Page 112 of Try Hard

Social media. Of course.

Leaked pictures from the hen and stag party.

Me, all over Ophelia.

And the commentary… Shit.

I wasn’t a big enough celebrity for this to still be a thing. Sure, there’d been interest in my personal life, especially at the peak of my fame and career, and, yes, I kept up something of a public persona, still had fans and such, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I needed to worry about keeping Ophelia safe at a private party. I hadn’t once thought pictures would be taken—or sold. Why did they even have value?

Of course, I knew the answer to that—years of media training covered it—but my blood felt like it was boiling. It was aprivateparty. I was with aprivatecitizen.

And I’d failed to keep Ophelia safe. Failed to even consider the need to in that situation.

For a moment, my mind threw up Sammy. She’d been angry with me—angrier at Ophelia. But the angles were wrong on most of them. She could have taken a couple of them, but most of them were from somewhere else.

“I don’t think you’re going to like the comments,” Soph said, reaching towards the phone.

I shook my head. “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

She sighed heavily but nodded. Not our first time navigating something like this. It was just the first time someone I loved was being put through it too.

I hadn’t thought Soph was wrong in her assessment, but the more comments I read, the more they felt like bile burning my stomach. There were the objectifying ones, the disgustingcomments about wanting to take both of us. There were the ones attacking Ophelia for having theaudacityto be with me. How could she steal me from them? How couldn’t I realise she wasn’t good enough for me—hot enough for me?

Disgusting.

There were those fighting our corner too, pointing out that I was never going to date the people behind the keyboards, that they didn’t know me so what difference did it make who I was with? The ones who pointed out how happy we looked together, how well we seemed to suit each other. But I hated that it was necessary. I appreciated the sentiment, but they didn’t know me either. Strangers were having to defend my relationship from people trying to tear it down. All because someone at a party couldn’t help invading our privacy.

And it had to be someone who’d known us back at school. Too much information about Ophelia had gotten out too quickly.

“Tell me what you need,” Soph said, her hand on my back as I gripped her phone too hard.

What did I need? To go back and prevent this from ever happening? Impossible.

I sucked in a breath. This was happening. Damage control needed to happen too.

“My phone,” I said, handing Soph’s back and lunging into action.

Three messages from my agent, Andra, already. I’d been so wrapped up in thinking about Ophelia—in being with her—that I’d been off the grid since yesterday.

I hit dial, putting it on speaker as I texted Ophelia. I could handle the rest of it, I just needed to know she was okay.

Andra answered quickly. “Eve, good to hear from you, even if the conditions are less than ideal.” Her New York accent was strong and steady, comforting. She was who I called in a crisis. She was reliable.

“So, no chance this is just my sister playing pranks on me then?” I asked lightly, watching the scowl Soph shot my way.

“I’m afraid not. It’s out. News has hit socials. We’re probably just going to have to ride the cycle out. It shouldn’t linger too long, hopefully. It’s not like—”

“I’m in the public eye in the same way, yeah, I know.” Still no reply from Ophelia. I didn’t like it. “I have no interest in sharing this part of my life, but I can’t let this go without making a statement, Andra.”

She paused. “We don’t usually dignify these things with a response.”

“I’m aware. This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re attacking Ophelia, and I won’t stand for that. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t ask for this.”

“I’m not trying to suggest what happened is okay, but being with you does come with risks like this. Surely, she was aware?”