Page 95 of Fangirl

I came here under duress, sure. Will’s relentless blackmail got me this far.

But now? Standing here—faced with the literal choice, thephysical door—I’m not sure anymore.

Because once I open this door… nothing will ever be the same.

Before I can second-guess myself again, I hear voices from the left. Staff, by the sound of it, laughing as they head from the service corridor.

The choice is made for me. I slide the card all the way in and push the door open, rushing inside like the coward I am.

Except… I don’t step into a hotel room. I walk straight into a goddamn penthouse living room.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, framing a breathtaking view of London. Big Ben rising proud to the left, the London Eye barely visible through the fog, the Thames snaking dark and endless below.

For a second, I just… stand there. Because this? This isn’t my world.

This view, this space, the ridiculous grandeur, it’s a glimpse into a life I don’t belong in. A life I was never meant to touch.

“Eli?” I call out, my voice shaky. Then I correct myself with a bitter laugh. “Jake?”

I move carefully toward the double doors cracked open at the end of the suite. And there he is, lying on top of the massive bed, headphones on, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Something, maybe instinct, maybe luck, makes him glance over. And the second his eyes land on me, his entire body jerks like he’s been shocked.

He scrambles upright, ripping the headphones off so fast that the cord tangles around his wrist. “Amy— God, are you… are you really here?”

Hetakes a step forward like he might grab me, but I raise a hand and backpedal fast, my glare enough to stop him mid-stride.

He freezes.

And yeah, he looks like shit. Well, Hollywood heartthrob shit. Which, apparently, means rumpled tuxedo pants hanging low on his hips, his white dress shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, revealing a stupidly toned chest that—annoyingly—looks just as good as every photoshopped picture online. No CGI. No filters. Just… him.

Damn it!

His hair is a mess, black strands sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. His eyes are bloodshot, his stubble rough and dark across his jaw. And somehow… it makes him hotter.

Which is just so unfair.

Because no matter how wrecked he looks, the man is still so far out of my league that it’s laughable.

Not the point, Ames. Focus.

“Oh god, thank you. I’m so glad you’re here. I was losing my mind.”

“God has nothing to do with it. Your lunatic best friend, on the other hand…”

“I’ll talk to him.”

I narrow my eyes. “To thank him, I suppose?”

He flinches, and for a second, that cocky Hollywood shine fades. “No… to kill him.”

I cross my arms as my heart hammers, but I hold my ground. “Well, get in line.”

He huffs a humorless laugh and scrubs a hand down hisface. “Okay… maybe I’ll thank him first. Then kill him.” He glances up, exhausted. “I didn’t think you’d come. Hell, I was sure you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug stiffly. “Blackmail’s a hell of a motivator.”

His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. “I didn’t know he’d do that. I swear. And the news… I’m fixing it. I spent most of the night with my PR team. They’ll fix it, Amy. I’ll fix it. You’re not the villain here—I am. And there’s nothing I’m not willing to do to make this right.”