Page 72 of The Villain Edit

“If you love her, it changes everything,” Rose says with a sigh. “It ties my hands, and it ties you to her. Maybe you both have a happy ever after. But if things don’t work out—the usual outcome of these fast celebrity marriages—then we’ll have to deal with the fallout and that can be ugly. It will affect your image and it might affect your career, although your lawyers can protect you financially with a solid prenup.”

I can’t think of a future with Ash, not when I need to focus on my career. This role, the next, the one after. Until the nominations turn into awards. Until, when people mention me with my uncle, they refer to him as my uncle, instead of me as his nephew.

“I don’t,” I hear myself tell Rose, but I’m at a distance, lost in this future I’m chasing and wondering when I’ll accomplish my goals. If I will ever feel like I have.

“Okay, good,” Rose says, breathing out a sigh of relief. “You need to date someone else. Immediately. Someone big enough that Ashley becomes an interesting little bit of trivia in your life, rather than the headline. Do you want this?”

“Yes.” I don’t want this, but I’m taking it. Shame presses down on me. I don’t want Ashley to be a footnote in my biography, but she’ll have to understand. She can’t be more, at least not right now. I drain the whiskey, setting my glass on my publicist’s desk.

I think about Michael. About his secret family. He got to keep his reputation and Cora and his woman on the side. He was a success and people celebrate him and talk about him with shining love and admiration. The perfect role model and the man hiding behind that mask.

“Okay.” Rose smiles for the first time. “We’ll get you back to golden.”

I’ve had about all I can take of this, short of firing everyone, so I get to my feet. “I need to talk to her before you put out that we’ve broken up.”

“They haven’t been seen in public together for the last week, right?” Rose asks David, instead of me.

“They haven’t,” he confirms. “No idea if she’s been seen coming to his house every night.”

“I’ll have someone look into it,” Rose says, making a quick note. “For now, we’ll assume not. We’re going to put the break up four days ago. Amicable split by mutual agreement, you are just too different, et cetera. Nothing to do with the sex tape, which was an unfortunate violation of your privacy as well as a violation of all the other victims of the pervert—who was caught, by the way, thanks to this blowing up. The statement goes out in two hours. Sound good?”

What choice do I have? I spent years holding back, forcing myself into this uncomfortable life, denying myself any chance for the kind of connection I have with Ash with anyone else, and I refuse to let it be for nothing. If there’s even the chance I can get my image back, I’m taking it.

“Fine,” I say tightly, turning to David. “Take me back to my car?”

He’s already on his feet, capping his water bottle.

“You know the routine,” Rose calls out. “No comment to the press. Let us handle it—we’ll do what we can to get the video taken down from as many sites as possible. And I’ll be in touch with Ashley to discuss payment over the broken contract and to let her know what we expect of her—if you have any influence over her, encourage her to go along with this.”

I nod stiffly and follow David out of the building.

“It’s for the best,” David says as we climb into his car.

Doesn’t mean I like it.

When David drops me at my car, I climb in and pull out my phone, ignoring the dozens of missed calls and messages from Ash. It isn’t hard to find our scandal.

I stick earbuds in and spend the next few minutes watching myself fuck Ashley Foley.

Which Gabriel Sinclair am I? The man in the video, the man I’ve been telling myself I am, or someone else entirely? I don’t know, but there’s one thing I do know. I’m no better than Michael, and I’m about to prove it.

There’s no one around, but I keep the windows up and the engine on, blasting the A/C as I call Ashley.

She answers immediately. “Gabe. Did you see? I am so sorry—how are you doing? Please tell me you’re okay—”

Hearing her voice, even anxious and pleading, immediately calms me down. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t sound fine, but right now isn’t the time to push.

“In a couple of hours, my team is going to issue a statement that we broke up a few days ago, amicable split due to differences, schedules—the usual bullshit. But I’m not done with us.”

There’s silence on the other end. She had to have seen the breakup coming. She knew this was about roughening the edges of my image, not about creating a whole new, darker one, but her silence feeds the worry returning to my stomach.

“Ash. I want to keep seeing you, but we’ll have to keep it a secret.”

“For how long?”

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