Chapter 4
4
The rush was maddening.
It was quieter on the top floor, and I could finally breathe. I brushed away the bodyguards, making it clear I was going to enter alone. I walked into Alto by San Carlo, the rooftop bar and restaurant – our favourite spot at Selfridges.
The chatter and laughter instantly evaporated to an awkward silence. I didn’t bother to greet them, only offered a quick analytical glance at their outfits, all carefully chosen to garner attention and set trends.
Ozwald Boateng blazers. Vivienne Westwood shirts and dresses. Alexander McQueen scarves. Multiple items of jewellery gracing their necks and fingers. Earth-toned Mulberry bags resting in their laps or at their feet.
Everything they wore was likely gifted. My delivery room was probably brimming with similar pieces, but I hadn’t checked it this month. My mind was elsewhere.
Although the entire restaurant had been cleared for us, we weren’t really alone. We were never really alone any more. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt it was just us Exes together – not now that we always had our phones in hand, exploiting every moment and posting it for millions to gorge on.
‘Why did you choose to meet here?’ I challenged the group.
No one responded. It was an accusation more than a question.
‘This conversation should take place away from the spotlight. In utter privacy, where we can be completely honest .’ I emphasized the last word while looking at Chloe.
She suddenly found her French manicure rather interesting.
‘Clearly there’s a snitch with easy access to us,’ Felicity answered tensely. ‘It could be one of our cleaners. Or partners. Mr Ex seems to have plenty of snitches in his pocket. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s inserted hidden cameras and microphones around our homes.’
‘A random, last-minute location was our best bet for privacy,’ Abeo added.
I pulled up a chair and got comfortable, leaning back and taking a moment to enjoy the London skyline the restaurant offered.
My entire life was in walking distance from here: my school, where I lived, the places that carried my most profound memories and secrets.
This was home.
But London was also beginning to feel like a stranger, always shifting and mutating, refusing to stay stable for even a moment. My city was the lover I couldn’t figure out: sometimes I woke to tenderness and warm kisses, other times to a cold, empty bed.
When I turned back to the group again, they swiftly stopped exchanging loaded glances. I relished their muteness, their confusion at what to say or do. It was a pleasant change from their usual overconfident, carefree manner.
It would be an understatement to say I felt left out these days, so it was good to watch them squirm under the scrutiny of my gaze. Ironic, really: they were completely fine with having the world watch every aspect of their lives, and yet a single look from me had them reeling.
The Exes.
Chloe Clark. Abeo Okon. Felicity Wong. Sanjay Arya.
My best friends, occasionally my worst enemies.
‘So calling a meeting here has nothing to do with the hype of us being spotted together in public after Mr Ex’s latest post?’ I asked sarcastically.
Abeo splayed his hands on either side of his blazer and waggled his fingers enthusiastically. ‘Fair enough. I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being papped in today’s outfit. They always get the best candid photos for the gram.’
Felicity snorted and Abeo chuckled. But after seeing my expression, they swiftly suppressed their humour.
‘What?’ Abeo asked defensively. ‘I like making sure my feed is fed.’ He crossed his arms, his biceps straining the sleeves of his blazer. ‘Besides, this is our job. It’s what we do.’ He looked right at me as he finished with, ‘You’re the one who told us to always think about business first if we want to become the best in the game.’
This was one of the things I admired most about Abeo. He could switch from being cheeky to discussing serious business in a heartbeat; he was the perfect influencer.
It was the truth. I had once said that. And meant it.
The social media space was competitive, with fresh talent popping up every day. We followed a set of rules to ensure we continued to grow the platforms we’d carved for ourselves.
Sunlight glinted off Sanjay’s gold earring, and my eyes settled on its subtle, elegant Exes logo.
One of the rules was that whenever we were in public, regardless of the event, we’d wear at least one item from our own brand; it was the most natural and powerful way to drive sales. Today, I had worn our cufflinks, Felicity had chosen our white satin headband, Chloe our pearl necklace, Abeo our silk pocket square and Sanjay one of our earrings.
Chloe sighed and then said, ‘Can we stop overanalysing things? We chose to meet here because we were in the mood for some nice drinks, seafood and a much-needed catch-up.’
I wish you’d be in the mood for some honesty occasionally , I wanted to hiss at her.
There was a lot I wanted to say to her, but I couldn’t. Not right now, not when everything was still so fragile between us. A sarcastic retort was bubbling at the tip of my tongue, so I looked down at the food instead, trying to control my breathing.
There was a charcuterie board displaying an assortment of cheeses, marinated cured meats and Italian bread. The seafood platter was filled with rock oysters, tempura prawns and soft-shell crab.
My stomach clenched with hunger but the mere thought of consuming any of it made me nauseous.
‘Look, Karim,’ Abeo said impatiently, running a hand over his short-cropped Afro. ‘It’s time for us to start planning this month’s content. We want you to be present in our videos again.’
I’d missed this – making plans with The Exes. I looked at Abeo, taking in his mahogany skin and full lips. He was the son of a British Nigerian businessman involved in property development throughout the UK and West Africa. His mother was an artist from France, and traces of a French accent occasionally peeked through when he spoke. His style was certainly a mixture of all these influences and gave him a sophisticated, alluring charm.
‘Maybe it’s time to take a step back,’ I replied in a tired tone, ‘and think about the direction we’re all heading in.’
Abeo scoffed. ‘The direction is obviously thirty million subscribers. We’re only off by three million.’
It was a relief his clingy boyfriend, James Sawyer, wasn’t there to egg him on as usual; I could almost hear him echo thirty million subscribers in the background for dramatic effect. They’d been joined at the hip ever since they started going out, and James simply tried too hard to be accepted as one of us, to be popular and seen. It was exhausting to witness, doomed as he was to fail.
For there could be no more Exes.
That was at least one thing we all still agreed on. Perhaps one of the only things.
‘I’m sure you can all understand that I need a break. Especially since Mr Ex just posted about the abortion.’
I watched their expressions tighten as I finally brought up the issue more openly.
Chloe looked out the window, her nostrils flaring a touch. Her long blonde hair framed her in perfect sun-kissed waves. She always looked modelesque and camera-ready. I had once admired that about her. Now it only made me want to shake some sense into her, to tell her to let go sometimes, to stop caring so much about the stuff that didn’t matter as much as the stuff that did .
When she turned back to us, she looked straight at me, her bright green eyes somewhat glassy. There were so many times I had run my fingers through her hair, across her lips, over her skin. But now the mere thought of any of that set me on edge.
‘How did the news of the abortion leak?’ Chloe whispered, her barely audible voice empty of its soft, melodious lilt for once. ‘Only we knew.’
The Exes eyed each other suspiciously.
I analysed Chloe’s expression.
A small, sickened part of me had thought that perhaps she’d been the one to tell Mr Ex. It would certainly keep her in the spotlight for a couple of weeks, right when she was trying to kickstart her singing career.
The tortured look on her face … no, it couldn’t have been her.
But there were so many times I’d watched Chloe lie to Felicity about her whereabouts when we’d first started dating and wanted to keep it on the down-low. She’d been so convincing that even I’d almost believed she’d been enjoying family time the night before and not making out in bed with me.
‘I didn’t say anything to anyone,’ Sanjay declared.
Felicity looked Chloe right in the eye as she said, ‘Neither did I.’
It had never been this explicit – our suspicions of one another, the lack of trust between us.
‘Obviously it was me then,’ Abeo said with a manic smile.
‘This is not the time to be sarcastic,’ Sanjay replied.
Felicity sighed heavily as she took out a bottle of white nail polish from her handbag and began applying it to her thumb. ‘I think it’s stupid to start pointing fingers at each other.’ Sanjay eyed her distraction distastefully and she shrugged. ‘What? It’s chipped in some places.’
I snapped. ‘What the fuck is wrong with us? Are we incapable of having a single serious conversation about a very serious thing?’
Felicity snorted loudly. I gave her a death stare. She blew once over her polish and held her hands up in defence. ‘I’m so sorry. Laughing at the worst times is basically my coping mechanism.’
Chloe smacked the table with a fist, making us all jump. ‘I wish I hadn’t told any of you about the abortion.’
I could feel the rage twisting on my face and didn’t try to hide it. The fact that she’d told me after she’d done it … that she had almost decided not to tell me at all, had said that it was her body, her choice …
She had assumed I’d try to convince her to keep it, leading her to end her singing career before it had even taken off. She didn’t even give me a chance to prove her wrong. I was still coming to terms with it all. She’d made so many assumptions about me, about us. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive her.
‘If we’re the only ones who knew,’ I replied with deathly calm, ‘then one of us five is a mole. Or one of us told someone else who can’t be trusted.’
‘I constantly feel watched , and not in a good way,’ Sanjay said darkly, a stroke of sunlight suddenly streaming across his rich brown skin. ‘There’s stuff I haven’t shared with anyone that’s been posted on his blog. How the hell does he get access to it? Do you think he has people stalking us around the clock? Is he hacking our phones?’
Felicity’s fingers tapped the table impatiently. ‘I feel it too. I don’t know whether it’s just the fans being everywhere we go, but I always feel stalked.’
Silence.
Chloe combed through her hair with her pale, slender fingers. ‘Whoever Mr Ex is, he definitely goes to our school. If we trace everything right back to the beginning, the way he described things in his earliest posts – where we eat, our classes, the events we attend – these aren’t things he could have learned through watching our videos. He’s from our crowd .’
Abeo nodded in agreement. ‘And if we don’t identify and stop him soon, he could really mess things up for us.’
‘His recent posts are ruthless, and we’re starting to lose money.’ Felicity sulked. ‘Two American brand deals have fallen through because of this … abortion controversy.’
I exhaled. ‘Just imagine if the other stuff starts getting out.’
We sat in silence as the gravity of the situation settled in our minds. We all had our secrets. Plenty of them. Many which we hadn’t even shared with each other.
Just a few months ago, Abeo and I had caught an early flight back from a brand event in Italy. We’d headed straight to his for a late-night swim only to walk in on his father relaxing in the jacuzzi with a naked woman who looked young enough to hang out with us. Abeo had told me to keep my mouth shut and we’d never spoken of it again. As an only child, he’d always been close to his parents; he’d never want his mum to find out, for his picture-perfect family to break apart.
As for Chloe, as well-established as her family were in England, they had relatives in Scotland who were still gang members, involved in the distribution of drugs throughout the country. The truth was that her roots were inextricably linked to that world; it was how the Clarks had amassed enough money to leave Glasgow and relocate to the heart of London in the first place.
Moving on to Felicity, the dance choreography she was known for, the very thing that had caused her TikTok to blow up, had been copied (albeit with slight alterations) from a dance group with a smaller platform. They’d tried to kick up a fuss to get credit for the dance routine, but their platform simply wasn’t big enough to draw attention. Since then, Felicity had worked hard on creating original dance moves, but if people knew she’d stolen her most popular ones, they’d question everything she’d ever put out there.
And finally, Sanjay. During a stupid, drunken dare game a year ago, he had broken into our head teacher’s garage and set his car on fire. The fire had spread to his house, where his wife and three children were sleeping. The fire brigade had come in time, no one had been injured, but the loss had been significant enough that if Sanjay was ever exposed as having been the culprit, he’d likely find himself expelled, unwanted in any other school, and possibly even imprisoned.
If Mr Ex got a whiff of any of this, if he exposed it online …
There was far too much at risk for all of us – our reputations, our families, our futures.
Sanjay cleared his throat. ‘He’s so sharp, so careful about what he uploads. Always just enough to keep everyone guessing about who he is, but never enough breadcrumbs to lead us anywhere near his real identity.’
‘Perhaps it’s time,’ I said coldly, ‘that we sharpen up too.’
Everyone exchanged glances again. But this time, I felt included.
Chloe was The Singer.
Sanjay was The Artist.
Felicity was The Dancer.
Abeo was The King of Fashion.
And Karim Malik? Well, I didn’t really have a talent like any of those.
My skill was recognizing what they all brought to the table, and utilizing it to produce addictive group content and merchandise. But that was the very skill that brought in the most views and revenue, that bound our friendship into a brand, forging a lifelong bond of secrecy, publicity and heartbreak.
‘Let’s end him,’ I said, venom coating every word. ‘Whoever the hell Mr Expose is, he needs to be exposed. And we’re going to make it happen.’