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Chapter Fifteen

G eorge slumped onto his couch, debating whether he wanted to take a shower or run a long bath to soak in.

His body ached from training, muscles taut and screaming for rest, but it wasn’t just the physical exhaustion weighing him down.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating against an empty glass, and for a moment he debated ignoring it entirely. But habit won, as it always did.

He reached over lazily, thumb swiping at the screen, only to freeze mid-motion.

There it was: Myst’s face plastered across the homepage of some tabloid website.

“Myst Steps Out Again: Is Antoine Delacourt More Than Just A Friend?” The headline practically screamed at him, jabbing precisely where he already felt raw.

Below it were glossy photos of Myst draped in a silky emerald gown that clung to her in all the right places.

Her dark hair cascaded like liquid ink over one shoulder, her pale blue eyes catching the light with an allure that seemed almost otherworldly.

And next to her, looking smug and polished, was Antoine Delacourt, whose perfectly tailored suit and easy grin made George want to punch something.

“Bloody hell,” George muttered under his breath, fingers tightening around his phone like it might snap in two.

He tried to rationalize it; Antoine was someone Myst had to schmooze with for work or publicity.

But the photos told a different story, one that whispered insidious doubts into the corners of his mind.

They looked... effortless together. Like they belonged in the same world, all glitz and glamour and million-dollar smiles.

Unlike him, with his broken nose and a crooked tooth in his smile.

The thought hit hard, a sucker punch to the gut. What was he doing, really? Trying to fit into a life so far removed from his own that it felt like trying on someone else’s shoes, shoes two sizes too small, at that.

Without thinking, his thumbs moved over the screen, tapping out a message before he could second-guess himself.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” Simple.

Honest. Brutal. He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

As soon as the message disappeared, regret sank its claws in, but he shoved the phone aside and leaned back against the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling fan spinning above him.

Moments later, the phone buzzed again. Myst’s name lit up the screen, her call cutting through the quiet hum of the night.

George’s heart stuttered, but he didn’t pick up.

He couldn’t, not yet. Not when everything inside him felt tangled and knotted, like a rugby ball stuck beneath a pile of players, impossible to reach.

Instead, he let it ring out, the sound fading into silence that felt deafening.

“Jessie, what do I do?” Myst’s voice cracked as she paced the length of her Istanbul hotel room, barefoot and dressed in sweats that felt entirely out of place after hours spent in stage heels.

She’d called Jessie the moment George hadn’t answered, the sharp sting of rejection still fresh and bleeding, and Jessie was there within moments.

“First off, stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy,” Jessie said dryly. “And second…” there was a pause, followed by a dramatic sigh, “you fight for him, obviously.”

“How?!” Myst flopped onto the edge of the bed, burying her head in her free hand.

“He thinks he doesn’t belong in my world.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve dragged him into something he never signed up for.

These stupid photos, these headlines…” Her voice broke again, and she hated how weak she sounded.

“They’re painting a picture that isn’t true, and I can’t stop it. ”

“Well, you can’t stop it by hiding,” Jessie said, sitting down beside her and patting her shoulder. “Look, Myst, if you care about him you’ve got to show him. Take control of the narrative. Set the record straight, your way.”

“Set the record straight?” Myst echoed, frowning.

“Yeah. Stop letting these vultures tell your story for you. You’re Myst , for god’s sake. They hang on your every word. Use that. Make them listen,“ Jessie urged, her no-nonsense edge returning. “This is your relationship. Don’t let them ruin it before you’ve even gotten a proper chance.”

“You mean go public? But George...” Myst trailed off, biting her lip. “What if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Jessie snapped without hesitation. “But I don’t think he is. He loves you, Myst. He’s just scared. So stop giving him reasons to doubt, yeah?”

Myst exhaled shakily, the weight of Jessie’s words settling in her chest. “All right,” she said quietly. “I’m going to do it.”

“Excellent.” Jessie levered herself back to her feet. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Sorry,” Myst said belatedly, but Jessie laughed and leaned down to hug her.

“Love you, cuz. Now don’t stuff this up, okay? George is a good guy, maybe the first one you’ve ever found. Hang on tight with both hands and don’t let go!”

Myst sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, her laptop resting precariously on a pillow in front of her.

The Istanbul skyline glittered beyond the massive window, but she barely noticed it.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised and trembling, as if the words she was about to type weighed as much as the city itself.

“Come on,” Myst muttered under her breath, blowing a strand of dark hair out of her face.

Jessie’s voice still echoed in her mind: “Take control of the narrative.” Easier said than done.

She’d written and deleted this post at least six times already, each attempt sounding either too defensive or too vague.

And then there was George, how would he feel about her putting their lives under an even brighter spotlight?

Did she even have the right to do this when he hadn’t answered her call?

Her pale blue eyes darted to her phone lying beside her. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Just silence.

“Okay,” she breathed, steeling herself. “Just… be honest.” That’s what she always told her fans, didn’t she? Be authentic, be real. So why did it feel like baring her soul online was so much harder than singing about it onstage in front of thousands?

She started typing, the keys clicking softly in the quiet room.

“Hi everyone, I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for all the love and support you’ve shown me these past few weeks. It means everything to know my music connects with you…”

“Ugh, too formal,” she groaned, backspacing furiously. After a pause, she tried again.

“Hey guys. Things have been kind of crazy lately, and I’ve seen some stuff floating around that I wanted to address…”

Better. Honest, but not dramatic. Her fingers moved faster now, the words coming out in pieces, raw and unpolished.

“I love what I do, and I’m so grateful to be able to share it with all of you. But sometimes, being in the public eye can be overwhelming. There are parts of my life I want to keep just for me. For us.”

Myst hesitated, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. This was the part where she could pull back, make it easy on herself. But Jessie’s words came rushing back again: “ Stop giving him reasons to doubt.”

She typed the next line slowly, deliberately.

“I’m lucky to have someone who supports me through everything, even when it’s not easy.”

Scrolling through her photo gallery, she selected the picture she had in mind, one Jessie had taken of her and George together.

She was leaning against his chest, looking up at him with a look of adoration on her face, but his face was turned away from the camera.

He wasn’t identifiable except for his size…

but anyone who had seen them together, or perhaps anyone who knew George well, would be sure of his identity.

Her thumb hovered over the “Post” button. The cursor blinked expectantly on the screen, taunting her. What if this made things worse? What if George saw it and thought she was being reckless, or worse, desperate? What if…

“Do it,” she whispered to herself. Then, before she could second-guess any further, she hit “Post.”

The message went live, and Myst immediately set the laptop aside, hugging her knees to her chest. She stared at her phone, waiting for the first notifications to pop up.

They came in waves, as they always did. Likes, comments, shares.

Her fans were quick. Some responses made her smile; the ones calling her brave, sending hearts and supportive messages.

Others… well, the speculations started almost instantly.

“Who’s the mystery guy?”

“Is it Antoine??”

“No way, that guy’s huge compared to Antoine!”

“She looks happy; whoever he is, he put a smile on her face! Poor Antoine!”

“Poor Antoine, my arse,” Myst muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Still, a small knot tightened in her stomach. Putting herself out there like this felt like stepping onto a wire without a safety net. Vulnerable wasn’t really her thing, not offstage anyway.

But for George’s sake, she’d bare her soul for the world to see.

“Did you see this?” Sophie, George’s youngest sister, shoved her phone across the dining table toward him, nearly knocking over his glass of water in the process. “It’s all over social media.”

“Careful, Soph,” George muttered, glancing down at the screen reluctantly. He was mid-bite of his mum’s roast lamb Sunday dinner, but the photo of Myst’s Instagram post stopped him cold. His fork hovered halfway to his mouth.

“Nice of her to mention you without actually mentioning you,” Sophie teased, her grin wicked. “Very subtle.”

“Leave him alone,” their mother cut in, though even she had a knowing look on her face. “He doesn’t need you stirring the pot.”