Chapter 64
MELODY
Ipulled a mug from the cabinet and placed it on the counter a little harder than I probably should have. The sharp clink of ceramic against granite echoed through my quiet kitchen. It wasn’t the mug’s fault that I was in a terrible mood.
I couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest. My townhouse felt so empty. How in the world did I get so used to having Austin around?
I hated it. He had become a crutch. My other half. It was so strange to need someone. To want someone. When I thought about what Summer was planning, my first thought had been to protect him. Okay, maybe not my first thought, but it was a close second.
I grabbed my phone and checked the time.
Cleo would be here in twenty minutes. I needed to get myself together, put on something other than these ratty leggings and Austin’s hoodie that I’d stolen while on our trip to Tahiti.
It still smelled like him. All that expensive cologne he always wore. It clung to the fabric.
God, I was pathetic.
I trudged upstairs to my bedroom, avoiding looking at the bed where everything had changed. Where he’d made love to me like it was the last time. Where he told me we needed to break up to protect me from the fallout of Summer’s revenge plot.
The conversation replayed in my mind for the thousandth time.
He tried so hard to convince me. Had laid out every terrible thing that would happen when Summer went public.
How the media would tear me apart, how trolls would come for me again.
My business would suffer. He warned me I would be dragged through scandal after scandal just for being with him.
And I told him I didn’t care. But Austin was stubborn.
I changed into something comfortable and easy to change in and out of. I would leave the hair and makeup for the photo shoot as well. Cleo had rented a space for the shoot. We were changing things up a bit. We didn’t always use my home studio for our shoots. We had to change things up.
I heard the doorbell and knew Cleo would let herself in. I grabbed my makeup bag, tossed in a few more things, and headed downstairs.
“Ready?” she asked with a bright grin.
“I am so ready.”
Cleo had a cab waiting with a stuffed garment bag draped over the front seat. We slid into the back seat and off we went.
Cleo nudged me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Fine.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yep. Nope. I don’t know. I have to trust the process.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
The rented studio space in Chelsea was perfect.
It was all white walls, professional lighting, and enough room for Cleo to spread out all the wardrobe options we’d brought.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the leather jacket over a fitted black bodysuit and high-waisted jeans that hugged every curve.
It was so not me. I couldn’t imagine ever wearing the outfit in public, but the shoot was all about being bold.
“Damn, girl,” Cleo said, circling me with her camera. “You look like you could break hearts and take names.”
“That’s the point,” I said, striking a pose—chin up, shoulders back, one hand on my hip. Confidence radiated from every angle, even though my stomach was churning with nerves about what we were really doing here.
Cleo snapped away, calling out directions. “Give me fierce. Give me ‘I don’t need a man.’ Yes, perfect. Now look over your shoulder like you’re walking away from bullshit and never looking back.”
I followed her instructions, channeling every ounce of attitude I could muster. The outfit helped. There was something empowering about leather and boots and clothes that made me feel untouchable.
She dropped to the floor and did a few shots looking up at me. I did my best “fuck you” look. My red lip was extra bold with dark eye makeup. I felt a little like Olivia Newton John in Grease.
“These are incredible,” Cleo said, reviewing the shots on her camera screen. “This is going to be the perfect post to kick off your ‘single woman’ era again.”
I grinned despite the knot in my stomach. “It sure will.”
“We’ll have every woman in your comment section cheering you on.”
We shot a few more looks—a power suit that made me feel like a CEO, a flowing dress that was both elegant and subtly sexy, and finally, a casual but intentional outfit of vintage jeans and a cropped sweater that said, “I’m doing just fine without you.”
After we wrapped the shoot, Cleo pulled out the dossier Summer had left on my doorstep. We spread the papers across the studio floor. It was all the “evidence” of the Bancroft arrangement.
“Okay, so we need to make it look like you discovered all this and that’s why you dumped him,” Cleo said, her creative mind already working. “We’ll stage some photos. You looking at the documents, looking upset, maybe one with your hand over your mouth like you can’t believe what you’re seeing.”
She positioned me on the floor with the papers spread around me, my expression somewhere between shocked and hurt. The photos were a little theatrical, but they’d sell the story.
I had washed away the makeup and had changed into a comfy lounge outfit. Like I was just sitting around my house crying my heart out.
“Perfect,” Cleo said, reviewing them. “You look like a woman who just had her world turned upside down.”
I did feel like that, actually. Just not for the reasons these photos would suggest.
Cleo produced a bottle of wine from her oversized tote bag.
Typical Cleo. Usually, we had at least one glass during our shoots.
It helped loosen me up. We settled on the studio floor, passing the bottle back and forth like we were college students instead of professional businesswomen in our late twenties. We weren’t bothering with glasses.
“This is insane,” I said, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Like, completely insane.”
“Babe, you started fake dating a Bancroft. Insane was always on the menu.” Cleo grabbed the bottle back. “But for real, this is some next-level scheming. I’m kind of impressed.”
I thought about Austin’s face last night when he showed up on my doorstep. The vulnerability in his eyes when he’d tried to push me away to protect me. The sex had been a goodbye. His way of ending things.
She dragged her laptop over and we marked a few of the pictures we wanted to use. The photos had to look authentic enough to convince Summer.
“You know what’s wild?” I said, selecting the best photos to send to Summer. “Agreeing to date Austin Bancroft is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. It’s completely changed my life.”
“For better or worse?”
“Better,” I said without hesitation. “So much better. He’s changed me, Cleo. Made me braver. More willing to take risks. More… myself, somehow.”
“That’s beautiful and disgusting,” Cleo said, but she was smiling. “I’m happy for you, babe. Even if your boyfriend’s family is a hot mess.”
“They’re not all bad.”
I was focused on crafting the perfect text to Summer. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I attached the revenge photos. A couple of pictures from the bold shoot and a couple of pictures of me reading her stupid evidence.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
“And now we wait,” I said, setting my phone down. It buzzed almost immediately.
Summer’s response was quick: I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. But I’m glad you’re seeing the truth. Those photos are perfect. You look strong and powerful. Post them. Show the world you’re nobody’s fool.
My stomach turned at her fake sympathy, but I kept my response neutral: Thanks. When is your expose going live?
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Finally: Tomorrow. I’m recording it tonight with The Spill Room. You know it?
I knew it. Everyone knew it. The Spill Room was a massively successful gossip podcast and YouTube show with over twelve million subscribers. They specialized in celebrity drama and scandal, and if Summer was going on there, she was going nuclear.
Another message from Summer came in: 12 million people are going to hear about what the Bancrofts did to us. Want to meet up one more time before everything goes public? We should coordinate our stories.
Coordinate our stories. She wanted to make sure I was fully on board with her version of events before she pulled the trigger. I glanced at Cleo, who was reading over my shoulder. She nodded.
Sure. Where and when?
She quickly replied with an address and a time. I assumed it must be her place. The audacity was almost impressive.
Me: See you then.
I set the phone down and looked at Cleo, my heart pounding. This was really happening.
“That psycho has no idea what’s coming for her,” Cleo said, her grin sharp and satisfied.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Alright, let’s post those badass pictures to your account. We need to make sure we’re breaking your single status before that crazy bitch can.”
“Do it,” I said.
Cleo’s fingers flew across the keyboard while I took another drink from the bottle. I watched her upload the pictures and then add a bunch of hashtags that indicated I was single. I knew it could backfire. People might turn on me.
“Alright, here goes nothing,” Cleo said.
Cleo had included a caption about knowing your worth and not settling for less than you deserve.
She didn’t mention Austin by name, but the implication was clear.
People would see the last few posts on my account.
I never actually came right out and said Austin was my boyfriend, but I had shared a couple of the blog posts with pictures of me and Austin out and about.
The comments flooded in almost immediately:
YES QUEEN! You deserve so much better!
I KNEW he wasn’t good enough for you.
Single Melody is ICONIC.
That Bancroft boy fumbled BAD.
You look AMAZING. His loss.
Hundreds of comments were posted in just minutes. The majority were hyping me up. They supported my supposed decision to leave Austin. My follower count started ticking up rapidly as the post gained traction.
It felt surreal and unsettling.
“This is working,” Cleo said, monitoring the engagement. “People are eating this up. Summer’s definitely going to chime in.”
I put my phone in my purse and stood up, brushing off my jeans. “Okay. Let’s get me ready for tonight. I need to look like a woman who’s ready to burn everything down.”
“You already do,” Cleo said. “But we can make you look even better.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon preparing.
Cleo helped me choose the perfect outfit for the dinner with Summer—sophisticated but with an edge, like I was dressing for war.
She redid my makeup, keeping it natural but dramatic enough to photograph well.
With the post, there was no doubt in my mind there would be a few people that recognized me.
And once Summer’s story went live and we were seen together, there would definitely be interest.
“Ready?” Cleo asked, handing me my purse.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”
Summer Auburn wanted to destroy the Bancrofts.
But she’d made one critical mistake.
She’d underestimated me.
And that was going to be her downfall.