Page 8 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Andrew steps into the kitchen, still flushed from his early morning run, the newspaper tucked under his arm. He shakes his head, tossing it onto the island between us.

“You’re famous!” he announces, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Congratulations.”

Philippa, ever curious, snatches the paper before I can react, unfolding it with dramatic flair. “Let’s see what the vultures have to say this time,” she muses.

She clears her throat and begins reading aloud.

“The long-lost heiress returns to claim her rightful place within the Montgomery Dynasty, though our sources say this little songstress has her sights on something a little different, much to the chagrin of the Montgomery Patriarch. Our sources also report that she flew in coach when her father sits on the board of said airline. Was Daddy displeased?”

She pauses to glance at me from above the paper with a raised brow, her eyes full of mirth, before continuing, “The heiress was spotted partying it up with an unidentified friend at Bungalow 8 at the Pacific Records album wrap party for rapper J Jones. She’s rumored to have signed a three-album record deal with Pacific Records USA after some success back in Australia, where her single ‘Ignite’ topped the Hottest Hits Australia charts for five weeks in a row, receiving numerous illustrious Australian Music Awards for the pop hit.

However, she was mysteriously absent at the ceremony before disappearing into obscurity for years, only now emerging.

Is there more to this disappearance than meets the eye?

Why did she vanish at the height of her success?

Was she recovering from a secret drug problem in rehab?

We’ve reached out to her representatives for a statement, but so far, silence speaks volumes. ”

I groan, rubbing my temple. “Of course, they had to throw in the ‘drug problem’ speculation. Wouldn’t be a proper hit piece without it.”

Philippa folds the paper, placing it down gently. “They’re going to twist everything, Elena. You know that.”

Andrew shrugs, taking a long sip of water. “At least they mentioned your deal. Press is press, right?”

I scowl at him. “Not when it makes me sound like some washed-up scandal magnet with a mystery drug problem trying to claw my way back into the spotlight.”

Philippa sighs, tapping her nails against her coffee cup. “Do you need our PR team to handle it?”

I shake my head. I trust Kylie. She’ll be able to smooth things over. I hope.

Kylie arrives promptly at eleven a.m., laptop in hand, her expression all business. She’s dressed in crisp business casual, a stark contrast to my oversized sweatshirt and leggings. It sucks that she has to work on a Saturday morning, but then again, the press never sleeps.

She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, dropping her bag onto the counter and flipping open her laptop. “Alright, let’s get ahead of this before it spirals. We need to craft a statement that acknowledges it without adding fuel to the fire.”

I rub my temples, still nursing the lingering effects of last night’s choices. “Can’t we ignore it?”

Kylie shoots me a look. “Not if you want to control the narrative. The ‘Long-lost Heiress’ angle is already running wild, and if we don’t steer it in the right direction, they’ll make up their own version of events.”

She types quickly, the rhythmic tapping of her keys filling the kitchen. “We need something casual but confident. Something that says, ‘Yes, I’m back. Yes, I’m focused on my career. No, I was not secretly in rehab.’”

I snort at that last part. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

“How do you feel talking about your mom? We need to squash this ‘drug problem’ narrative. We could frame it in a way that highlights your resilience, how you channeled your grief into your music, and the importance of raising awareness for cancer research. Maybe even donate to a cancer charity in her name? It could show a deeper, more personal side of you, but only if you’re comfortable with that. ”

The thought of giving any of this information out to the press makes my stomach churn.

It feels invasive, like I’m exposing a piece of her legacy to be scrutinized by people who might never understand.

But I also know my mother. If she were here, she would fight tooth and nail to protect me.

And maybe, in some way, this is my way of fighting for myself.

“I’m okay with that, so long as it’s tasteful. I don’t want her death to be sensationalized.” My heart aches, but is resolved in my decision.

Kylie turns the laptop toward me. “Here’s a draft social media post: ‘Feels good to be back in NYC! Excited for what’s ahead and grateful for all the love. New music coming soon. #BackAtIt’—short, confident, and leaves no room for speculation.”

I read over the words, chewing on my lip. It’s safe, maybe too safe, but I know she’s right. The last thing I need is to add fuel to the gossip fire. I nod. “Fine. Post it.”

Kylie then works on drafting a formal statement that I’m happy with for Page Six , addressing the rumors head-on.

She keeps it professional yet firm, refuting the baseless drug allegations and emphasizing my dedication to my career.

At the same time, she arranges for Pacific’s legal department to issue a notice warning against further defamatory claims, making it clear that any continued speculation without evidence will have consequences.

Kylie smiles, already clicking away. “Done.” She exhales, stretching her neck. “Now, let’s talk damage control for your next appearance.”

I sink back into my chair. The weight of it all settles in—how exhausting it is to constantly manage perceptions, to mold myself into whatever version the world expects. “Do we really have to?” I mutter, half-joking.

Kylie raises a brow. “Unless you want to keep being a tabloid magnet, then yes.”