Page 124 of Fangirl

Jake turns to me, his expression softening. “Ready?”

No. Not even close, but I nod anyway.

He presses a kiss to the back of my hand, then steps out. The crowd erupts. The flashes blind.

He turns, reaching for me, and I force my feet to move. The second my heel hits the ground, it begins—the shouting, the cameras, the chaos.

Jake slips effortlessly into the role, flashing that devastating smile, waving like he was born for this. A natural.

And me? I cling to his hand like a lifeline, my ribs crushed by the corset, the heels already biting deep into my feet.

Each step feels heavier than the last. But there’s no stopping now.

“Smile, Fangirl,” Jake whispers, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re doing perfect.”

I wonder if he even sees me or just the girl Mariana built.

The flashes blind me. I force a smile, something stiffand unnatural as photographers yell his name, voices sharp and demanding.Who’s she? Jake, look this way! Who’s the girl?

He keeps me close, his hand never leaving my waist. We pose, we smile, and every so often, he leans down to whisper sweet nonsense that almost—almost—makes me forget the fire climbing my legs.

Until finally, mercifully, the red carpet ends. The second the doors close behind us, the world falls blessedly dark and quiet.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

I nod, lying through my teeth. “Yeah. Fine.”

But I’m not.

I’m flustered and in pain, suffocating in a dress and shoes designed for anything but a chronically ill body. Stupid, really. I was the one too delusional to refuse the shoes they calledSo Kate Ten.Ten, I now realize, must stand for the number of hours of agony they’re guaranteed to cause.

The movie is a blur. Faces I half recognize flash across the screen. Jake’s friends, his world. The audience laughs, gasps, and cheers.

And me? I just sit there, counting every second, feeling the steady burn climbing my spine, an ache blooming deep in my muscles. Every breath is tighter than the last.

By the time we make it to the after-party, I’m running on fumes, held together by sheer willpower, pride, and love for the man by my side.

All I want is to get home. Rip off this dress. Crawl into sweats. Grab a tub of ice cream he would never share due to the sugar content. Take my painkillers.

Lose myself in some K-drama where the girl always gets the guy, the ending is always perfect, and no one ever has to limp their way through the night, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

The party is loud and glittering—celebrities everywhere and champagne flowing. Jake beams when people greet him, his arm never straying from my waist like he knows I’m barely holding it together.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, concern flickering in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I lie. What else can I say? There’s no room for honesty here, not when cameras flash and people hover, waiting for cracks to show.

But deep down, the truth gnaws at me.

This is just the beginning, and I’m already breaking.

What happens in a few months? If I’m breaking after one night… what chance do we have?

I glance at him, so effortlessly in his element, and something twists in my chest. Part of me pities him, tied to me, the weak link in his shining world.

He greets people, smiles easily, and laughs at jokes that aren’t funny. And everyone smiles back politely, like they see right through me. Like I’m temporary, a placeholder.

And Jake? He slides into it like it’s second nature. That easy charm. That perfect Hollywood grin. I watch him tip his head back and laugh at some producer’s terrible joke, the sound smooth, practiced… performative.