Page 5 of Forbidden Game

It’s burning up from the sheer number of notifications blasting across the scene.

The story is live, and his fans are losing their marbles.

I park myself on a nearby stool and swipe my phone open to descend into the cacophony of alerts.

My eyes instantly catch on a viral post, and ice shoots through my veins when I see why.

Aleksander Knight, leader of The System and all-around pain-in-my-ass, has decided to comment “RIP Bro” with a skull-face emoji.

I resist the urge to groan. Instead, I shoot a message to my assistant and inform her to login to Aleks’ account to delete the comment. It won’t stop any of the screenshots that have already been taken, but at least it will douse the flame.

I pull up Aleks’ contact and call him.

The call goes directly to voicemail.

Frustration bubbles under my skin as I type in his girlfriend’s phone number instead.

The call connects after the fifth ring, but all I hear is a bunch of bickering on the other side.

“Give it back!” Stevie shouts.

“No! She’s just going to yell at me,” Aleks growls.

“I’m going to yell at you.”

“It’s hot when you do it.”

The arguing continues for another minute until there is a loud male grunt, and then Stevie’s voice filters clearly through the speaker.

“Hey, Sydney. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Just inform your boyfriend that’s his second strike this month. One more and I’m putting him in tech isolation and adding another ten hours to his streaming quota.”

“Got it,” she sighs.

“And remember, no talking to—”

“The paparazzi, I know, I know,” she cuts me off. “We’ve got dinner reservations tonight, but I promise to make him behave.”

“All right, I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Buh-bye!”

I sigh deeply. I should have known he would pull something like that.

My headache begins seeping in again. I close my eyes and tilt my head back for a second before pulling myself together.

My phone buzzes and dread courses through my blood. I open my eyes to see a text from Justin and groan.

JUSTIN: Care to comment yet?

I give my knuckles a crack before firing off my crafted statement.

Today is not going to be my day.

TWO

PARKER

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