Page 40 of Obsession on Repeat
"Rory, I want you to be safe, especially when I’m not around to make sure of it."
"I’ll talk to Vanessa. I’ll see what my options are. For now… I think not answering is the best answer. We can talk about it when you get back."
"Rory…"
"I’ll be fine, I promise. Focus on work. You said it yourself, we’ll figure it out."
I knew he didn’t want to drop the subject, but he merely agreed, the call ending. I sat on the couch and stared at the phone, the notifications continuing to pour in, the sound of the phone echoing through the house.
By the time I got to the club that evening, the tabloids had done their damage.
My phone was flooded with questions, unsolicited opinions about my life and my relationship with him. I ignored the numerous paparazzi that crowded my car as I pulled into the parking lot, ducking against the glare of lights, and was thankful that the bouncers had been outside to run interference.
I couldn’t breathe. I ran up the stairs without greeting anyone, not stopping until I reached the door to the booth. Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, I fought desperately to regain my equilibrium, my heart racing. I was close to having a panic attack, my head spinning despite the solid wall against my fingertips.
"Are you okay?"
My eyes snapped open. Asher stood at the end of the hall, studying me carefully.
"I’m fine."
"You're a terrible liar."
I sighed, giving up the pretense. "Have you seen the headlines? They’re not true."
There had been several more articles over the past few hours, all with salacious lies, rumors, full of stories about our relationship, about who I was, and how he was a playboy having the time of his life with a woman begging for fame.
He approached me slowly. "It doesn’t matter. The truth isn't what sells."
"I didn't ask for this.I'm—"
"Dating someone whose life comes with a spotlight." He hesitated. "Look, Rory, fame isn't kind. It takes everything you love and tries to twist it into something ugly."
I met his eyes, startled by the sincerity I found there. "What do I do?"
"You hold onto the real things." His voice was soft, reassuring. "If you and Sullivan have something real, protect it fiercely. If it isn't strong enough, be honest with yourself. There's nothing worse than pretending."
I stared at him, my throat suddenly tight. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because someone should," he smiled faintly. "And because I wish someone had done it for me."
There was silence between us, not awkward but charged.
"Thank you."
He nodded. "Anytime."
I let him get halfway down the hall before my voice slipped out, hesitant and vulnerable. "Asher?"
He paused, turning back slightly.
"Do you think I'm strong enough to survive this?"
"I think you're strong enough to survive anything." He studied me, his expression unreadable. "The real question you should be asking is how badly do you want to?"
Asher left me alone with those words echoing quietly in the silence.
The next morning, my phone lit up before I’d even had coffee. Seeing Sullivan’s name on the screen, I answered, a sudden flare of concern overwhelming me. "What’s wrong?"
