Chapter 34 - Tessa
The ride to Nate's apartment building was surprisingly quick. The elevator ride to the penthouse feels like being trapped underwater.
My ears still ring with Brielle’s voice. The look on Marcus' face before I left.
Everything is spiralling in my mind, and then I'm immediately telling myself no, that’s not Nate, that’s not us, that’s not what this is.
Because our relationship can't be what she is suggesting, there's no way that he could fake loving me like that.
My reflection in the elevator doors looks like someone else. I still look perfectly put together in a dress that fits like a costume for a version of me built by a stranger. But inside, I feel like I'm breaking apart piece by piece.
I step into the penthouse and just… stop.
It smells like him. That perfect mix of cedar and laundry detergent and something warm underneath that feels like home.
I am suddenly too hot, and my skin feels like it's crawling.
I grab the hem of the dress and tug, desperate to get out of it, desperate to feel like myself again.
The zipper sticks. My fingers shake. The room tilts. My breath scrapes.
“Get off,” I whisper, tugging harder.
The first tear falls as I step into his closet, bracing one hand on the wall.
If I can just get this damn dress off.
I trip in these ridiculous heels and grab at the rack to slow my fall, my elbow knocks against one of the shelves, and something slips.
A stack of neatly organized binders tumbles forward. One pops open when it hits the carpet, and I freeze, because I know that logo. That glossy team stamp across the front.
The top folder is labelled: NARRATIVE + IMAGE STRATEGY - CARSON
A breath snags somewhere in my throat. I kneel and reach for it, intending to close it, put it back. Respect his privacy. Give him the benefit of the doubt. But then my eyes land on a page that shouldn’t exist.
Phase Two: Public Relationship Stabilization
My legs go numb.
I shouldn’t look.
But I do, and my name is everywhere.
Lane Effect – public perception: grounded, wholesome, stabilizing.
Tessa Lane softens Carson’s reputation after the Brielle fallout.
Strengthens family-friendly optics.
Drafted timeline for appearances...
My eyes start to go blurry, and I realize I am crying. I fall the rest of the way to the floor and keep reading.
Recommended integration points: kiss-cam moments, coordinated outfits, community features.
My heartbeat stutters. It hurts, but there’s more.
Key Messaging: Carson returning to roots, choosing ‘real love’ after past mistakes.
Real love.
The room tilts, and I need to close my eyes for a moment to center myself. This doesn't make sense. Why would they make this shit up? Why would he agree with it?
I open my eyes and force myself to flip the page.
Couple Branding – Draft Concepts
Golden boy returns to his roots for the small town girl.
Redemption and Homecoming
Rustic Softness
Authenticity
Wholesomeness
Joint photo ops recommended minimum 2-3 a month
My throat closes.
I keep flipping because my hands won’t stop, even though everything in me is screaming to STOP. Just fucking stop reading Tessa. Stop. But I can't.
Risk Management:
If Lane becomes unwilling, reframe her as private but supportive, maintain the narrative arc of Carson’s growth.
Maintain distance from the Brielle narrative. Public return not recommended.
If Tessa becomes too uncooperative, the team can find an alternative solution.
Alternative solution?
Like I am replaceable... Like, I am not a person. Did Nate approve this?
I stare until the words blur. There are charts, actual graphs, tracking engagement spikes every time my face is near Nate’s on camera. Notes about filming him pointing to me after goals. Ideas for “spontaneous” romantic gestures.
A fucking list of date ideas that match the aesthetic they want the relationship to project.
My name isn’t written like a person. It’s written like a marketing angle, a strategy... a solution to a problem that Nate and the team had.
Like Brielle said. Oh my god, she wasn't lying.
I drop the folder. My hands curl into fists on my thighs. I try breathing, but the breath won’t come. The past few months crash back into me like a wave, and I feel like I am drowning.
The new clothes.
The curated moments.
The kiss he pushed too far.
The pressure.
The timing.
The whispers.
The way he kept saying, “I need you there.”
Not I want you.
Not I love you.
I need you.
I sit there in the closet, surrounded by his things and the scent of him and the life I was halfway inside of... And I feel my heart crack. It's not loud, it's a quiet break. Like a fault line that finally let’s go.
I pick up the binders again, and this time it isn’t confusion I feel. It’s clarity.
I’m not na?ve. I know he didn’t write these words. I know he didn’t create this strategy.
But he saw it.
He knew.
He let them build a story out of me, a story he never asked whether I wanted to be a part of. Nate didn’t protect me from this. He protected himself. He protected his image.
I angrily wipe the tears off my face, and on shaky legs, I stand.
The dress feels like it is suffocating me.
It feels like a lie. I pull until the zipper finally gives and let it pool at my feet.
I take off the heels and leave them on the floor beside the dress.
I pull on my old jeans, my softest sweater, the boots with worn creases that smell like hay and dust and my real life.
The one that’s mine. The one that isn't a fucking lie.
My duffel is already half packed, because I basically live between our places.
I grab only the things that belong to me.
Not the things he bought. Not the things branded to fit someone else’s idea of who I should be.
The last thing I pack is the hoodie he gave me the first night he slept at my place.
I hesitate; I want it... But it is his. With shaky hands, I fold it gently and tuck it inside.
When I’m done, I walk through his apartment with new eyes.
I place the binders on the island.
Neatly.
Deliberately.
I set his key on top.
Then, because I need at least one thing in this mess to sound like me, I tear a piece of paper from a notebook in my bag and write him a note, which at this point may even be more than he deserves.
He hasn't even messaged me yet. And I don't know if that is because he hasn't noticed I left or because he is angry, I left.
But it doesn't matter why. The damage is done.
With hands that won't stop shaking, I write...
Nate,
I love you.
God, I wish that made this easier.
But I won’t be a storyline.
I won’t be something the team can package and plan around.
You should have told me.
You should have protected me.
Instead, I was the last person in the room to know the truth.
I don’t know what was real anymore.
Maybe that’s the part that hurts the most.
Goodbye
– Tessa
I fold and slide the note under the key. I take one last look around the space that held so much hope, and then I walk out.
I force myself to move.
Just one step, Tessa, one step.
Then another.
Then another.
The elevator doors close, and it feels like I can't breathe.
I give myself until the main floor to pull myself together.
I can fall apart when I am safe at home.