Chapter 9 #2
“I…I’ve seen so much,” he murmurs into the dark, voice rough.
“Things I shouldn’t have. Things that shouldn’t even exist. I’ve watched…
watched him protect me from her—Adriana.
Most of the time. But there were other times…
other women. And I couldn’t do anything.
I was high, taken, drugged. Helpless. While he…
while he was being dragged into another room.
He did what he could to protect me, but while Adriana stole piece after piece of his soul, I was losing mine to strangers on the other side of a wall. ”
I press closer to him, letting him speak, letting him unburden himself.
“He doesn’t know about a lot of it. I’d always tell him that I was out with some woman I wanted to be out with. Sometimes I was, sure. But most of the time? No. He would have lost it.”
“This will stay between us,” I whisper. And I mean it. I hate knowing that he’s gone through any of that. “You guys protected each other. That’s real love, Micah.”
He smiles softly. “I’ve watched him drown himself in drugs and alcohol over and over,” he continues, his hand stroking my back slowly.
“Every time I saw Jude and Adriana together, his eyes were so vacant. Like a part of him had already died, and no one could reach it. Years. Years of our lives stolen. I’ve been powerless, and I’ll never forgive that.
But I won’t be powerless anymore. I’m not sick without them because of the Suboxone.
I’m stronger. We’re going to get him out of this. I don’t care what it takes.”
The words make my chest ache, but they also make me feel…lighter, somehow. I press my face deeper into him, clinging to his warmth. He doesn’t try to fix anything when I cry. He doesn’t tell me to be strong. He just holds me, breathing with me.
“We’ll get him back,” he whispers. “I promise.”
I nod against his chest, letting his words sink in, clinging to them like a lifeline. I don’t know how anyone could make a promise like that, knowing what we’re up against. But I hold onto it anyway.
We stay like that for a long time. I let myself rest in his arms, surrounded by the shared love and the fear we both carry for the same man.
When my breathing finally slows, he doesn’t move.
He just holds me, like letting go would be the wrong thing to do right now.
And for the first time since Jude left, I sleep soundly.
The skyline is darkening outside the hotel window, the city lights flickering like distant fireflies.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the hem of my black dress one last time.
It’s simple and sleek, almost unassuming, but I hope it carries some kind of power.
The way Heather’s jaw dropped when she saw me in it gives me hope that it does.
I nearly trip in my black heels as I take a deep breath, trying to convince myself that I belong in this world.
I’ve been anxious all day, keeping up with my medication.
Heather’s in red, her hair pinned up perfectly.
She looks like she just fell out of a magazine.
Micah stands behind her, adjusting his simple black suit.
He leans down to kiss her temple, murmuring something soft about how beautiful she looks.
I swallow hard, trying not to let the sting of jealousy show.
Micah turns to me, scanning my dress critically.
“You look amazing,” he says simply, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“Classic. Confident. That’s good for the cameras.
The paparazzi knows who I am, so we will likely be photographed together.
If I'm asked any questions about Jude and the band, just allow me to handle it, okay?”
I nod, swallowing again. “Do you…think our appearance could draw unwanted attention?” My voice is low, almost a whisper. “Nolan, Adriana, Alexei…if they see us here…”
He shakes his head slowly. “We can’t control what they see. All we can do is play the part, look confident, look like you don’t miss him. That’s the optics. Smile, hold your head high. That’s it. We’re going to the gala together and having a great time.”
I frown. “And if Jude sees the pictures?”
Micah shrugs. “He’ll probably know why we’re here. He’s smart. Focus on what you can control, Emma.”
I glance at Heather. She’s smoothing the fabric of her red dress, trying to hide her nerves behind a mask of poise.
I notice the tension in her jaw and the tiny quiver in her hands.
Micah notices, too. He steps close, murmuring, “Hey, look at me for a second.” Heather and I both do, and he gives a small, grounding squeeze to our shoulders.
“We’re going to get through this. And, hey, it won’t feel so bad with two gorgeous women by my side tonight. ”
Heather kisses him, and I smile.
“Okay, Em,” Heather snaps out of her discomfort, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I love you so much, but you have to...not be boring.”
I scoff. “I am not boring, bitch.”
Her eyes widen. “Ah! See? Cussing. You need to do that more.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m just kidding, you know. You’re not vanilla. I just always told you that because you were the responsible friend. If anything, you’re the smartest and kindest human I know.”
I smile, suddenly feeling like I could cry.
Dang it. I am someone who cries at everything emotional.
“Okay, let’s get this done, yeah?” I turn to glance out the window.
NYC is so different from Seaside. So loud and fast and overwhelming.
My heartbeat hammers away in my chest, imagining Jude somewhere across the world, and it’s like a knife twisting.
I would have loved to see this city with him.
I take a final glance in the mirror. Black dress. Heels. Hair flowing over my shoulders. Smile at the cameras when they flash. Hold your shoulders back.
Look like you don’t care.
Micah steps back. “Let’s go. Gala’s waiting, and we’ve got a job to do.”
I exhale slowly, letting the fear pool in my stomach settle just a fraction. I don’t know what Rook will say. I don’t know if he’ll help. But I do know this—I’ll do everything I can to pull Jude out of this hell.
Micah pulls the rental car up to the curb, and I am swallowing the urge to vomit.
The building rises in front of us, all limestone and glass and warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk.
The Met at night feels unreal. It’s like a majestic building that’s been standing for centuries.
Black cars line the street, one after another, valets moving with perfect ease.
Camera flashes already pop from across the barricades.
My stomach tightens.
Micah reaches across the console first, squeezing my knee once. “Ready?” he asks quietly.
No.
“Yes,” I say anyway.
“This is fucking crazy,” Heather breathes behind me.
The valet opens my door before I can second-guess myself.
Cold night air brushes my bare legs as I step out.
Immediately, the flashes intensify. My heart stutters, but Micah’s arm is already around my waist, grounding me.
His other arm hooks easily around Heather as she steps out beside us, red dress catching the light like a warning flare.
We look...perfect. Happy, even.
Micah smiles for the cameras like it’s muscle memory, easy and relaxed.
He definitely makes it known that he’s done this a million times.
Heather leans into him, laughing softly at something he murmurs quietly to her.
I lift my chin, paste on a confident smile, and let myself be guided forward.
The cameras eat it up. And honestly? So does Heather.
She could do this kind of thing every single weekend.
Click.
Click.
Click.
We’re three people arriving together, united and unbothered. Inside, the noise shifts instantly into soft orchestral music and laughter bouncing off marble walls. The ceilings soar above us, chandeliers dripping light like constellations. Everyone here smells expensive and looks effortless.
Heather leans in close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Emma,” she murmurs, eyes wide as she scans the room, pointing out several famous people. “That’s—oh my god. Wait, is that—”
“I know,” I whisper back, trying not to stare. Even though I hear the song, “The Beautiful People” by Marilyn Manson in my head while looking around. “It’s insane.”
Celebrities glide past like it’s nothing. Actors. Designers. People whose faces I’ve seen on magazine covers while waiting in grocery store lines. I suddenly feel very aware of my heartbeat, of how small I am in a room like this.
Micah, meanwhile, is completely at ease.
He slips seamlessly into conversation, shaking hands, greeting people by name. Someone claps him on the back. Someone else compliments his suit. When Jude’s name comes up—and it does, more than once—he doesn’t flinch.
“Jude’s struggling,” he says smoothly, voice warm but firm. “We’re giving him space. Hoping he gets better soon.”
Concerned nods. Sympathetic murmurs. But no prying, thankfully. It’s impressive and devastating. Because in their world, drugs and going off the rails are often just part of the Hollywood experience.
Time stretches, blurring together. I snag champagne flutes from passing trays more out of necessity than desire, sipping just enough to keep my nerves from swallowing me whole. I make small talk with people, complimenting dresses, and nodding politely.
An hour passes.
My feet ache, and my smile feels brittle at this point. I don’t know how much more of this I can take…
Then Micah stills. I immediately feel the shift in his posture and see his attention sharpen. His gaze locks across the room. “There,” he mutters under his breath. “Told you he was a character.”
I follow his line of sight and immediately understand.