Page 64 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

He crosses the room in two strides, crouching in front of me.

“What happened?”

I shake my head, my voice brittle. “It’s stupid. It’s just… Wade.”

His jaw clenches. He knows that name.

I swallow hard. “He sold a story to the tabloids. Made up a bunch of lies. Said I cheated. Said I used him.”

Finn’s eyes darken, and something sharp flashes across his face.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, low and fierce.

“But they won’t care, Finn.” My voice breaks before I can stop it. “They’ll believe whatever sells.”

He cups my face, his hands steady, grounding me. “Then we don’t let them win.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back. “I can’t be that girl again. The one everyone points at. I fought too hard to get here.”

“You’re not that girl,” he says, his voice fierce, sure. “You’reKate. You built yourself from nothing. No washed-up quarterback gets to rewrite your story.”

His words hit something deep inside me, cracking it wide open.

I’ve spent my whole life running from the version of myself they want to believe in.

But maybe, with Finn, I don’t have to run anymore.

I look at him—really look—and for the first time since the call, I feel something steady beneath the panic.

And I believe him, and I believe in us even if the rest of the world is about to tear me apart.

Everything with Finn and me? Well, it feelsright.

I don’t even realize how deeply I’ve started to believe in us—this strange, messy, addictivethingwe’ve built—until it all starts crashing down.

Wade.God, I should’ve known.

The second Ray’s call ends—my world spirals because the story spreads like wildfire.

By noon, my phone’s blowing up with texts, missed calls, and notifications. Headlines screaming my name are everywhere:

Small-Town Sweetheart Turned Homewrecker?

Kate Grace’s Secret Affair with Finn Callahan Revealed?

Ex Speaks Out: ‘She Used Me to Get Famous.’

I feel like I’m drowning.

The media is outside the hotel, and they make homeless people look less scary. The paparazzi swarms the lobby like sharpshooters. My socials are flooded with strangers calling me everything from a cheater to a gold-digger to a two-faced liar.

I shut my phone off, but it doesn’t stop there.

It’s everywhere—on the TV in the corner, in the whispers of hotel staff, even in the way peoplelookat me in the hallway, like I’m something they’ve already decided to hate.

I can’t breathe.

I lock myself in the bedroom, pacing, too wired to sit down, too sick to cry. My hands won’t stop shaking.