summary. no escape now, y/n… the only way out is down.
warnings. language, some semi 18+ implications ...
The clang of the metal echoes through the hallway as you slam your locker shut, your head falls forward, resting against the cold surface. You let out a heavy sigh. What a morning.
A scattered ocean of gossip and murmurs surrounding you grows louder, and louder with each passing second.
“Is that her? Oh my god.”
“I feel so bad… can you imagine how embarrassing that is?”
“She’s not as smart as I thought if shes messing with a guy like him.” you hear a familiar voice causing you to slowly turn to the group with glares sharp enough to cut glass, and you recognize where the familiar voice came from.
Taylor Beaufort, steps forward. Her innocent wide eyed look made you feel a small ounce of remorse, then you remembered those painful words she just spewed. You couldn’t help but recognize the irony, Taylor–the poor girl. She’s been dating Evan Ortiga for a month, blissfully unaware of his wandering eyes. Everyone but her knows.
“Taylor,” a bitter chuckle escapes your lips as you slowly cross your arms, “I know you’re not talking–”
Before you can finish, your attention is ripped away. A familiar figure emerges from the crowd, practically demanding your attention, his presence sucking the oxygen from the room. Drew, your fellow subject of these baseless rumors.
“We need to talk,” he mutters, his tone low and husky. You stand your ground, remaining silent.
He drags a hand down his face, letting out a loud groan before he–without your response–grabs your arm.
Against everything you stand for, you don’t protest it. The warmth of his hand stills you. It’s strange, how easily the guy can quiet your instincts to fight back. He had a way about him, he felt so dangerously familiar, you knew not to get caught up with him.
He leads you into an empty classroom surrounded with windows, closing the door with a soft click. Drew exhales slowly, leaning against the door as if he’s holding it–and the world that surrounded us–shut.
For a moment, you just look at him, oddly enough you can’t keep your eyes off him. His black compression shirt clinged to his chest, soaked with sweat from gym class, his damp hair stuck to his forehead in messy clumps and his gym shorts sat low on his hips, stopping right before his thighs.
Realizing what your doing, you force yourself to blink, to not let your eyes linger for too long. Too not let him notice how your pulse skips every time you do so much as glance at him.
“You know this’ll just make things worse right?” you mutter, breaking the silence.
A slow, humorless chuckle escapes from his lips. He grabs the towel from around his neck and lightly dabs his forehead. “Whatever, let them talk. I’m more worried about you.” unexpectedly his tone softens, his gaze concerned.
Who is this guy, and what has he done with the Drew Vanderbilt you’ve grown to know and despise?
Your defenses falter ever so slightly, just for a second.
“I’m fine” you reply, but your voice betrays you, barely above a whisper. Attempting to regain the power, you step closer, closing the space between you two until you can the heat radiating off him. “But this shit? Is only going to make things worse for me. So why don’t you do me a favor and stay the hell away from me, Drew?”
Your words hang in the air, you don’t look away from him, not for a second. Then, his eyes meet yours, stormy and unreadable. His breath, hot and heavy from running up the stairs to see you, fans across your face as you inhale sharply.
For a moment, the two of your are still. His jaw tightens as his gaze drops down to your lips before flicking back up to yours eyes. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, your pulse screaming at you to retreat, but you stand your ground.
Then, shattering the tension, Drew steps back, his mouth struggling to curve into a small, dry smile. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice lower now, “Whatever you want.”
He lingers for a bit then turns and walks away, leaving the air in the room colder, emptier.
You stand their frozen, you loathe him. Hating his stupid confidence, the way he doesn’t flinch no matter what you do, the way he looks at you like he’s daring you to crumble.
You hate that he’s he’s beginning to creep under your skin.
You push open the door and step into the hallway where a small crowd has gathered, their eyes snapping to you as if you’re the headline of the hour.
You sigh, taking no action as you know that whatever you do will only fan the flames of scandal.
It’s only noon and the weight of this day feels as if its harshly pressing down on your shoulders. One more class to endure, and of course this one has to be your personal hell.
AP Calc is filled with faces you’ve spent the entire day trying to avoid. Alexa, and her posse, the main trio, their presence impossible to ignore. Of course, Alexa and Evan lounge carelessly, their work untouched. Unsurprisingly Damson is the most on task out of the group, making sure they don’t fall behind.
The low buzz of whispering cuts through the air, and you don’t have to puzzle yourself trying to figure what exactly–or who exactly–it’s about.
“Can’t believe Drew is hitting that, good work bro…” the sharp words cause you to turn in your seat, your glare landing on Alexa and Evan. “Excuse me?” you question, your tone sharp enough to draw blood.
Their heads snap up as they notice you, caught completely off guard like deer in headlights. Alexa rolls her eyes in that exaggerated sort of way that makes you wish they’d to get stuck like that. “Nothing that concerns you, Y/N” she says, her voice dripping with venom. Alexa hates being called out–it’s written all over her stiff shoulders and tight jaw.
“Great!” you reply, your voice laced with obvious sarcasm, “That’s what I thought.”
The tension in the room grows as you can see Alexa’s snap her pencil in anger, she grits her teeth, forcing a dry smile.
Suddenly a low voice cuts through the hostility, “Could y’all stop being ashsoles and do you work?” Damson mutters, his words quier but firm.
You can’t but let out a soft chuckle. Damson and you had always been cool, despite your disdain for his group of idiot, dirtbag friends. He had obviously been extra nice to you throughout this situation because of you finding him and Ryan, but still, it was sweet.
You smile faintly and refocus on your work, it all comes to you so much easier now that you haven’t been overthinking about everything. Ryan’s words really had the power to switch a flip, suddenly everyone was clicking, and your grades climbed almost effortlessly.
You leave your internship a little earlier than usual today, the clock barely ticking past three. Your work had been quite uneventful. The most noteworthy news of the day was word of a new intern joining the political correspondence team, but you barely gave it a second thought.
The whispers though, were impossible to ignore, the man who’d be joining the team was apparently pretty well-known amongst new yorkers, known as this smart, educated, “dreamboat”. Your work friends were just as swept up in the frenzy as everyone else, they’d vowed to take the long way to the fourth floor just to catch a glimpse when he starts next week.
But you? Honestly couldn’t care less, you couldn’t afford any distractions especially in a dire time like this.
A couple weeks back, you overhead a conversation between your mentor and another designer that shifted everything into sharper focus. A Junior Designer positions was opening up, and they were watching the interns closely. This opportunity wasn’t just a job, it was your dream wrapped in chic silk and sequins. This role meant access to everything you had worked for and more, including the upcoming Paris Fashion Week, to help however you could in that, was a dream.
The stakes simply couldn’t be any higher, so you spent every night perfecting your designs, every morning fetching coffee orders without a single spill–it was all for this. So no, word of a new, hot intern didn’t make your spirit falter in the least.
When you arrive home you’re in a rare bright mood, the day was confusing and now it was over–and it was still daytime. You waltz around the penthouse, savoring the solitude of being home alone with nothing to do. You prance to the couch and flop down, ordering food as you put on your favorite show. It’s just you, the glow of the screen, and takeout on the way. What a perfect night in.
Another tag from Gossip Girl, the third one you’d been mentioned in. This time, you don’t panic at the sight of it, you calm yourself, clicking the notification you read aloud.
“Hookup classroom?!” your voice falters, the words cutting through your practiced composure like glass. Of course. That’s why everyone had been staring when you left. Your mind scrambles, looking through the comments and replies.
Before you can truly spiral your phone distracts you, Ryan was calling, without much thinking you knew what the subject of the call would be. You decline it, texting her instead:
i alrd know girl, i’ll call u l8r
You sink deeper into the couch, letting the hum of your show drown out the scattered thoughts in your head. Then your phone vibrates again. Assuming its Ryan again, you thinks its urgent and answer without looking.
The words catch in your throat, freezing mid-sentence as the voice on the other sends a chill down your spine.
You know that voice, low, familiar, and maddeningly self-assured. Drew.
“How did you get my number?” you ask, forcing an edge in your tone to mask the spike of panic you felt at the sound of his voice.
He responds, but his connection falters, chopping his words into small unintelligible fragments.
“What? Repeat it?” you reply as your frustration climbs.
Then–without a word–the line goes dead.
A new message pops up almost immediately.
Probably; Drew Vanderbilt: You’re staying at the Bellemont, right?
You stare at the screen, not looking away once, your heart thumps as the silence stretches. He’s enjoying this isn’t he? Making you wait, after a call like that. You call him again. Once. Twice. Six times. Finally, he picks up, his connection a bit better making his words clearer.
“What’s your room number?”
Before you can think, you respond. “555.”
The regret fills you almost instantly, as you leap off the couch. You scramble to fix yourself up, brushing off the crumbs from your food and tugging on a hoodie. Why is he here? Why are you letting him in?
The buzzer rings. You press the intercom, leaning on the wall you let out a shaky sigh.
Drew steps inside, his eyes sweep over the messy living room. His expression shifts to something you can’t quite explain–judgement? Amusement? Maybe, remorse?
He then turns to you, “Caught you at a bad time, didn’t I?” he says, his lips curving in a way that makes your skin itch, setting your nerves on edge.
“What? No, obviously not,” you blurt, throwing a blanket over the mess of a couch and sit down, crossing your legs as if that might restore some of your dignity.
He shifts to sit beside you, his movements more casual than usual. He sported baggy jeans, a fitted white tee, and sambas. He leaned back, manspreading just enough to claim space. He adjusts his glasses with a slow precision that felt almost deliberate.
“Listen,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got something that’ll get us both out of this mess.”
You fold your arms, refusing to look at him knowing it’ll mess up your entire demeanor. “Drew, I told you I don’t need–”
“Oh my God,” he groans loudly, cutting you off. His head falls back, his exasperation filling the air. “You just don’t get it, do you?
You glare at him, trying to fight your composure unraveling. “What do you mean?”
“I’m asking for your help,” he says, leaning forward now, his face so close that you catch the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne. “I’m catching just as much shit for this.”
His eyes lock onto yours and for a moment, the air between you shifts. You swallow hard, the tension thick enough to suffocate.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you finally let it out, your voice wavers, cracking slightly.
“Neither did I,” he shoots back, his voice soft but razor-sharp, “But here we are. So what do we have to lose?”
Against all better judgement, something in you is urging to you to hear him out. Everyone already believed the rumors, it was to late to fight it now, he was right. What did you have to lose?
He exhales sharply, almost like he’s trying to steady himself. “We have to…” He pauses, turning his head away from you, his voice drops to a low murmur. “Give them what they want.”
You help but chuckle at it, “I’m sorry?” you say a sly smirk curling at you. Drew–utterly embarrassed and at your mercy. His jaw clenches as his gaze darts to the floor as though he was avoiding the sight of your obvious amusement in his discomfort.
“We just have to make them think the rumors true. Only for a little while,” he mutters, his voice getting lower and lower as if it physically pained him to admit this to plan to you. He turns back, head up, posture stiffened, he finally meets your gaze. “Then they’ll get bored and move on. They always do.”
He uncrosses his arms, shifting slightly closer to you, observing you as you think it over. You notice the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips when his gaze moves down landing onto your legs, the fabric of your spandex shorts rutching a bit at your hips. His expression shifts, you can see his confidence rekindling like a spark to a flame.
You don’t give him the satisfaction, straightening your shorts out, giving him a pointed look. His smile doesn’t fade, if anything, it grows.
It almost felt like he was assessing you, taking in every bit of you, he leans back and tilts his head.
“So?” he breaks the silence, but at that moment you feel your own eyes betraying you, flicking over to his biceps where his tights sleeves strained against his arms. You catch yourself too late and snap your gaze back to his face, realizing what that knowing look of his meant. The silence stretches thickly between you.
“But why?” you finally ask, clearing your throat to mask your embarrassment. “Why do you care so much? Gossip Girl’s eyes have been on you since you were a freshman.”
His smirk fades, replaced by something more guarded. He leans forward towards the TV, licking his lips before he answers. “No, not like this. This time they’re really digging, and I’ve got shit I can’t let get out, shit they’re too close to finding.” his voice lowers, his gaze dropping again.
You tilt your head, curiosity buzzing in your chest. What could Drew Vanderbilt, of all people, possibly be hiding? “So what do you need from me?” you ask, fluttering your eyes a bit, you sit up straight.
He looks at you with a mixture of disbelief and relief, he hadn’t expected you to even consider this far. “Make em’ think you’re head over heels for me. I’ll do the same, so much so that they’ll grow to hate it–and leave us alone.”
A fake relationship, trouble. You couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as him, his entire demeanor just grew to be all too unbearable. You were afraid, afraid of what something like this might do to you, how it might change you.
But for some reason, god knows why, when it’s Drew asking–Drew who’s looking at you now like you’re the only person who can save him–it doesn’t seem so bad. Still, you hesitate, every bone in your body screaming at you to stop. “It’d be hard for anyone to be head over heels for you, Drew,” the words going against everything you’ve felt in that moment, you add, “Fine, under one condition; tell me what your hiding. Relationships are built on trust, Vanderbilt.”
The corners of his mouth twitch, but the smirk doesn’t fully return. Instead, he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that simple.”
You arch a brow. “Is it serious?”
“Not… really,” he mutters.
Your smirk returns. “Then I guess you’ll just have to live in fear of your not-so-serious secret coming out.”
He groans softly, running a hand down his face. “Fuck, Y/N…” he stands abruptly–and to your dismay–he walks towards the elevator door. Pausing with one hand hovering over the ground floor button, he glances back, his brows furrowed just enough to give his expression a slight flicker of vulnerability. “Could you at least think about it?”
But that slight frown wouldn’t work on you, were you attracted to the idea? Maybe… but you weren’t gonna do something this drastic for some guy you barely know if he couldn’t atleast be vulnerable with you.
“Bye-bye, Drew” you say, your smile sharp as you throw him a wink.
It’s finally Friday, the last day of your internship before the new recruit arrives, you’ve poured everything into this week. Working tirelessly, staying after hours to assist your mentor designer with preparations for her upcoming fashion show.
The studio was quiet, the sounds of sewing machines and rustling echoed through the room. Your hands were busy arranging swatches when the door beside you swung open, making both you and your mentor whip around in surprise.
Standing in the doorway was the one and only,
Your idol and worst nightmare.
The very sight of her made your heart slam against your ribcage. She wasn’t just a designer–she was the designer, her presence was nothing short of terrifying.
Her gaze swept over you with the precision of a blade, sharp, as if she were dissecting every inch of your being. She held something in her hand–a gold sequin sketchbook. Your sketchbook, the one you’d frantically been searching for over the past few weeks.
“This yours, Ms. L/N?” she asked coolly, her tone laced with venom. She glanced down at the cover, your name curling off her tongue like it left a bitter taste.
You throat tightened as you rushed forward, of course, your first meeting with the women you’ve always aspired to be had to be like this. “Y-Yes, Ms. Kaine, thank you so much, I’ve been–”
She cut you off, lifting the sketchbook just out of reach, almost as if she was taunting you with it.
“These designs…” she began, flipping it open.
Your stomach dropped. She’d seen everything, that sketchbook was different, you rarely took it to work as it was home some of your most raw, personal–experimental designs. They reflected who you were, stripped naked, in a way you never intended anyone to see.
“...They’re incredible,” she finished, her tone shifting slightly. “Great work, Y/N.”
The words hit you like a bus. Incredible? From Nova Kaine?
Before you could stop it, your mouth fell open as the moment twisted in something surreal, something out of a dream. As you tried to form words your palms grew clammy, you struggle to manage a weak nod and a trembling smile.
“Are you aware there’s a Junior Designer position open?” she asked
Sweat gathered at your temples, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, swaying back and forth, fighting the urge to fidget. Your thoughts raced faster than you could comprehend them.
“Yes, M-Miss,” you stammered, nodding uncontrollably.
“Well I think we should meet about it soon,” she says, closing the sketchbook with a harsh snap. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, if you blinked you could’ve missed it. “I’d love to have someone like you in my corner during Fashion Week.”
“I’m looking forward to that,” you replied, the words barely escaping your lips.
With a small nod, she turned and left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.
For a moment, you stood there, frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Then, you and your mentor locked eyes. The room erupted into quiet squeals of disbelief and excitement.
This was it—everything you’d ever wanted, right within reach. And for once, it didn’t feel like a far-off dream. It felt real.
A couple days later you find yourself sitting face to face with Nova Kaine at a sleek, upscale restaurant in the heart of Manhattan. This moment–this lunch–was everything you’d ever dreamed of and more.
The space buzzed with quiet luxury. Waiters floated by in crisp uniforms, carrying silver trays, while sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting soft shadows on the marble tables. Nova barely glanced at the menu before ordering a Diet Coke. Out of intimidation, you ordered nothing but a water and an appetizer of garlic bread.
“So, you’re not getting any food?” you ask, trying your hardest not to cross any lines–the question’s shaky as it leaves your lips.
“Oh this shouldn’t take long,” she replied curtly, adjusting her collar. “I’ve got dinner with someone in about an hour.”
The words hit you like a wake up call, while this meeting meant everything to you, it was a mere footnote in her bustling day. You adjust your blouse, letting out a nervous laugh. You begin cutting a small piece of garlic bread to keep your hands busy.
“So,” she began, her tone sharp and direct, “I want you to know you’re probably our best intern. I’m sure you realize this position was practically waiting for you, right?”
You choke a bit on your saliva, all you can do is let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head in humility.
Nova leans forward, crossing her legs with this effortless poise. “You’d be perfect for the position,” she said, her words deliberate, “but there are two very important things you need to know. First, it’s full-time, Second, you’re representing the new generation of vogue, so you need to maintain a squeaky-clean reputation.”
Her words swirled in your mind, stirring equal parts excitement and dread. A full time designing position at Vogue meant everything–but it came with costs. You had to switch to online classes in the afternoon, you didn’t desire to return to the struggle of juggling school and work you experienced the first months of your internship.
And then there was your reputation.
Wasn’t it good? you wonder. You’d never been involved in any scandal…wait. The events of last Friday. The hookup classroom. Gossip girl, and Drew Vanderbilt all come back to you.
Your chest tightens thinking of all the ways you’ve gone wrong, the weight of your silly mistakes settling in.
Nova’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts like a knife, silencing them completely. “That means no rumors, gossip, or scandals. So I have to ask…”
You stare down at your half cut bread, unable to meet her piercing gaze.
“This…situation with that Vanderbilt boy,” she said, her tone tiptoeing around dissapointment, “that’s not some fling, right? You understand how damaging that could be to your chances if it is–right?
You couldn’t get a single word out, your thoughts raced in your head too fast for you to speak. Every part of you wanted to deny, to tell her the truth, to undo this mess–but you couldn’t possibly do that. Not now.
“N-no” you stammered, your voice barely intelligible. You force yourself to look at her, eye-to-eye, flashing a stiff uncomfortable smile. “We’re serious. He’s…he’s my boyfriend, actually.”
The lie struggled to leave your lips, you felt as if you were holding in a bit of vomit in your mouth, but it was too late to take it back.
“Good!” Nova said, her tone suddenly chipper as if you’d passed some sort of test. “Well then, we’ll get things sorted out for your start date. Since you’re still in school, there’ll have to be some adjustments, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.”
The conversation was wrapped up quickly after that, the weight of your lie lingered. What have you done? Gossip Girl had wormed her way into your life and now stood between you and your dreams. You embraced her rumors to get by, but at what cost?
The walk home was slow and shameful, you knew what you had to do. And yet, before could even take out of your phone, Someone had beat you to it.
Your phone buzzed, his contact lighting up the screen. You paused for a bit before you answered, you knew what this would be. As much as you pushed back, you and Drew were practically tied together at this point, there was not stopping it. You finally answer, hesitating a bit.
“You win, I’ll tell you, but–”
“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll do it.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke a word, then you heard a low chuckle on the other end
There was the Drew Vanderbilt you knew.
“Where are you?” he said, his tone teasing but kind.
