Fangirl

Chapter 12 #2

He offered to meet before the premiere, but I couldn’t. The thought of him seeing me exhausted, overwhelmed, and riddled with anxiety felt too exposing. Tonight, I need to be my best self, the Amy who isn’t running on nerves and caffeine alone.

Looking at my reflection now, I know I made the right choice.

My phone beeps, breaking the moment. A text from the car service sent by Eli’s production company letting me know they’re on their way.

Maya stretches, tilting her head. “He must be one hell of a special effects guy to get this kind of VIP treatment.”

I scrunch my nose. “I know, right? It’s weird.” I shake my head, trying to brush off the nagging feeling crawling up my spine. It’s just anxiety, surely. First-date nerves, even if we’ve been talking for months. But still… a small part of me can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.

Maya sits up and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her gaze.

“Hey. I know that look. And I’m telling you right now—don’t do this.

” She tightens her grip like she can physically shake the doubt out of me.

“You don’t need to wait for the other shoe to drop.

You don’t need to dig for something wrong with the man or the situation.

You deserve this. You deserve love. You deserve the goddamn fairy tale.

So don’t sabotage it before it even begins.

Breathe. Get in that damn car and have the best night of your life with your man. ”

I exhale slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders.

Then I smile. “Okay.”

Maya grins, satisfied. “Damn right, okay.”

A car horn sounds outside.

I grab the cashmere shawl Maya lent me for the occasion, wrapping it snugly around my shoulders.

It’s December in London, which means freezing, but I’ve never seen anyone wear a coat or jacket on the red carpet, so it’ll have to do.

Not that I plan to be outside for long—five minutes, tops, just enough time to make my way into the Odeon Luxe.

Sliding into the backseat of the luxury sedan, I smooth my dress, my fingers lightly tracing over the delicate fabric. The car glides away from the curb, the city lights flickering past the windows.

“We should be there in about thirty minutes,” the driver says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I nod, offering a polite smile. “Thank you. Traffic must be decent today.”

It usually takes about forty minutes from Tooting to Leicester Square, but right now, time feels both too fast and agonizingly slow.

In half an hour, I’ll be seeing Eli… for the first time.

And despite everything Maya said, despite the excitement humming beneath my skin…

I can’t shake the feeling that nothing will ever be the same after tonight.

“Do you want the front entrance or back?” he asks as we weave through the streets of central London,

I lean forward in my seat, suddenly far more interested. “Oh, there’s a back entrance?”

He chuckles at my excitement. “Most premieres have one. Unless you’re contractually obligated to walk the carpet, you don’t have to go through the front.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not obligated to anything. So, no journalists at the back?”

He shrugs. “Maybe one or two, but nothing like the madness out front.”

Relief floods me. “Oh, yes please!”

The driver laughs again. “Back entrance it is.”

I glance at him through the rearview mirror. “Do you do this often? Drive people to premieres?”

“Quite a lot, yeah,” he says, smoothly navigating through traffic. “My company works with most of the big UK production houses. And I could tell right away that you’d pick the back if given the choice.”

I let out a small breath, shoulders sagging. “Am I that obvious?”

He grins. “Let’s just say… I have a pretty good read on people.”

I sink back into my seat, exhaling. “Well, I appreciate it.”

He nods. “No problem. We’ll be there in about five minutes.”

My heart kicks up a notch. In five minutes, this won’t just be texts and late-night calls.

It’ll be real. In five minutes, I’ll be standing in front of Eli.

Talking to him. Touching him. For months, I’ve dreamed of this moment—of the way it’ll feel when his eyes meet mine, when his lips curve into that easy, knowing smile.

And now, it’s here. It’s finally happening.

And if I let myself believe in fairy tales, I’d think this is the part where everything changes for the better.

I just hope I’m not wrong.

I glance down at my hands, my fingers twisting in my lap.

I feel stupidly relieved to be skipping the red carpet.

The idea of cameras flashing, reporters calling out questions—it’s too much.

Too overwhelming. This? The back entrance, the quiet slip inside, the moment of calm before I see him? This is exactly what I need.

My phone vibrates.

Eli: I’m inside. Just let me know when you get here, and I’ll come find you.

I stare at the message, my pulse fluttering.

Me: Almost there. I’m taking the back entrance.

I don’t even have time to overthink it. The car slows, pulling onto a side street behind the theater.

“We’re here,” the driver announces.

I swallow hard. Showtime.

I step out of the car, gripping my pass like it might disappear if I loosen my hold for even a second.

The air outside is thick with anticipation—the distant roar of the crowd just beyond the building, the low murmur of voices bleeding through the walls, the faint pulse of music from outside. But I don’t stop to listen.

I rush to the side door, flashing my card at the man stationed there. He barely spares me a glance before stepping aside, letting me slip through.

The second the door closes behind me, the world shifts.

The outside chaos is reduced to a distant hum behind thick walls. I let out a sharp breath, relief flooding through me in a way I didn’t expect.

I’m inside.

And as ridiculous as it sounds, it feels safe.

The corridor stretches long and empty before me, quiet in a way that makes my heartbeat seem too loud.

Plush carpeting muffles my steps as I move forward, past sleek black-and-gold walls, the soft glow of recessed lighting guiding my way.

The faint scent of popcorn and expensive perfume lingers in the air.

Ahead, the double doors are wide open, spilling a golden light into the hallway.

Beyond them, a mass of people. A blur of sleek suits, sparkling gowns, and servers balancing champagne flutes on silver trays. Voices overlap—excited chatter, industry small talk, the kind of polished, effortless conversation that only comes with knowing you belong.

I don’t.

At least, not in the way they do.

I slow as I approach the doors, pressing myself against the wall for a second. I just need a moment.

Breathe.

I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen as I type a message to Eli.

And then—

“Hi, Fangirl, it’s so good to finally see you. You’re beautiful.”

The words slide through the open doorway, warm and teasing. Eli’s voice.

Relief crashes over me like a wave. A laugh bubbles in my throat, my pulse fluttering in anticipation as I lift my gaze—

And then my world tilts.

Because the man standing there… isn’t Eli. It’s Jake Hollander.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

My lungs seize as I take in the man standing before me—taller than I expected, broader, and familiar in ways that shouldn’t make sense. His eyes, those ridiculous lashes, that crooked, nervous smile. A jolt runs through me—recognition and betrayal colliding like thunder and lightning in my chest.

The scent of him hits next, warm cedar and citrus, and I hate that I even notice. That some part of me still catalogs it.

My lips part, but no words come. My body goes cold, a shivering ice that seeps into my bones as I scan the room, my mind scrambling, begging for an answer that makes sense. Where’s Eli?

He wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t—

I take a step forward, my voice coming out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Where is he?”

Jake’s expression flickers. “Amy—”

No. No!

I shake my head violently, my breath coming too fast. “No. Don’t. Don’t—”

I force my voice louder, my panic clawing its way up my throat.

“Let me see my Eli. Please.”

Silence.

His hand lifts, reaching hesitantly toward me, but I flinch back, like I'd been struck.

He swallows as his hand falls uselessly to his side, his face crumpling with a grief I can't bear to look at.

I stumble back, my entire body revolting against the truth.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” I whisper. “He was— He was just texting me. He’s inside, right? He’s—”

I look around frantically, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“He’s waiting for me. I just need to find him. He’s here. He has to be here.”

Jake’s face contorts, something wrecked behind his eyes. “Amy, I—”

I snap my head back to him. And I see it.

His face.

His voice.

His name.

My stomach drops, a sickening, vertigo-inducing lurch.

A ringing starts in my ears.

My hands are ice.

My stomach clenches hard, nausea clawing its way up my throat.

No. No. No, no, no!

I gasp, but my lungs won’t work. Then the room tilts.

I think I sway. I don’t know. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything.

Where is he?

The thought comes frantic… desperate and irrational. But my body isn’t listening. It’s shutting down.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

It was him. It was always him.

My legs buckle, and I catch myself at the last second, gripping the wall like it’s the only thing keeping me from hitting the floor.

Everything blurs—faces, lights, voices. It’s like someone pulled the plug on reality, and I’m spiraling down the drain.

“It was you,” I whisper, my vision tunneling. “It was always you.”

His voice is lower in person, rougher, and I hate that I notice. Hate that it sounds exactly like I imagined whispering into my neck.

The room shrinks, pressing in around me, the air too thick. The sound of clinking champagne glasses and polite laughter warps, drowning beneath the blood roaring in my ears.

Jake steps forward. “Amy, please, just—”

“Why?” My voice is barely there. My throat burns like I’ve swallowed glass. “Why did you do this to me?”

His face twists, his mouth opening—but I don’t hear whatever lie he’s about to tell. Because it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

Eli—the man who made me feel safe, who whispered, “Sweet dreams, Fangirl,” like it meant something—was never real.

And the man who took his place? The one standing in front of me, his lips parting, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for me?

I hate him.

He flinches. “I—”

“Why tonight?” My voice is rising, the words spilling out in a whisper. “Why now? Why let me walk in here thinking I was meeting him? That I was meeting the man I—”

I choke, pressing my fingers to my lips as nausea roils through me.

His throat bobs, his Adam’s apple dipping with the force of his swallow. His face is open, stripped bare of the practiced Hollywood ease I’ve always seen him wear like armor.

“Amy, love, please listen to me,” he pleads, stepping forward.

I step back again.

He stops, his expression twisting. “No, you’re not—please.” He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “I never meant to play you. I swear. It wasn’t like that.”

“Not like that?” A short, bitter laugh bursts out of me.

“Then what was it like, Jake? Tell me. Did you think this was fun? That I was some idiot who wouldn’t put it together?

Did you laugh at me every time I sent you a message?

Were you just sitting there, playing a part, waiting to see how far you could take it? ”

Jake’s voice cracks. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. And then I was afraid—”

I laugh, the sound hollow.

“Afraid?” The word is a whisper, my breath coming too fast. “Afraid of what?”

“Of losing you!” He stares at me, something wrecked in his gaze. And then, he breaks. “I love you,” he chokes out. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

I flinch.

His hands are clenching and unclenching like he wants to grab me, like he needs me to hear him.

“I never meant to play you. I never— I love you. Please. Just… please.”

His voice cracks, but it’s too late.

I feel nothing. Or maybe I feel everything. And it’s killing me.

And suddenly, I see it.

He’s telling the truth.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because he stole something from me. He took something precious—something I will never, ever get back.

Tears burn down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away. I hold his gaze, my voice steady.

“I love Eli.”

Jake’s breath hitches.

I lift my chin, each word deliberate.

“And you killed him.”

He flinches. His entire body jerks, like I physically punched him.

“You made me love a lie.” My voice wavers, but I don’t stop.

“You never even gave me a choice.”

His lips part, his face crumbling. He thinks that was it. He thinks that was the worst of it.

He’s wrong.

I take a shaky breath, lift my chin, and whisper, “I never want to see you again.”

Silence.

For a split second, he looks like he’s about to fall apart.

I don’t stay to watch. I turn, and I run… out the doors into the freezing December night.

The velvet folds of my gown snag on the pavement, the fabric catching in the wind, the cold slicing through me like a thousand tiny knives.

Somewhere behind me, I hear him.

“Amy, wait!” His voice sounds broken.

But I don’t stop. I don’t turn around.

Because if I do—if I let myself look at him, if I let him see the wreckage inside me—I’ll break.

And if I break, there’s no guarantee I’ll ever be able to put myself back together again.

The city swallows me whole, a blur of headlights and the distant chatter of strangers who have no idea that somewhere behind them…

A woman just lost everything.