VIVIAN
Marcus insists I need to be seen. Need to show the world I'm thriving. Not broken. Not destroyed by Forbes or Vanity Fair or the public war.
So here I am. Underground club in downtown LA. Exclusive. Invitation only. The kind of place where celebrities hide and pretend they're normal.
Strobe lights. Bass that rattles my chest. Champagne flowing. Everyone wearing masks. Anonymous. Free.
I'm in a black dress. Mask covering half my face. Silver. Dramatic.
Marcus is beside me. Hand on my waist. Playing the devoted boyfriend for the cameras that shouldn't be here but definitely are.
"You look beautiful," he says into my ear. Has to yell over the music.
"Thanks."
"Try to have fun. Actually have fun. Not performing fun."
I force a smile. "I am having fun."
"You're scanning the room. Looking for him."
"I'm not—"
"You are. You always do." Marcus's hand tightens on my waist. "He's not here. His publicist confirmed he's in New York tonight. Business. You're safe."
