When I get back to my apartment, I'm exhausted. Mentally and physically.
Dahlia ordered an unreasonable amount of takeout, so we're having a full-blown feast at my dining table. Just the three of us—me, her, and Dale.
I invited Jean and the others, of course, but they're very strict when it comes to work. Jean is the only one who actually steps inside my apartment. She's sitting in the corner with her laptop open.
Still, I insist. I pile a little of everything onto a plate and set it beside her. Yes, without her explicit permission.
"You're blowing up the internet again," Dahlia says around a mouthful of pizza, one hand holding an oversized slice while the other scrolls through her phone.
During the press conference, reporters kept circling back to my fake marriage with Logan. I only gave them half the truth.
