Page 71 of Obsession on Repeat
"Because he didn’t want the whole story. He wanted the version that didn’t mess with his image of you."
I closed my eyes. "I didn’t want you to see that part of me."
"I want all of it, Rory, especially the parts you think are too heavy."
I didn’t cry. For the first time in years, I let someone see me and didn’t feel smaller for it. Asher didn’t say anything else, he merely pulled me closer.
Eventually, I turned my face toward his and kissed him softly. His hand came up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing over the curve of my cheek. I climbed into his lap without thinking, legs folding around his waist, my forehead resting against his.
We sat there for a long time in silence, the city lights flickering across the balcony.
The next morning, I woke up to my name trending. Not DJ Fetish. Rory Jones.
Some anonymous forum had dropped a timeline of my past. Pieced together from old photos, club fliers, public records no one should’ve been able to dig up.
I stared down at the opening line of the article.
"Not everything about Rory is as curated as her playlists…"
I stared at it for a long time before clicking through. Mentions of the man I told Asher about. Mentions of the state I left in. A photo from the bar I worked at when I was barely legal and completely lost.
And the kicker?
The blog was run by a PR account previously associated with Elle.
Holding his mug, Asher appeared behind me as I sat frozen at his kitchen table. I didn’t speak. He leaned down, scanned the screen, and I felt him stiffen.
"Tell me she didn’t—"
"I’m not sure she posted it herself, but she certainly lit the match." My mug hit the table harder than it needed to as I stood up. "I’ve spent years building this life, and she thinks she can dig up a version of me she doesn’t understand and weaponize it?"
"What are you going to do?"
"You may not approve of it."
His eyes narrowed slightly, not from judgment, but from recognition. He knew what that tone meant. "Well, by all means," he shrugged, "go take care of business."
Elle didn’t expect to see me. She was seated on a velvet-backed lounge at a hotel bar, laughing too loudly at someone who wasn’t listening. When she spotted me, her smile faltered, then rearranged itself, a mask slipping back into place.
"Well, this is an unexpected visit."
"I figured I’d cut to the chase and come right to the source."
She raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t post anything."
"No, you planted enough seeds that someone else did the watering."
Elle leaned back, crossed her legs, eyes glinting. "I didn’t lie. I clarified."
"You exploited what you didn’t understand. You took pain that didn’t belong to you and tried to make it a punchline."
She didn’t flinch. I could tell by her face that she truly believed she hadn’t done anything wrong.
"You think exposing someone’s past makes you powerful?"
"I think it makes me smart to expose people who try to rise too fast." Her mouth tightened. "Asher and I have a past you’ll never understand, Rory." She took a sip of her drink. "I’m not trying to ruin your little fantasy. I’m trying to help you realize what world you’re in now. This isn’t some fairy tale where you come out on top. We’ve already seen how your first attempt went." Her smirk returned. "Once he realizes I’m willing to take him back, he’ll leave you. He always comes back to me."
"You’re confusing history with relevance, Elle."
