like being a sister was new—but in a far more pleasantly surprising way.

Livvy and I hadn’t stopped talking since that night we connected over wine and trauma. Our relationship had been easy, safe. I threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer. She reciprocated by looping an arm around my back. We danced and jumped in sync until we were breathless and laughing, the song ending to the roar of applause and screams.

We’d shoved and prodded our way to the front of this outdoor concert for good reason: the views. The ripped and tattooed drummer, Rhett Monroe, had uncharacteristically left his place behind the drum set to join the lead guitarist and singer at center stage. The crowd hushed as we realized something different was happening. Liv and I shot each other an excited look full of expectation.

The lead singer, Kai, handed Rhett a mic and gave him a cheeky wink. He and the guitarist, Mick, shared a knowing glance that had us leaning into the metal barrier on pins and needles.

“HELLOOOOO COACHELLA!!!!

We screamed. Everyone screamed. Rhett chuckled and scanned the crowd with a grin that made my heart rate crank up a notch. God, he was too damn fine. His long chestnut strands were tied back in a bun I knew wouldn’t survive the night. I could already see the sweat—just from the first few songs—staining his black graphic band tee.

“Thank you, thank you.” He held a hand to his chest and ducked his head. My eyes snagged on the rings covering every finger, and suddenly my mind went south. Liv bumped my shoulder and giggled in my ear. “You’re getting drool on your outfit, babes.” I giggled and rolled my eyes at her. She wasn’t wrong.

“We’re going to try something a bit different tonight—just for fun. Anyone down to volunteer?”

Hands shot up all around me. Girls squealed, bounced, and jostled against me in hopes of being picked. I didn’t even bother trying to get my hand up above anyone else’s.

Rhett hummed into the mic as he scanned the crowd, that grin morphing into a smirk. His gaze paused—snagged. I didn’t realize he was looking at me until he pointed.

“You. What’s your name?”

The crowd went quiet, and I felt the eyes of hundreds of feral girls turn on me. Shit.

I’d never been bashful a day in my life, though. I flashed him a grin that looked much more confident than I felt. “Phoebe!”

“Phoebe.” He squatted at the edge of the stage and crooked a finger at me, beckoning in a way that made my insides turn molten. “Wanna come up here for some fun?”

I nodded. His gaze dropped to take in what he could see of me. This was dangerous. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t this girl. Or was I?

Liv scooped up my heels and guided my feet back into them, gave me a giddy grin, and practically shoved me through the barrier the security guards had opened.

“Give it up for Phoebe, ladies—and gents!” Kai shouted, and the screams returned. They may have been envious, but curiosity won them over.

I followed the guards backstage, nerves churning in my stomach. I ruffled a hand through my hair, smoothed it over my clothes. I wished I had time to touch up my lipstick—but no. I looked stunning. Maybe a little sweaty, but so were they.

We rounded the corner—and I came face to face with Rhett-fucking-Monroe.

He held his drumsticks in one hand, the other casually tucked into the pocket of his tight jeans. I tried not to lick my lips. His eyes met mine—and immediately dropped over my frame appreciatively. He had to stop doing that.

“Phoebe.” He grinned and held out his hand.

“Rhett.” I slipped my hand into his. Callouses greeted me as his fingers wrapped around mine, tugging me forward. The guards faded away, and I was almost chest-to-chest with one of the dreamiest men I’d ever laid eyes on.

“We’re going to do something a bit…” He paused, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Burlesque.”

My whole body flushed at the word. I instantly knew I was either about to make a core memory I’d laugh about when I was older or this was the beginning of the best night of my life.

“Last chance to back out.”

I lifted my chin and locked eyes with him. “I’ve never been one to back out of anything. Bring it on.”

His gaze turned amused, and he spun on his heel to lead me up a set of stairs, then another, until we were standing behind his drum set—center stage, on a raised platform. The crowd was a hazy roar. I barely noticed. I had my eyes on him.

He slid onto his seat and spun around to face me, patting his thigh with a teasing smirk.

“Climb on, P.”

My mind lagged a second behind the command—but once it caught up, I couldn’t help the grin. This was definitely going to be a blast.

Hiking up my already-short skirt, I took Rhett’s hand, lifted one leg, and straddled his waist—for the whole crowd to see.

He chuckled in my ear just before spinning around in his seat and scooping up his drumsticks.

“Alright everyone! Give it up for Phoebe one more time!!! Lucky, lucky girl.” Kai laughed, and I could tell they’d be joking about this later.

The closeness of Rhett was overwhelming. I sank against him, smoothing my palms over his shoulders. I could feel everything—every line, every dip. It made me squirm before I could think better of it. His eyes shot to mine—something hot in his depths.

“Careful, or I might go getting ideas.”

I swallowed hard, shoving the reply that jumped to my tongue deep down. I definitely could give him a few of my own.

The song started. Rhett’s legs bounced me against him, his arms banded tight to my waist as he played, brushing every rippling muscle formed from honing his craft over my skin every time he brought his arms down then back up again.

The crowd roared. I laughed. This was easily one of the wildest things I’d ever gotten into. And I loved it.

I decided to just go with it. Shimmying up further on his waist, I slung an arm over his shoulder and glanced back at the crowd with a grin. Liv was definitely out there losing her shit and filming the whole thing.

Rhett’s legs moved again, lifting and bouncing me in sync with the music. I got why he’d offered the chance to back out. This could make a girl feral.

Chancing a look back at him, I found him watching me. He didn’t need to see his drums—he was playing from memory. His gaze said I was something he hadn’t seen before. It made my toes curl.

Grinning a little manically, I threw one arm into the air and danced as the chorus hit—singing loud enough to almost match the music. My heart soared. I didn’t know if it was the experience, the music, or the way this man felt beneath me.

As the song ended, I was breathless. Everything else faded except the man I’d been drooling over from the crowd. At some point he’d dropped a stick—I only noticed when he smoothed a palm over my thigh, resting it low on my waist. He spun us away from the crowd, and I knew I should get off his lap.

But I couldn’t.

He looked at me with such intensity that I couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed suggestively along the skin of my inner thigh, his eyes flicking to my lips.

“Meet me after. Backstage.”

Not a question. A command.

Heat rushed through me. That could only mean one of two things. Either he wanted to continue this ride… or he took pity on the girl who wouldn’t get off his lap. I bit back a full grin and simply nodded before sliding off and standing on shaky legs.

He stood—glorious, tall—and grabbed my hand to help me down. I went to pull away, but he held tighter, forcing me to turn and face him.

“Okay, Phoebe?”

“Okay, Rhett.”

Satisfied, he let go and gave me a slow grin, eyes sweeping me once more before he returned to his seat.

I left the stage giddy and dazed, like I had a middle school crush. By the time I found Liv again, I was impatient for the concert to end.

She practically screamed when I told her what had happened, shaking my shoulders. “Ohhhh my gooooood! This would only happen to you, Pheebs!”

We giggled together, and eventually I settled back into the rhythm of the concert—but damn if I didn’t still feel that man between my legs.

Tonight was going to be reckless.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 2–Making Moves

My ring felt too heavy. The facade felt overwhelming tonight.

I glared down at where it sat on my fourth finger, sparkling and gaudy. I wanted desperately to slip on the comforting lightness of my real ring—an indulgence I’d allow myself when I returned home later. Father dearest had requested dinner tonight. A part of me wondered if my little visit to the closet the night before last really had raised some suspicion.

“Italy?”

I didn’t shy away from my father’s probing stare across the ridiculously expansive family table for a family that wasn’t even remotely large or inclined to sit together and enjoy meals.

“Yes—Rome.” I didn’t feel the need to elaborate. I worked for him, yes. But I was a fucking adult and if I wanted to go somewhere I would. “Why?”

Inhaling deeply I let my gaze drift to my Mother’s empty chair, determined to keep my cool with grace like she so often used to in my memory. Stick to the plan Di. “Because while my husband is off running your errands I figured I’d take a break. A solo trip if you will.”

I don’t hide the cool tinge of annoyance behind my words. He could assume whatever he wanted to about them. I knew the truth in my gut and I’d forever hate him for it. “Hmm in that case princessa…I think that would be good for you.” He steepled his fingers together in thought and I offered him a tight smile. I must’ve missed the part where I asked for his opinion.

I wasn’t stupid though. I know I needed his permission or at the very least his tolerance. “You may contact the Motisi’s while you’re there. A visit with the Castillo heir will be good, no? And they can keep an eye on you while you’re in Rome.”

This of course wasn’t up for debate. He had just given me an itinerary. The exact one I was hoping for. I hid the triumph in my gaze by looking down at my half full plate of food. “And you’ll take Ricardo.”

My body guard. My shadow. My soldier. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without him.” That part was true at least.

Mateo had whispered about plans between our sheets one night of flipping Ricardo to our side. ‘We need soldiers on our side. Not just grunts for him.’

The sentiment rang in my ears and I decided to cash in on Mateo’s well laid plans and progress with Ricardo. I knew for a fact that the hulking middle aged man had a soft spot for the Castillo Princess.

I nibbled on another bite of food and tried not to appear like I was planning for my trip to Italy already but I was.

“Oh. And Mateo sends his love.”

The food I had just swallowed threatened to resurface at the smug sound of triumph in the phrase my Father had just casually uttered across the table. Without one outward sign of physical distress over his words, I glanced up and smiled affectionately at him. “Please tell him I love him and miss him.”

If Mateo was being kept somewhere by my father then I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing the sentiment in his face. What he didn’t know is Mateo and I had never uttered those words to each other. He would immediately know that I knew something had happened to him and I was putting our plans in motion.

That thought was the only thing keeping me upright at the moment.

After customary goodbye’s and forced sentiments, I walked out of my childhood home with Ricardo close behind me, each step confident and unfaltering. My back stayed rigidly straight and I didn’t let myself relax for a moment, not even when I was tucked safely in the back of my blacked out Genesis G90.

My father stood watch at his window until we were out of sight. I could feel his eyes on me always. Ever watchful was La Mano.

Then I felt someone else’s gaze. Glancing up I caught Ricardo studying me in the review mirror. I offered him nothing but a sigh and glanced out of my window, dropping his gaze. “Ready to go to Rome then, Ricky?”

I felt his eyes shift back to the road without an acknowledgment to my question. Not in the mood to carry a one sided conversation, I reached down and fiddled with the giant ring on my finger, itching to rip it off the second I was tucked safely in my room.

“I don’t think Mr. Sanchez is away on business.” My head snapped up and I immediately had a hand, travelling up my silk dress to release the side arm I carried from its holster. “What do you mean? Of course he is. Where else would he be?”

Ricardo wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t made it to this age in the family without being a damn good soldier. But I wasn’t stupid either. My father raised me to be suspicious of everything. This could be an elaborate trap he orchestrated to test my loyalty.

He knew I had my gun pressed to the back of his seat. It didn’t stop him from casually changing lanes and wholly ignoring me. “You know Ms. Castillo, you remind me a lot of your Mother. Wise, elegant, beautiful. In love.”

I frowned. Where was this going? “It’s why she’s…gone.” Ice washed over my body in an instant. “What do you mean? She killed herself when I was young.”

His eyes finally flicked to mine and he seemed to search my gaze in an instant. “Did she?”

Did she? My mind was racing. I never questioned this fact. One day she was there and the next she was gone. Much like Mateo. A ghost. We had a funeral, grieved publicly and talked of her fondly. I just moved on and accepted her absence as something that was felt but nothing I could do anything about.

“I don’t think Isabella Castillo is dead at all, and I certainly don’t think Mateo Sanchez is running errands.”

We turned into the long driveway of my home, lined with trees and cloaked in darkness. My stomach clenched and my world tumbled.

The Hand was known for his cold and calculated moves. I had never imagined his fingers could be pulling so many strings. “What are we going to do it about it?” His question made my train of thought screech to a halt. Deep in my intuition I knew I could trust Ricardo.

I laid a hand on my belly and rested the other, still gripping the gun tightly, on my lap. I felt movement like a butterfly against my hand and I knew. If I was ever going to put this family back together and take over this empire I had to start making moves.

“We’re going to burn his house down around him until there’s nothing but ash beneath his feet.”

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 2–Favors

“I won’t let anything ever happen to you little bird.”

I inhaled and rebuffed every single revolting physical response that washed over me as one of my regulars, Jackson, pressed kisses down my spine.

He was one of the guys that the Palace dolled out favors for. I was his favorite favor. “What would happen to me Jacks?” He hummed against my skin and snaked a hand around my waist from behind to dip his fingers between my thighs.

I sighed softly, knowing that any response was better than none.

We had just came in from our dinner and he had bent me over the bed, pulled up my dress and fucked me right there.

“You don’t know what Dukey boy does do you? Just trust me. Nothing bad will ever happen to you.” His voice wasn’t soothing. His fingers lazily moving around between my wet folds did nothing but cause nausea to roll in my gut. “Thank you baby.”

I practically purred in response, only wanting him to feel some sort of pride in taking what he didn’t ask for and promising to protect me right after. Didn’t he understand anything? He wasn’t protecting shit. He was just as monstrous as Duke and if my suspicions were right, he was the one that supplied Duke these days with a supply to satisfy his particular tastes.

I was determined to be bent over for Jackson as many times as it would take to get something valuable—anything. I wanted to know where this piece of shit was snatching little girls from.

Jackson wrapped a hand around my hair and pulled me up off the bed to press wet sloppy kisses to the column of my neck. “Mmf. Good girl. Now get this flimsy dress off and get in the shower.”

He nudged me towards the bathroom and I happily went. I knew it was only a temporary reprieve from what would be a long night of working for me, but every night I felt one step closer to him trusting me. Even his post-orgasm admittance was progress.

Did I know what Duke did? Yes. He had done it to me. It really baffled me how stupid these men were. How they could use me like a pretty prize without asking and declare all kinds of things but protecting me was really at the top of the “what the fuck” cake.

I made my way into the bathroom and took off my strappy black dress while reaching to turn the water on in the shower. “So what favor are you getting rewarded for tonight Jacks?”

My melodic tone that I honed to perfection as to not give one bit of my curiosity away, echoed around the immaculately tiled bathroom. I stood bare now and ran fingers through my hair to appear absentminded and orgasm dazed—even though I hadn’t cum at all.

As if on a timer, Jackson slid up behind me and wrapped a hand around my throat to pull me against his naked frame. I could feel his hard on pressed against my back as he nipped at my ear and chuckled at my question, forcing me into the walk-in shower for what I knew was round two. “Making his twin dreams come true. Two for two baby bird. I get you all to myself tonight and tomorrow night.”

Twins. I wanted to scream. To rage. To cry. To throw up.

Fuck.

Water soaked us both and my mind whirled through any kind of scenario where I could sneak out two. I barely managed one. A lighthearted giggle from my lips with practiced ease and I reached back to tangle my hands in his long hair, seemingly to pull him closer. “Oh. Two nights with you? I think you should find triplets next.”

His laughter filled the steamy and closed space. It was enough to make me want to double over and puke my dinner up right here on the floor. “That right? Greedy girl. I know you love our nights.”

Delusional imbecile. I didn’t love anything about this.

Jackson wrapped a toned arm around my leg and lifted it up to spread me how he wanted. I made no comment. I only pushed my ass out towards him and arched my back forward. He made some kind of strangled approving sound and guided his dick up into my cunt without one ounce of foreplay, like I was obviously just ready to go for him because how could I not be?

I was happy he couldn’t see my face. I didn’t have to put on a show with my entire body. I could rest my forehead on the cool stone and let him take what he wanted. I’d let him do it over and over again if it meant that I could help someone escape this life of pretend.

I was practically powerless but I could do this. I was determined to do this.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 5

Her Father’s Sins

Two Months Later

I had really done it and I had five minutes. Five minutes to psyche myself up instead of walking out of this recording studio and never looking back. I forced myself to breathe deeply, to count to ten, to open my eyes and look around the space where I would not only tell the world about my Dad's transgressions, but also mine.

The pleasantries passed between Alexis Gray and I easily enough and she didn't give me one second to back out when she turned and dove right into her podcast intro that we had all heard so many times.

"--this is the Gray Area. I'm your host Alexis Gray. Let's get into it."

Alexis was known for her loud opinions and even louder clothing and as she turned towards me I found myself wanting to look anywhere but directly at her. Her jumpsuit looked like it was some kind of paint splatter pattern and the chaos matched the look in her eyes. A wave of nausea rolled over me but I offered her my best practiced smile from years of painting it on in front of a nation.

This was nothing new. She was nothing new. This interview was going to help me. All I had to do was get through it and I could put all of this behind me.

"So Phoebe, tell us about what it was like growing up with the infamous Matthew Hawthorne." Alexis tilted her head with that gleam of mischief in her eyes pointed directly at me. I averted my gaze, took a deep breath and forced myself to remain calm.

"Right into the deep end, huh?" A fake chuckle punctuated my question. "Growing up in the Hawthorne house was much like any other celebrity child experience I think. We all go through our fair amount of shit with the media you know? There was always pressure to appear a certain way to make sure perceptions were consistent in public at events and during leisure time. The insane work hours, lifestyle and events. I think the only thing that might have been different for me was the girls..."

"When you say girls..." I chewed on the inside of my lip and internally battled the wave of anxiety threatening to capsize me. Perceptions. I pushed my shoulders back a little and exhaled. "I mean girls in their teens and early twenties. At the start of their careers. I never really knew their ages until I was an adult and could put a timeline together on my own."

"So I talk to a lot of Hollywood elites, as you know, and what I've come to observe is that most of them just want to come on my show and cover their asses by outing someone else. That's not what's happening here is it? I mean you were in your teenage years yourself when this started, correct?" Her accusation hit me in the chest, even though I expected some stupid bullshit from this loud-mouthed and opinionated host, I never expected her to undermine me before I even got to tell the entire story.

I kept a serene smile on my face, graciously some may call it in the future, and completely ignored her. "As you know, Alexis, I was on the sets with Matthew on his hit TV series as the niece of his character. I can't say that is when his behavior started since I wasn't around him at work before that time. I was only exposed when I joined him on set but I still didn't understand it.

Not until I was older and even then it was hard for me to come to terms with the fact that he was abusing his position of power and sexually abusing women."

Her eyes had stayed the same since we had started this interview. I could only notice the subtle changes in her features and body language. A slight smile was on her lips and her head was tilted in my direction like she was waiting on me to trip up. Everything had me on edge and I was suddenly wishing that I had taken up my friend's offers to tag along for moral support. I had been too worried that it would look like I was scared or had something to hide.

"And so you came to this grand conclusion just now? At twenty-five? Yikes. Gray area!" She loudly announced this like she had won some prize for discovering something that I'm sure most of the country had suspected now that my father was on trial for raping the most recent starlet that had come forward, Elaine Wentworth.

My blood was heating. I knew Alexis Gray would piss me off. I just hadn't expected that I'd want to throw my spikey heel at her face within the first twenty minutes. I was still working through all of this with my therapist and my friends but I knew that this situation wasn't my fault. As soon as my brain made the logical conclusion my self-destruction creeped in and whispered into my subconscious, 'you could've told someone sooner though'. Wrapped up in my inner dialogue I hadn't noticed Alexis turn back towards the camera she used for her intros until she spoke again, her tone high pitched and grating.

"We have a surprise guest today!" Pause for effect.

"Elaine Wentworth, welcome to the pod!"

You've got to be forever kidding me. I felt like a deer in headlights as the vaguely familiar woman sauntered onto the set and settled on a seat next to mine. I was going to be sick. "So Elaine, you remember seeing Phoebe around set when her father started grooming you, correct?" Allegedly. I wanted to scream the word at this dumb host. This entire case was still in court right now. Nobody in the media could be caught throwing definitive statements around like they were proven fact. I knew my Dad's team was going to have field day with this girl. Out of the edge of my line of sight I saw Elaine nod and my heart wrenched. Not for her necessarily but for the woman who couldn't sit in this seat next to me. Holly.

Holly had committed suicide. I defintiely blamed myself for Holly and it weighed heavy on me. She had been my close friend on set for years and I never could make sense of her disappearance until she had tried to come forward years ago and nobody believed her. Then she was just gone and I had never reached out or tried to hear her side of the story. "She was there. Flirting with the crew and acting oblivious to what she knew was happening in that trailer between takes and after hours."

The bitterness in Elaine's tone was enought to ice this entire room. It almost made me flinch but I refused to let my guilt over Holly tear me down to groveling on this podcast like Alexis was itching to make me do.

"Allegedly happening...Very bold of you to claim that I had knowledge of something that wasn't apparent to anyone until you came forward recently." My voice didn't sound like it belonged to me. I was quiet and subdued, almost beaten down by the weight of the knowledge that this podcast wasn't going to obsolve me or fix any of the shit I had been dealing with. This was a very very bad idea.

"Allegedly? Rich, Hawthorne!" Alexis barked a laugh at me and I saw Elaine straighten in triumph. So this is what she wanted this podcast to be about?

Okay.

I lifted my gaze to Alexis with a blank expression on my face before letting it shift to Elaine. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what my Father was doing to you. Even if I did, I was a kid still in many ways. I couldn't really have done anything. Taking your anger out on me for what he did will not fix the situation. Your bitterness is misdirected." My throat was burning and my head was spinning but I held the woman's shocked gaze as it collided with mine.

"If you want to win where it counts I suggest we both get up and leave right now.” Elaine's eyes narrowed into little angry slits at me before she turned her attention back to Alexis. "She knew." Alexis laughed again and shook her head.

"Oh I know she did and you're not going to obsolve your guilt here on this show. A woman is dead because you didn't take action when you could Phoebe."

"Ms. Hawthorne." I cut Alexis off before she could continue. My legs were aching to cross this room and walk out of this disaster area of an interview but I forced myself to sit still.

"I never said you could call me Phoebe." Her mouth opened and then shut and opened again but I plunged ahead before she could interject. "I'm not here to obsolve my guilt. I imagine I'll live with my guilt for the rest of my life. I will not speak about Holly. I will not speak about this alleged crime against Ms. Wentworth. All I know is what little suspicious and odd behavior that I observed. I came on this shit show to admit that I could have spoken up earlier about what I had seen but to also remind everyone that has been berating me in the media lately that I was a child and Matthew Hawthorne was my Dad. None of you believed this of him either until it was irrefutable. He was the golden boy of Hollywood, untouchable and as bright as the sun until he wasn't. None of you can speculate or even imagine what it was like to live in his shadow."

My chest was squeezing, my voice was raised and I was shoving the ridiculous bedazzeled mic out of my face so I could stand up. "I'll expect my check in the mail for making your numbers skyrocket Ms. Gray. Nobody listens to this show to hear you cackle and recite your one liners like a fucking parrot anyway.”

I tilted my head at her smiled sweetly before I turned and walked out the same way I came in. Neither one of them said a word as I slammed the door behind me.

Maybe the girl with the golden laugh was finally finding her voice.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 4

The next thing I remember is my head feeling like it weighed a million pounds and a rawness in my throat that I could barely swallow around. I cracked one eye open and groaned, something like a gravelly broken sound coming from the back of my throat.

“Pheebs?” Amara’s voice registered in my mind and it all came rushing back with a force that had me squeezing my eyes shut again to avoid tears that were burning the back of my eyelids. I felt her hands on my arms shaking me gently as silent streams of tears rolled over my cheeks and down my neck. “I—I’m sorry.” I couldn’t manage anything more than that, but it was okay. It was all we needed.

She crushed me beneath a hug that healed a cracked piece of me and I huffed around a sob as my hands weakly patted her back, my face buried in her sweet smelling strands. “I’m so glad you’re okay. If I hadn’t come back—”.

Emotion halted her words and I felt guilt creep in to weigh on my chest. Before I could dwell on it for long she pulled back and plopped a kiss on my forehead and crawled in beside me. That was Amara. Loving fiercely but never one to dwell on the deeper end of emotions. They were too hard for us both to process, especially out loud.

“Water.” I licked at what felt like mutilated flesh around my mouth and opened my eyes again to take in my surroundings. A bare but clean room with a window that told me it was nighttime. No sign of anyone else here but Amara and I was quietly relieved. I couldn’t deal with anything else and I definitely didn’t want to face anyone but her.

She grabbed the water glass paired with a straw and lifted it up for me to sip on until I had almost drained the whole glass. My throat felt a little bit better but my lips were still dry as hell. “Better. Thanks. Chapstick?”

Chuckling at my one-word requests she bounced off the bed and went to retrieve her little Gucci bag before returning with something that smelled like berries to rub all over my lips. “How bad was it?”

I pressed my moisturized lips together and tried to brace myself. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy to hear but I wanted to know. I had to.

She sighed deeply while applying some of the same chapstick to her lips and avoiding my gaze. “I’m not going to lie. It was bad.” I repressed the urge to apologize again. Another apology wouldn’t help with the consequences of my self-depreciating spiral.

“I—I don’t want to re-live it yet, Pheebs. They had to pump your stomach and…CPR.” I closed my eyes at that admission and swallowed. That explained my throat pain.

Silence stretched between us as I imagined how horrible it was for her to be my sole companion through this entire thing. I knew my parents wouldn’t be any comfort and I’m glad they weren’t here hovering or petting me. “You can’t do this every time the gossip outlets publish some stupid shit like this about you babe.”

I inhaled deeply and exhaled again. “I know. I just don’t know how to stop the spiraling.” I needed closure. I needed absolution. I didn’t know how the fuck to get either one of those things.

Amara climbed back into bed with me and drew the thin rough sheets up around us. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it.” I scoffed softly but the sound turned to a cough from my raw throat. She silently offered the rest of my water and pushed the call button on the remote that I hadn’t noticed was sitting in my lap.

“I don’t mean a shrink…god knows we have tried that shit.”

The nurse appeared and Amara held up the empty cup in a silent request with a smile. She seemed to be aware that we were having a heavy conversation and didn’t stick around to fuss over me yet.

“I mean pick one of this huge news outlets that try to reach out to you about scheduling an interview about what your Dad did. Just do it once and let them replay it for the masses and pick it apart if they want.” She set a hand on my head and tucked my face in the crook of her shoulder as her fingers traced down my tangled blonde hair.

“Who gives a fuck if they believe you or not? Get your side out there and tell the world who your Dad really is. Get it off your chest. Apologize on screen if you feel like you need to. Just do it so you can stop this self-blaming shit. Your Dad’s actions don’t deserve this much attention from you anymore.” She was waving her free hand around animatedly and I knew she wasn’t mad at me—but mad for me.

The nurse came back with a full cup of cold water in one hand and a clipboard in the other. She didn’t speak or interrupt as she checked vitals and took notes.

I licked my lower lip and nodded to myself. “Maybe I will.” I spoke quietly and thought about what Amara had said. Would it heal all my wounds and fix all my problems? No. But it could really help. And if I knew anything about this world I knew that nobody was going to save me. I had to do it for myself or next time I wouldn’t be waking up at all

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 1

“Ghost”

Diana lay perfectly still in the middle of the cold vast bed she once shared with her husband, Mateo Sanchez. His warmth was notably missing and she was all too aware that she was being watched, even now, at one-thirty in the morning she could feel eyes on her back. Her Father still thought she didn’t have a clue how he kept such close tabs on her.

One of the many things he underestimated about her. About both of them. Mateo had found them and alerted her to their presence. She had mixed feelings about the damned things. On one hand, she hated them and wanted to rage against her father for invading her privacy. She knew he would hastily explain it was only for his heirs protection and nothing more. On the other hand, she begrudgingly loved them now. It had forced her and Mateo to play their roles at all times, until, it wasn’t playing anymore.

Diana’s chest ached and she subtly shifted to clamp a hand over her mouth as a sob rose in the back of her throat. Mateo was missing. It had been two weeks since anyone claimed to have seen him. Two weeks since she had realized that she loved the stubborn man. Two weeks of acting like everything was okay because Victor Castillo said it was.

“Mateo isn’t missing, mi princesa.” She had stood before him, eyes barely showing any signs of the amount of crying she had done—seemingly unruffled with an entire storm of raging emotions tossing about inside of her and threatening to take her down with them.

“But Papá—”He had cut her off with a passive flick of his wrist that set her jaw to clenching. “No but’s! He is performing his duty to this family and you should trust my word. Do not question me again on this, Diana.”

She turned her face and buried them in the sheets that still smelled like Matty as the memory flitted from her and left her feeling powerless. Would Mateo have pressed her father more if she had gone missing? Probably so. Was she aching to find him? Absolutely. But she knew she couldn’t. It would risk everything they had so meticulously planned for all of these years and the end goal was greater than what her emotions were dictating right now.

Pushing her body from the cold and empty bed, she casually made her way to their walk-in closet and shut the door behind her. She would risk her actions raising an eyebrow or two of whoever was watching the cameras in her house.

Making her way over to Mateo’s side, she reached for his favorite sweater and pulled it from the hanger. Lifting it over her head she carefully pulled it down around her body until it pooled around her mid thighs. She took a shaky breath as his scent engulfed her once again before she walked to the middle of their massive closet.

Memories of all the secret touches, laughter, tears, bantering and plans they had shared in this space threatened to pull her down into a heap of tears in the carpet that felt like it held pieces of her soul. But she pushed the emotion down into a neat box that she would let herself open later. Later. She would weep for him later. After she had gotten revenge.

She reached for the space where their clothes met and pushed them apart to reveal their plans right there on the wall hidden by the facades they put on every day. Her flashy wedding ring snagged on a silk dress that Mateo had bought for her when they went to Italy for the first time together. Her eyes drifted from the plans to the dress and she felt a burn in her chest that she was becoming all too familiar with.

Why had they never confessed that the bullshit front they put up for her Father wasn’t bullshit at all? Angry tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them away before turning her eyes back to the plans in front of her. She was going back to Italy. She was going to meet with the contacts they had made there together and she was going to overthrow her Father so quickly and completely he would never see it coming. Just like the knife she would drive through his throat for what he had done to Mateo.

She didn’t know if he was alive or dead. All she knew was that her father was the culprit and she wouldn’t rest until he was choking on his own blood at her feet. Victor Castillo’s kingdom would be hers.

The ache in her chest eased slightly and she let the clothes fall back to hide her plans before turning around and easing the gaudy ring off of her finger. She would indulge herself in one thing and one thing only.

Reaching for an ornate wooden box in one of her drawers she opened the lid and slipped the ring inside. Her fingers quickly but reverently found what she was looking for. A small ring that Mateo had bought for her not too long ago and slipped on her finger in this very space.

Her own giggles echoed in her ears as Mateo nuzzled her bare neck and ran his hands down her curves in silent appreciation. “Stop it! You’ll get us caught.”

“You worry too much Diana Castillo.” He mumbled against her skin as if he was a man drunk and she found herself sinking back into him like a woman who had no self control. Maybe she didn’t for him, but only here.

“I got you something.” She hummed with slight curiosity, too preoccupied with what his mouth was doing and how relaxed she was after the passionate exchange they had just had here on the floor of their closet. “What?”

He disentangled from her and stood up to cross the space and snatch a small box from a drawer she barely looked at. Her eyes were roving over his bare form in a way she hardly ever let herself stop and do. He turned and caught her mid ogling. His brow quirked up and he smirked knowingly at her. “Keep looking at me like that and we might have to extend our stay in ‘Armario Castillo’.”

She flashed him a smile she rarely showed anyone before rolling on her back and parting her legs for him—putting herself on full vulnerable display while her fingers played over her skin and her eyes stayed locked on his.

He let something like a strangled moan echo past his lips and crossed their closet in one stride, lowering himself between her legs and nestling himself right there. She bit at her lip and eyed the box he was holding up in her line of sight. “Open it and then I’m going to have my way with you for a bit longer, Mrs. Sanchez.”

His words, not his body, made her heart race. When they married they had agreed to let Diana keep her maiden name since one day she would take on the role as head of the Castillo family. Just being Mrs. Sanchez was a fantasy in her mind. A fantasy she rarely let herself indulge in.

“Mat—” He flicked the top open to reveal a small diamond shaped elegant ring that he knew was much more to her tastes than the extravagant one she wore for show. Her heart went from racing to stopping altogether. Honey colored eyes searched his and dropped again to admire what he had bought for her.

“For Mrs. Sanchez. When you need to just be her, mi amor.”

Emotion swelled in Diana’s throat as she looked down at the ring on her fourth finger in the dim light streaming through the window. She just needed to be Mrs. Sanchez for a few hours.

To the people who watched her on the cameras it simply looked like she missed her husband as she shut the door tight on her special secret place—and she did.

Nobody could know she planned for anarchy. She crawled back into bed with Mateo’s sweater still on and curled into her own body heat—still missing his. Her hand bearing his gift, travelled under the hem of his sweater to rest on her stomach protectively.

Nobody could know she planned to build a legacy too.

[brattybaddiee]

Carli—Chapter 1

Earliest memories are strange.

Some people recall their childhood with vivid clarity, while others remember only fragmented details. For me, it’s all hazy. I knew I was different, though. My earliest memories are all filled with my Mother. She was soft, kind and warm. We lived in a grand house that she always insisted was a great gift from my Father to us because he wanted only the best for us and I believed her for a long, long time.

I never understood why she stayed with him. He kept us locked in that great house, treating us like dolls—only visiting when he had the spare time, even less so after I was born so she had said once, bitterly. I always wondered if she secretly hated me for that. Even now, it’s hard to admit, but she foolishly loved him. She hid her pregnancy until it was too late, gambling that he had a paternal bone in his body and ultimately being disappointed when she discovered he didn’t.

Nothing could save us then. She lived for his love. I lived for hers. When his love disappeared, so did she. Her health deteriorated. She stopped eating and leaving her bed. She gave up altogether seemingly unable to find another reason to live.

There’s one memory that is clear. After that everything is blurred for me.

I was sitting in my mother’s room in our ornate, empty house, holding her cold limp hand in my lap as I cried silent tears and promised myself to never love as she had loved. My head was bent, and my body was weak from hunger and exhaustion. I barely heard my uncle storm through the house until he burst through the bedroom door, paused for a second and then came to stand right in front of me. “Get up girl. She’s dead and you can’t sit here forever.”

I wanted to protest his callousness, but the words never came. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet before I could speak.

“Your mom told me to look after you, so here I am, doing my familial duty.” He snorted as if there were a hidden joke, the stench of alcohol on him nearly making me gag. I blinked away fresh tears as I gripped the necklace my mother had pressed into my hand during her last breaths. “Take this to-to fifth—” she had started to say, but never finished. Now, here I was, being dragged from the only home I had ever known by a man I barely recognized, usually only catching glimpses of him in a drunken rage in our living room after my Mom had shooed me away to go occupy myself while she visited with her brother.

“It’s your turn to earn Uncle Kevin some money now that your mom’s income’s all used up.”

He didn’t even glance at her body as he dragged me across the threshold and into the cold streets behind him. He was already halfway to drunk, I realized, as he muttered angrily about ‘Molly’ this and ‘Molly’ that—blaming her for dying, like her death had ruined his life.

“A-are you just going to leave her in there?” I was seven, and nothing about this made sense to me. He laughed, a cruel sound in the face of my stuttering question. “For now. Not like she’s goin’ anywhere, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

I sniffed loudly, dragging my arm across my nose and ruining my last pretty dress that I had worn just for her today. “Wh-where are you taking me?”

He muttered to himself, not seeming to hear me until minutes had passed. Even then, he looked back at me with exasperation. “To make some money. Don’t you listen?”

“Money? But Mom—”

“Enough already about Molly! She’s ruined enough for me already. Just shut up!”

New tears started to fall as his cruelty hit me like a fist to the chest. I begin to cry loudly, my body wracked with grief and anxiety, emotions too big for someone so small. I wasn’t equipped for this. My resistance only annoyed him. He stopped, scooped me up, and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me through the dark streets of Manhattan.

I wonder now how a grown man carrying a wailing child over his shoulder didn’t attract more attention. “Damnit, kid! Will you stuff it? You’re givin’ me a headache.”

I eventually grew quiet—not because I had processed my emotions, but because my exhaustion had finally overtook me. I could no longer keep my head up, flopping against his grimy, smelly back. Time and direction blurred, or maybe my memory just discarded the irrelevant details, until he sat me down on pristine white marble floors and pushed me to stand in front of him. His hands dug into my shoulders, forcing me to sag beneath their weight. “Look at me, girl.”

The voice that cut through the fog of my confusion was the one that would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I raised my head obediently, meeting the gaze of the most terrifyingly beautiful man I had ever seen. For a moment, I wondered if my uncle had brought me to my father’s house. I had never seen him face-to-face before. Mother always made sure I was occupied and out of his way. I had caught a glimpse of the back of him before though, once. This grand entryway seemed to match the way I imagined his house might look like. It made our little dollhouse feel like a shack in comparison.

“Mmm. She’s filthy, but you’re right. She’s a pretty little thing.” My uncle shifted behind me, and I recoiled at the way the stranger phrased his words. Definitely not my father.

“I’m glad she pleases you.” Uncle Kevin gathered my tangled hair in his disgusting hands before grabbing my jaw, and forcing me to turn my head to the side. “Looks just like Molly, doesn’t she?”

The strangers gaze seemed to darken somehow but he said nothing, his eyes fixed on me as if I were a commodity to be appraised. His presence made my skin crawl even more so than the greasy feeling of my uncle’s hand on my face.

“We have a deal, Kevin. I don’t want to see you here ever again. Next time you owe me money I won’t ask. I’ll take.” He waved his hand dismissively towards the door. “And I doubt you have an endless supply of nieces.”

Uncle Kevin seemed thrilled by the words, a grin in the tone of his voice as he spoke. “Thanks, Duke. Promise you won’t have to see me again.”

I looked up to find that Duke wasn’t looking at my uncle. His eyes were locked on me, and I felt trapped; small under his gaze. Before I could form any thoughts of escape, Duke lifted his hand and snapped once. A beautiful woman appeared from behind Duke, walking toward me. I was ready to run, but she smiled and took over the situation in seconds.

“You. What’s her name?” she asked my uncle without even looking at him, lowering herself to my level with a sickeningly sweet smile on her ruby-red lips.

“Uh—um.” My uncle stammered, as though he had to search for my name, as though it wasn’t important enough to remember. He hadn’t even said my name the entire night. “Carli,” I whispered hoarsely through a hiccup, abandoning my uncle to Duke’s glare and clear silent demand for him to leave immediately.

“You can go now. Head to the casino. They’re expecting you.” Duke said, dismissing my uncle like his purpose had been served and now he was useless.

Not that he was ever really useful at all.

My stomach growled loudly, but I slipped my small, dirty looking hand into the woman’s delicate and pristine one.

“Come. We’ll get you cleaned up and fed,” she said with a gentle smile. “Then I’ll show you to your room, and you can rest.”

My body ached with fatigue, and the idea of being taken care of, of being fed, sounded like heaven.

As we climbed the stairs, I could feel Duke’s gaze follow us. I was too tired to process how it made me feel anymore. I didn’t understand any of this—how my uncle had essentially sold me, how Duke would want me to pay off said debt—but I knew this was my life now.

I didn’t know what my purpose in this expansive mansion was until a week later when I was resting and gaining back weight that I had lost. Duchess, the pretty lady, laid out fine clothes for me like my Momma used to do and I had happily changed into them while she announced excitedly that Duke wanted to spend time with me tonight and I had to look my best.

He came. Spoke in soothing low tones. Served me a sweet drink that had my limbs feeling like jelly and then he was offering to tuck me into bed. I could hardly even agree as he picked me up, his strong cologne filling my senses and pulling me from my haze briefly before he laid me down and his hands were gently smoothing over my body.

I knew he spread my legs and did things to me. Did things I had no ability to protest for the heaviness in my body. All I can remember now is the smell of his cologne and the horrific way his escalated breathing made me feel. But memories are funny like that.

Eventually I outgrew Dukes specific tastes. I welcomed and feared that change. This was all I had ever known. I didn’t know how to survive on my own without Duke, Duchess or the luscious lifestyle I enjoyed between the hazy memories.

Somewhere along the way I started to hate myself for the things I endured and the things I let happen to others. But I was a bird in a cage. I couldn’t leave the Palace. Nobody ever did and lived to tell the tale. I heard the whispers. More than anything, I hated my mother for leaving me in a world without her simply because love had abandoned her from the only place she had ever searched for it.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter Three

A rythmic thumping directly above my head told me Amara and her flavor of the night were awake and fully taking advantage of the morning. I groaned and rubbed at my sleepy eyes furiously before opening them and squinting at my surroundings. Last night was fuzzy at best.

We had spent all afternoon picking out outfits, fixing each other's hair, and pre-gaming for a coastal bar hop night with a group of Amara's friends. I didn't remember them all but a few were familiar to me, not enough to make any stand out in my recollection. Pushing the thick comforter off my body, I forced myself out of bed and groaned again at what moving was doing to my head. As soon as my feet hit the floor and were holding up my full weight the thumping against the wall became the thumping inside my head. “How the hell does she wake up ready to go with a hangover?”

I was amused despite my grumbling. I was thankful for that crazy girl. She took me in when I left home almost six months ago and we had been roommates ever since. It seemed to work well for us. Probably because we were exact opposites.

I stood in front of my adjoining bathroom mirror and peeked one eye open to stare at my messy reflection. Yikes. My blonde strands were standing up in every different direction and I was still wearing last night's oversized graphic tee. My make-up was still on and streaked in such a weird way I wondered what I had missed in my inebriated state. Clearly wild Pheebs had made an appearance last night. Maybe I'd see videos later.

I chuckled and winced at that thought before stripping off what little clothing I still had on and padding over to the shower to turn it on full blast. I conjured up a tune in my head and started humming as I stepped inside to rinse off last night's sins. I was determined to drown out the moaning now coming from under my roomies door. Even though my memory was cloudy I was sure I hadn't gotten more than a good grope last night. A shame.

I had just dried off and twisted my hair up in a towel when Amara started banging on the bathroom door. "Pheebs...have you looked at your phone yet this morning?" Frowning I wrapped a dry towel around my body and unlocked the door to a wide eyed, but clearly post orgasm Amara. "No...why?" My heart started pounding in my throat and I scooted around her to speed walk to my bedroom where my phone was charging. I yanked it off the charger and was horrified to see my notifications and mentions were at an all time high on Twitter. I even had a text from Mom.

I closed my eyes and looked over to Amara where she now sat on the edge of my bed looking every bit the concerned friend. "What did I do last night?"

The question made her smile. I knew she was amused by a memory despite my current panicked state. It was our natural trauma response around here. Laugh at the stupid things we did that got noticed and blasted on social media. If we didn’t laugh we would probably cry. She had a bit of decency though and bit her lip before lifting her shoulder in a shrug as if to make it less than what it was. “Oh you know. The normal things when you get tipsy. Yell about the injustice of the Hollywood elites, berate any man who dares to look at you sideways, oh and you danced on more than a few tables.”

My eyebrows bunched in confusion. "That's it? Come on. Just rip the bandaid off so I know before I look at these tweets." I was pleading with her. "Well, you may have given someone a black eye." She winces at that and I groan before lowering myself down on the messy sheets beside her. I flick open my socials and ignore all the tagged comments. I want the source. I scroll back until I find it and my eyes grow wide at the sight of the headline, 'Columbia Pictures Executive Walks Away With Black Eye From Phoebe Hawthorne'. "Shit." The comments were worse. Some claimed I was unhinged and losing it' since my Dad cut me off. Others were praising my bravery. I winced at those. If I was brave I would've said something years before my Dad got caught.

I looked over at Amara and she was staring at me, waiting for me to fall apart or rage. I opened my mouth to speak but instead I clicked on my messages and opened the text from my Mom. ‘I know you're only doing this for attention Phoebe. You weren't "enraged" at anyone's silence when you were benefitting from your Dad's success. Do us a favor and keep your mouth closed and your hands to yourself. You're only making yourself look more pathetic.’

Her words stung but they were true. I hadn't done anything when I found out. I didn't really know why either. Of course it was easy to blame it on being young, on a sense of self-preservation, or fear. In reality nothing excused it. Ignoring the text I turned my phone on do not disturb and locked it. "I think I'm going to stay in today. Take whoever is in your room and go have a good time." She gave me an odd look, clearly not expecting this calm reaction. "I--okay. Do you want to talk about it? I can stay home."

I swallowed the guilt and self-loathing burning up my throat and laid down, still wrapped up in my towel as I tucked my legs back under the covers and shook my head lightly. I fought to hold back tears that pooled like acid in my eyes. "No no. I don't want to ruin your plans. I'll be okay. I just need to be alone for a while." She was still staring at me even as she pushed off the bed and leaned over to squeeze my arm affectionately. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be home late."

"Okay." My reply felt small but it was all I could manage as she walked quietly out of my room and shut the door. I vaguely heard her and the man I hadn't caught a glimpse of, fumbling around to get dressed with flirtatious laughter floating under the door to tease me even more. I envied her. She had it just as bad as I did but it never seemed to phase her. Amara could keep moving on despite anything flung her way. Me on the other hand? I felt miserable and couldn’t even brave outing wrongs that I knew about or deal with the consequences of not taking action. Grabbing the towel I had wrapped around me, I yanked it off and chunked it across the room as our front door slammed shut with another giggle in its wake.

Pulling up the heavy comforter back to my neck, I burrowed deeper and reached for my phone like a glutton for punishment. I was surprised to find another text from my Mom. ‘Really we would all be better off if you just weren't around anymore." Like I knee jerk reaction I locked my phone again and slammed it back on top of the side table. The logical part of my brain knew it wasn't true but the one drowning in the pit of my worst thoughts about myself wondered if she was right.

As I dozed in my bed I sunk deeper and deeper into those dark thoughts until I was thinking of painless and oblivious ways to rid the world of me. A girl who hadn't done much in life for herself or for others. I wasn't an ally. I wasn't anything. I was only the daughter of a disgusting elite Hollywood couple who had no business reproducing in the first place. I'd just be fixing their mistake, right? At some point I had ended up in the bathroom and staring down at a handfull of various pills I had managed to find. They were all different colors and I had no idea what any of them were but surely that would be enough to do the trick, right?

My logic was screaming at me but my guilt screamed louder. Thoughts disappeared altogether and I found myself tipping my head back and tossing all of the pills to the back of my throat to swallow with tap water. Puffy nosed and red-eyed I stumbled into the kitchen and reached for a half empty bottle of booze. My brain couldn't register what kind it was and I didn't care. As long as it burned. Tipping my head back again I chased those pills with as much alchol as I could stand before I was struggling to swallow. Coughing and swiping at my eyes I tried walking to the living room but only made it as far as the edge of the rug before my world started spinning and I was falling.

I don't know where I ended up laying. I just knew I was naked on the floor somewhere in the house. A faint thought of Amara finding me like this made another wave of pain roll through me but it quickly disappeared from my mind. She would be okay. She was always okay.

As my eyes closed and the world around me grew dim I found myself smiling. I was finally fixing something that was wrong in this world. I finally did something.

[brattybaddiee]

Diana’s Backstory

Diana Castillo grew up in the shadow of her father, Victor “La mano” Castillo, a notorious Spanish American crime boss whose iron grip on New York City was as much feared as it was respected. From an early age, she learned the rules of their world: loyalty is currency and power is best wielded by those who know how to conceal a knife behind a smile.

With her glossy black hair and deceivingly warm brown eyes inherited from her mother—a once-celebrated actress—Diana captivated everyone around her, but it was more than beauty that kept them close; it was ambition. While other young women were dreaming of fairy tales, Diana immersed herself in the treacherous underworld of organized crime, solidifying skills that would one day make or break empires.

As she matured into adulthood, Diana's ambitions took root alongside an unexpected attraction: Mateo Sanchez–the boy she had just remembered

appearing in their lives and becoming a fixture in their home. Their relationship began with unspoken curiosity during their brief encounters around the house and evolved into passionate secret rendezvous fuelled by a mutual desire for power and revenge. They shared dreams laced with mischief and bloodshed; both yearned for freedom from Victor’s oppressive reign over their lives—which had become suffocating—and craved control over their own destinies within this seedy web they loved to hate and hated to love.

United by secrets darker than even their most intricate schemes against “The Hand” of the Castillo family, they laid meticulous plans to orchestrate what could only be described as a revolution within the family business—a coup led not just out of love but sheer necessity.

A love that neither one would admit to.

They had married to solidify her father’s control over them, to affirm it. To everyone they were just well oiled cogs in the machine, doing exactly what they were expected to do. In reality they were meeting in closet spaces and making it a war room on the walls behind designer threads. A room where they often let themselves stop resisting the tug towards each other that neither could pretend to ignore all the time. Clothes would end up in heaps on the floor, plans put off for later, and whispered intimacy was shared against skin as they drove away every stress and weight with nights full to the brim with pleasure.

She secretly lived for those nights. They frequently found that putting on a show of passion for the spies that infiltrated their home, wasn’t so difficult anymore. Not that either of them would admit that either.

The Hand had to know that his legacy was secure. They sold the lie so brilliantly that even they believed it and at times it left them questioning if they trusted each other enough to play their parts until the end. She found herself wondering sometimes in her rare quiet time alone, could she lead without him? How could she ask him to stay in a world he hated? Did she even dare?

While she wrestled with her heart and in her instincts in her well-laid plans the time was quickly coming where everything will collide into something unforeseen- because no legacy lasts forever without being rewritten; after all... destiny favors those willing enough to latch onto it despite impending darkness and uncertainty in the future ahead of them.

[brattybaddiee]

Phoebe Chapter 2

Nothing had made that night easier.

Not my rash decision or the reaction of the press. Not the approval of the most popular guy in my high school. Not the drugs in my system.

And definitely not my parents initial indifference to paparazzi chasing me home.

Dad was just as he always was. It didn’t directly affect him at the time so he didn’t care. I doubted he would’ve noticed my bed being empty the next day if he hadn’t busted into my room and yanked me out of bed at noon.

“What the HELL did you do last night Phoebe?!” I was dragged down the stairs of our massive home and thrown onto the couch with the full fury of my Dad’s anger raining down on me the whole time.

Not only was my Mom here, having the audacity to look pissed like she hadn’t spent the whole of my graduation night with her little gold digging boyfriend, but the entirety of Dad’s ‘crisis team’ was here too.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at my blurred out tits on the television as newscasters berated my parents—especially the blacklisted Matthew Hawthorne for letting his daughter break speed limits and engage in nudity at such a ‘tender age’.

“This is what you dragged me out of bed for? You really think my tits are doing any more damage to your image than what you’ve done yourself? That’s fucking hilarious Matt.”

My response seemed to only make his face more red with anger than it already was. One of his aides hid their laughter behind their hand but I knew everyone was thinking the same thing…except my parents. They would see this as another strike against their planned “comeback”.

No coming back from on set sexual harassment claims straight from the young aides that came in and out of Dad’s trailer, Star struck from his talent and looks—until they weren’t.

Mom just wanted someone to support her side projects. Men. Plastic surgery. Shopping. It’s how she coped I suppose.

“You know how hard it’s been to claw my way back into the good graces of the elite here?! This is my JOB, Phoebe. And if I may remind you, one you enjoy the benefits of. So I would appreciate it if you started behaving like you’re grateful instead of the annoying little prick you are.”

The aide that had been laughing winced at that. Yeah, me too. Wouldn’t let him see that though. Never would let anyone see how their words hurt me.

“You know what Pop’s? You put yourself on that black list by fucking girls from a position of power like they had any choice but to let you. Quit acting like you’re innocent. You knew what you were doing.”

My Mom stalked forward, her fake boobs bouncing as rage for “her husband” filled her face. We all knew she was acting. Her only rage was her cash cow turning into a filthy pig instead. Before I could react she lifted her hand and back handed me across the face.

Everyone but my Dad gasped.

I winced. “How dare you speak to your father like that! He’s done nothing wrong and I can’t believe you would say otherwise!!”

Rage boiled up my chest and burned across the stinging slap to my face that I knew would bruise from the rocks on her hand. Paid for by Dad’s ‘talent’. Raising my hands I grabbed her fake boobs and pushed her out of my face.

“Don’t you dare touch me you WHORE!! You were too busy getting fucked by someone five years older than me to bother showing up at my graduation last night!!!!” She stumbled back dramatically and clutched at her chest like I had shot her. The dumb shallow piece of shit couldn’t even respond. How had I come from such self-centered people?

Standing up I flipped both my parents off and laughed. “You know what? Fuck you both all the way up the ass. I’m done. You’ll be lucky if you EVER see me again.”

And with that, I turned on my heel and started walking up the stairs as they both started clamoring for me to stop. I ignored them. The last thing I said I threw over my shoulder with a satisfied smirk full of bitterness.

“If any reporter asks for my side of the story Dad, I’ll be sure to tell them every little detail. Have fun coming back from that.”

Leaving them with mouths open and rage in their expressions, I packed my bags, and left. I didn’t care about anything anymore—especially them.

I’d blow my whole entire life up if it meant I could feel anything real.

[brattybaddiee]

You look down on where you came from sometimes

But you’ll have this place to call home, (in my heart) always

To my friend. To my soul sister.

I’ll always miss you Jaymie.

_________________________________________________

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of your breathing vest beating your chest filled the camp dorm room.

It was just me and you in an empty dorm in the middle of a hot day in June.

Summer camp was the best growing up. The one week in the year where me and our favorite friends just got to have fun and hang out with seemingly endless time.

For you and I the only interruption to our day of fun was this. A constant reminder that just being here could land you in the hospital.

I watched from my bunk bed as you sat there and coughed while the contraption beat all the junk in your lungs back up for you to cough out. It was a miserable process. One you often tried to convince me that you didn’t need to do some days. But even when you had to. We often sat there laughing and talking about which boys we liked.

Camp would end and you would go back home and more often than not the week of fun would end in a month long stay at the hospital. I visited and sat by to hold your hand as my petite little bubbly friend suffered. You hated the hospital but you never let the staff know because you didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Only ever did you admit it when they were gone and it was just us.

Our whole childhood was like this. Then we became adults together and things only got worse.

They said you wouldn’t make it to twenty-five. I watched as you beat those odds. I also watched people drift in and out of your life. Friends. Guys. Family. By the time we were twenty-six you had been engaged twice. Left twice. Because who wanted to marry a dying girl?

I will always hate them for that.

Who could not love the girl who found my lap at every event and plopped down in it to giggle and talk about life? To silently judge everyone, to laugh about the latest gossip and to share about how life was going. You genuinely listened, cared, and loved.

Then the best news. After cystic fibrosis had ruled over your life from the moment you were born, you were finally getting NEW lungs!!!

New lungs meant no more dying girl stigmas. It meant getting to go on girl trips without the fear of the hospital at the end of it. It meant getting married together. Having kids and raising them together. Experiencing more of life…together.

I was overjoyed for you. Your new lungs were awesome. Perfect in fact. You were finally living life at the speed you wanted to.

We planned a girls trip with all of the joy of being able to fully enjoy it together that October in 2022. A few weeks passed and I decided to check in but never heard back. Finally my phone dinged one day. “Rain check on the girls trip? I’m in the hospital.”

The dreaded sterile place. The place that smelled like crap and bad food. We hated that place. Then the words came that forever will haunt me “rejection”. “My body is rejecting my new lungs.” The news didn’t even come from you. Family members had to notify me because you were too weak to.

Not that. Anything but that. This felt like too big of a problem. They put you on lockdown. You slowly slipped away, refusing to be put back on the donor list, you just seemed to dwindle away. You were tired and I didn’t blame you. Tired of fighting but mostly just coming face to face with the reality that maybe this was the end of your story.

And then you were just gone one night. I’ve never wept that hard before. I didn’t get to say bye or hug you or hold your hand. Or tell you how much you meant to me. The last vision I got to have is you in a casket, fully open to show off how meticulously you planned for your death. And it suited you Jay.

A emerald green designer dress. Curls. Heels. Jaymie from head to toe. Beautiful. Stunning. A light to many even in a cold casket.

But I won’t remember you that way. To me you’re forever the girl who always plopped down in my lap and loved me with the entirety of your heart. So much so that 2 years later. I still feel it. And I know I always will.

[brattybaddiee]

Madeline’s Backstory

Madeline grew up in the vibrant humble borough of Brooklyn, New York, where she spent her childhood navigating the colorful streets filled with a cacophony of sounds and sights.

Being the eldest daughter raised by immigrants who worked multiple jobs to support their family, Madeline learned early on about resilience and independence. After school, she'd often rush home to help her Mom with chores or babysat her younger siblings, dreaming of escaping their modest life for something grander.

She found some escape in books and film noir movies that painted an alluring picture of adventure and romance far removed from her reality.

Once she finished high school, Madeline pursued a degree in communications. She paid her way through the first semester by waiting tables at a local diner but still--she was trapped at home with her parents and siblings with all her cash tied up in education bills.

She soon realized that the way things were always done wasn t quite what suited her--someone bursting with charm but stifled by convention.

Eager to break free from societal norms, Madi landed a job by happenstance as a secretary for one of the countries largest family of real estate developers. She soon left NYC and found herself caught up in the whirlwind that was the Pierce family. She never expected to be charmed by them, loved by them, or folded into their business and family as readily as she was. Until everything ended chatostrophically between the brother's, life was perfect. Then one of them broke her heart.

Running back to her home in Brooklyn she was soon contacted by that same brother who asked her to stay in his employ at one of New York's most notorious underground sex clubs nestled discreetly within Hell's Kitchen. She found that she couldn't say no.

Salacious thrummed with energy--a kaleidoscope of glittering personalities drawn together under neon lights and pulsating music. As she handled reservations and correspondence through digital whispers behind closed doors, she became captivated by the stories unfolding around her: artists shedding ambitions on stage; eccentric clientele chasing fleeting highs; preformers electrifying audiences nightly-all living lives different from hers yet tantalizing relatable in their search for connection. Despite its shadowy reputation at first, Madeline felt remarkably at home amidst the chaotic beauty of it all.

Her job becomes her life and completely frees her to live life exactly how her spirit demands it.

She finds her own place in her home borough and thoroughly enjoys everything to the fullest. She lives life at one hundred percent, until she realizes that she's pitted two people she values the most against each other. Fighting desires and heartbreak, unable to understand what her brain and her heart are telling her--Madeline throws up her defenses and pushes everyone out.

Her bubbly disposition becomes a mask that she hides her true feelings behind. Being stifled by loyalty and love she finds that nothing is able to set her free. Desperate to break out of her own cage, but without the knowledge how--will she accept the truth or will she leave everything she's ever known and loved behind?

[brattybaddiee]

Phoebe Chapter One

6 years ago

I revved the engine of my car so violently the doors vibrated. Drunken laughter was the only residual noise when I lifted my foot off of the gas pedal to glance in both directions on Santa Monica Boulevard.

“Pheebs!! Drive, they’re gaining on us!”

My best friend, Amara, screamed in between riotous laughter as she straddled the lap of her newest boy toy in the back seat. I slammed my foot down and my little white car screeched out into traffic with a violent jolt. I joined in on the laughter as we shook the string of paparazzi stalking us through LA on graduation night.

The insane things people did for a story.

I reached for the volume control and twisted it to full blast before I stuck my hand outside the window and sang along to the song dancing on the air around us. I was on top of the world—seemingly. An eighteen-year-old high school graduate. Hollywood Star Darling, even though Dad’s career was a dumpster fire at the moment. The most popular friends. The cutest clothes. Freedom to do whatever I wanted to do. Black cards at my disposal.

The sky was the limit…Right? What was left to attain though?

Nate’s hand yanked me out of my thoughts as he boldly trailed it up the inside of my thigh, his fingers tapping against my skin, a silent demand for access. I was tipsy. Xanax mixed with alcohol had my body feeling warm and my mind numb. I didn’t think twice about parting my legs for him. “Mmm.” I heard him practically purr next to me as he took full advantage of the extra draping material of my graduation gown. His fingers brushed over my center and made me shudder. The only thing between him and my skin being the thin material of my thong.

My eyes darted to the rearview mirror to check for paps. When I didn’t see any I glanced at Amara and chuckled. She had her tongue so far down the flavor-of-the-week’s throat that I couldn’t tell where her mouth started and his ended. Fully satisfied that everyone was preoccupied I took one hand off the wheel and guided his hand under my thong with a small intake of breath. He smirked at me from the passenger seat and slid one finger inside of me without so much as a warning.

I smiled and let my foot lay heavier on the gas pedal as we raced towards the Santa Monica Beach. The hottest guy in school had his finger knuckle deep inside of me, probably would be his dick if I had my way, by the end of the night. It felt good. I should feel good. Why did everything feel empty? Like I was hurtling towards a cliff that dove straight into the sea with no breaks to stop me?

I swerved in and out of traffic on the highway as I rocked my hips against his attentive hand and tried to forget—pushing away every feeling threatening to drown me. I heard Amara whine from the back seat and knew she probably was doing something similar to what I was doing. We had no secrets and we weren’t ever shy around each other. Both show business darlings, we decided early on that the fake bullshit we faced on a day-to-day basis would not be apart of our friendship.

We hadn’t looked back since. Just pure unadulterated girlhood. Probably the only decent thing I had going for me currently.

I took the exit to the beach just as Nate slipped two more fingers inside of me and increased his rhythm. My mouth parted slightly and I uttered a moan of approval. He took the sound and ran with it, brushing his thumb over my little bud and rubbing in time with his movements. Pleasure seeped through my body at the same pace that I was processing everything at the moment. Slowly.

The drug cocktail in my system was my only saving grace tonight. My parents hadn’t bothered to attend graduation. Dad was afraid the media would get an unflattering pic of his weight gain and Mom couldn’t be fucked to convince him otherwise. She was satisfied to lie to everyone. She gave the excuse of preparing last minute details for our summer vacation that started tomorrow, and slunk off to spend the evening with her side piece that she thought she was doing a marvelous job in hiding. Everyone knew. Even Dad. He wouldn’t do shit about it though. The opinions of fans mattered more. He didn’t have much else left other than that.

A car behind us caught my attention and I immediately recognized it as more paparazzi. Groaning, I laid my foot heavily on the gas and sped through traffic like the LA child I was. The beach was in sight and I had no other choice but to lose them before I pulled off to the secluded area we liked to visit. Nathan wasn’t the least bit deterred and neither were my backseat companions. His fingers threatened to thoroughly distract me but I couldn’t bear to push him away. Every sensation was distracting me from the pain.

Graduation night. The night where people my age were celebrated and launched towards a bright future with the support of family and friends…but I saw nothing ahead of me. Only emptiness. Yanking my car into a quick turn I crossed my fingers, hoping that I had lost them, but no such luck. As I shot towards our beach outlook they kept up with me until I came to a complete stop. Only then did everyone rouse out of their stupor.

Amara came up for air and hit the back windshield to flip off the cameras with both hands. Her companion laughed as he nuzzled her breasts and threw up his own gesture. Nathan was craning his neck back to look at them next to me, his hand still stroking my thigh like he hoped they would get a picture of us together. I wasn’t surprised. We all knew they would descend upon the car eventually. He wasn’t the first man to use me for clout. Nothing was stopping them.

“Phoebe, turn the car back on. Let’s just go somewhere else.” Amara grumbled in irritation.

She was still throwing curses at them, not even bothering to get off of the lap she was in or pretend to have a seatbelt on. I admired her for not giving a fuck. I could leave. I could back up on their asses and force them out of my way. Or I could give them what they wanted and maybe they would leave us alone. Chewing on my lip my mind rushed in its foggy state to come up with something so outrageous I almost cowed at the idea.

It may work though. I fumbled for the zipper on my graduation gown and yanked it down, one hand ducking under the strap of my black Alexander McQueen silk dress to shimmy out of it. I didn’t look at Nate. I didn’t even look at Amara.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Amara protested, finally climbing off of the man whose name I hadn’t bothered memorizing, and grabbing my now bare shoulder. She shook me and blocked me from Nate’s view. I met her gaze and shrugged and a bright smile that I hoped conveyed that I was feeling daring and not scared to death. “Giving the people more than what they want. Maybe the vultures will leave us alone.”

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head with a laugh. “I won’t say I don’t like the idea, but you do know pictures on the internet are forever right?” I grinned and flashed her a wink at that statement. “Better let them have one while I’m in my prime then right?”

She seemed to give in at that and she just giggled before climbing back into the back seat.

Leaving only my thong on I reached for the door handle and the guys began to hoot and holler when they realized the full frontal show I was about to give. I beamed and let the laughter I was famous for tinkle in the air. Boosted by their approval and the music I set my heeled foot outside of the car, left and then right. Flashes of camera light instantly erupted. Inch by inch my shapely bare legs made it out until I was pushing my entire body outside of the car.

I didn’t have time to think about the repercussions of this. I just needed to chase the feeling away. Emptiness and nothingness ahead for Phoebe Hawthorne? No. That’s not what I wanted.

“Hollywood’s Phoebe Hawthorne is going places with an ability to entertain like this.”

Dropping my graduation gown I let it pool at my feet and I turned on one fluid motion to expose the entire frontal view of my body to their greedy cameras…the thought of that headline still echoing in my mind.

Cameras went absolutely crazy, men were yelling, my companions were laughing and whooping, and even a few paparazzi were honking their horns and whistling at me. I was eighteen. It wasn’t illegal right?

I struck a sexy little pose and laughed again. The pretty sound adding to the riotous sounds of approval.

But there it was still. The emptiness. I was entirely bare to the world and still felt nothing. I couldn’t cry or scream or do anything really. I was just a shell. To empty to do anything but sway in the breeze of life and let the sensation fill me up only to leave me just as empty as it had found me.

What could change that? Nothing I had discovered so far came close.