Chapter 24 #2
I nodded. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets.
The drugs had been found an hour ago. Hotel security, doing a routine check before checkout. White powder residue on the bathroom counter. Small baggie in the nightstand drawer.
In the suite registered under my name.
My name. Not his.
“My career. . .” Ben ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so practiced it might as well have been choreographed. “The franchise. It’s bigger than just me now. You know that.”
I knew that. Everyone knew that. Benjamin Harroway was the face of the Speed Run series. Four movies, another greenlit, merchandising deals, theme park attractions. He wasn’t just an actor. He was a brand.
A brand that couldn’t be associated with cocaine in a hotel room.
“You could go to rehab,” I said.
The words landed wrong immediately. I could feel it.
Ben laughed. A short, incredulous sound. “Rehab?” He stared at me like I’d suggested he shave his head and join a monastery. “Matt. Come on.”
“I’m serious,” I said. My heart was pounding, but I didn’t back down. “This isn’t the first time. And it won’t be the last. You disappear at parties. You come back wired. You say you’ve got it under control, but—”
“But I do have it under control,” he cut in smoothly. “This was a mistake. A one-time thing.”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “And you know it.”
Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Not fear. Calculation.
“They found it in your room,” he said gently, like he was explaining something to a child. “That’s the problem.”
“Our room,” I said.
“Technically yours,” he said after a beat. “The reservation—”
“I made it under my name because you asked me to.”
“I know.” He reached out, touched my face. His hand was warm, familiar. “Matt, I’m not blaming you. I’m trying to figure out how to fix this.”
My chest ached. This was bad. This was career-ending bad. For both of us.
Except it wouldn’t be for both of us.
It never was.
“You’re the only person who knows the truth,” Ben said. His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “About us. About. . . everything.”
The truth. That we’d been sleeping together. That the drugs were his, not mine. That I’d never touched the stuff, just knew about it, tolerated it, looked the other way when he disappeared into bathrooms at parties.
I thought of my mom, passed out on the couch with the TV still on. Of overdue notices folded into neat piles on the kitchen counter. Of the way I’d learned, early, that loving someone meant cleaning up after them. Covering. Fixing. Absorbing the damage so they didn’t have to.
I thought of the clothes he’d bought me. The restaurants. The way doors opened for him—and by extension, for me. Of how close I was to finally being safe. Of not worrying about rent. Or Angelica’s school. Or what would happen if something went wrong.
If I said no, everything shattered.
If I said yes, only I did.
“I never ask anything of you, Matt,” Ben continued, his voice breaking just slightly. “But you’re the only person I can count on.”
What a perfect delivery.
I looked at Ben. At the man who filled movie screens. Who had teams of people paid to make sure he never looked like the villain in his own story.
I cared about him. God help me, I did. Or maybe I cared about the version of him he let me see in quiet moments, when he wasn’t performing. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to stop being the person who stepped in front of the fallout.
My chest felt tight. Wrong. Like I was about to jump without checking how far the drop was.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth.
Ben froze. “Matt—”
“I’ll say it was mine,” I said quickly, before I could lose my nerve. “That you didn’t know. That it was a stupid mistake.”
My heart was racing now, panic and resolve tangled together. “They’ll believe it. I’m just your assistant. No one’s surprised if I screw up my life. You can’t be associated with this.”
I waited. For him to stop me. To say no. To say we’d find another way.
Instead, relief flickered across his face before he could hide it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, hands gripping my shoulders. “I can’t let you—”
But he already had, and he wasn’t stopping me.
That should have been my first clue.
“I’m sure,” I said.
He pulled me into a hug, held me close, and whispered “thank you” against my hair.
I thought it meant something.
The NDA was fifteen pages long. I signed it without more than a quick glance over the terms.
Hotel security escorted me out through the service entrance. No press. No photos. Just a quiet exit.
The narrative was already being crafted: An assistant was dismissed for inappropriate conduct. No charges filed. Matter resolved internally.
Ben’s publicist released a statement: Mr. Harroway is grateful this situation was handled and wishes everyone involved the best.
I never saw him again.
Two months later, Speed Run 5 started filming. Ben did press. Smiled for cameras. Talked about his commitment to the role, to the fans, to excellence.
No one asked about the hotel room.
No one asked about me. Including him.
Present day. Monday morning.
I stood in my apartment, phone still in my hand, Patricia’s words echoing in my head.
Your contract has been terminated, effective immediately.
Fired.
They hadn’t said it, but I knew the truth. Andrew had been the one to fire me. Without asking. Without explanation. Without giving me a choice.
And that—
That pissed me the hell off.
I grabbed my keys.
Last time, I’d left quietly. Signed the NDA. Walked away. Let Ben erase me from his story.
Not this time.
This time, I was getting answers.