Chapter 32 #2
“It is. We’re looking at livestreaming the show, but we need to scale the audience significantly if we want to make any kind of meaningful impact on the financial situation.
” I hesitated, setting down my spoon as the weight of what I was about to ask settled over me.
“In theory, I might have the capacity to do that with my old platform. But I’m honestly kind of afraid to check where things stand, and I didn’t want to do it by myself.
Colter’s at work tonight, and since you already knew about my whole situation, I was hoping you could kind of hold my hand while I pull my head out of the sand. ”
“Oh, sugar, of course I can.” Blair rose from her seat with purpose and poured all three of us generous glasses of something red from a bottle on the counter. “And this definitely calls for wine. Good wine. The kind we save for actual occasions.”
I set down my spoon and pulled out my phone, staring at the dark screen as if it might bite me. My stomach twisted despite the delicious food I’d just eaten.
Blair slid into the seat beside me, wineglass in hand. Elena claimed the chair on my other side, forming a protective barrier of friendship and support.
“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s do this.”
My finger hovered over the Instagram app. I hadn’t opened it since that day in the Auckland hotel room when I’d posted my final statement and walked away from everything. The urge to chicken out clawed at my throat, but I forced myself to tap the icon.
The app loaded with agonizing slowness.
When my profile finally appeared, I felt the number hit me like a physical blow. Three point two million followers. Down from the ten million I’d had before everything went to hell, and even lower than the six million who’d stuck around through the immediate aftermath of the scandal.
“Oh, God.” The words came out barely above a whisper.
Blair squeezed my shoulder. “Numbers aren’t everything. Engagement matters more than vanity metrics. Keep going.”
My hand trembled as I navigated to my mentions. The most recent were from weeks ago, since nobody bothered tagging someone who’d clearly abandoned ship. I scrolled slowly, bracing myself.
Sellout.
Hope you’re happy with your blood money.
You were supposed to be different.
Each cruel word landed like a slap, but I kept scrolling. And then—
Miss your posts. Hope you’re doing okay.
Still here when you’re ready to come back.
Take care of yourself. We’ll be waiting.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
Elena leaned closer. “There’s always going to be people who want to tear you down. But look at how many are still in your corner.”
I switched to my DMs, where the unread count sat at an intimidating four thousand plus. Most of the recent ones were spam or brand pitches to an account everyone assumed was dead. But as I scrolled back through the messages from the weeks after my departure, a pattern emerged.
For every hateful troll, there were two or three messages of support. People who said they understood I’d been manipulated. People who appreciated that I’d owned my mistake and walked away rather than trying to profit further. People who missed my content but respected my need for space.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” I admitted, my voice thick.
Blair clinked her wine glass against mine. “Told you.”
I kept scrolling, kept reading, letting the words sink in. My community—what remained of it—wasn’t entirely gone. Wounded, yes. Smaller, absolutely. But not destroyed.
The knot in my chest loosened a little.
“I think I can do this.” I looked between Blair and Elena. “If we livestream the show, if I promote it, I think enough people might actually show up. Not everyone. Maybe not even close to what I used to reach. But enough to make a real difference for the library.”
Blair’s smile stretched wide, genuine and encouraging. “Then let’s make it happen.”
“I don’t have any of my equipment anymore,” I said, the reality of it sinking in fresh. “It all burned in the fire.”
“I got you, boo.” Blair was already on her feet, a gleam of determination in her eyes. “But if you’re thinking about posting something tonight, you’re going to let me do up your face first.”
I pulled back, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hide behind a bunch of makeup,” I protested. “That’s not the point of this.”
“Sweetie.” Blair planted her hands on her hips, giving me a look that said she knew better and I should just listen.
“We’re not trying to convince people you’re unscathed by all this.
But those suitcases under your eyes aren’t going to do you any favors either.
We’ll find a happy medium. Trust me. C’mon. ”
I relented, following her to better lighting.
Blair took twenty minutes perfecting my face—and most of that was waiting for the dab of hemorrhoid cream under my eyes to do its thing, reducing the puffiness that came from too many sleepless nights.
The old model trick still worked wonders.
I wasn’t wearing anything special when she finished, just a comfortable sweater and my usual minimalist jewelry, but my hair didn’t resemble like a rat’s nest, and thanks to Blair’s skill with a makeup brush, I didn’t look like death warmed over either.
My skin had a healthy glow; my eyes looked brighter, more awake.
Natural, but polished. I decided that I was coming to those who were left as unmasked as possible—this was just helping me look like myself on a good day rather than someone barely holding it together.
Blair produced a ring light from her seemingly bottomless bag of tricks and sat me down in a chair in the living room, positioning it to cast the most flattering light.
My phone got mounted on a tripod she’d also materialized from somewhere, the whole setup looking surprisingly professional given how fast she’d assembled it.
I took a moment to shake out my hands and legs, hoping to dispel some of these nerves that were making my fingers tingle and my stomach clench.
It’s for a good cause, I reminded myself, drawing in a slow breath and letting it out even slower.
I nodded. Blair hit record and counted down 3-2-1.
I looked right at the camera and prepared to address my followers. “Hey, sweeties. Swayze here. It’s been a while, and I’ve got a story to tell you.”