Sweetheart [On Hold - Resuming 2023]

11. New Era

At this exact time last night, I was on top of the world. Asher and I were sipping Tuscan pinot grigio, joking about our favorite literary genres. A better date for an English lit major simply does not exist.

Oh, and I wasn't fighting with my best friend either, so that was nice.

I should be with her now. Gemma and I had plans to hit La Esquina with our friend Rachel tonight. As far as I know, they're munching on tapas and talking shit about me at this very moment. Neither of them responded when I texted our group chat to cancel.

Bitches.

In a fit of curiosity, I read the blind items that Gemma sent. As I suspected, they're vague, conspiracy-laden bullshit. Both allude to a model who was trafficked and can't escape. The first reads, "This nepotism success story playing hide and seek with mommy, daddy, and the LAPD might have done too good a job picking her hiding place. She's hidden in plain sight, but not of the right kind of seekers..."

According to Gemma's logic, my untalented sister, who only became a model because of her famous parents, voluntarily vanished without a trace. Despite being untraceable to the best minds in law enforcement, she's accessible to dangerous people. Just the fact that the author refers to a missing person as playing hide and seek should be enough for her to discount their integrity, but Gemma loves a good conspiracy.

The second is more of the same. "This B-list model is tired of her vacation, but she can't catch a flight home any time soon, not until she finds the passport her hosts confiscated."

There's a special place in hell for people who invent this shit for internet clout. To them, Stella was nothing but a strung-out punchline, a name but not a person. Now that she vanished, she's a mystery to score them clicks, a rabbit hole for true crime fans to dive down. What better name to further their crazy conspiracy agendas than one belonging to a woman who can't defend herself?

I thought Gemma was different, but I was wrong. Her betrayal hurts a million times worse than the world's insensitivity.

For the second time today, my doorbell chimes to inform me of an unexpected visitor. I grit my teeth as I unlock my phone to view the feed from my security camera, bracing myself for one of Gemma's pouty, apologetic faces. Holding a grudge against her is difficult, but I'll have to stay strong through her cuteness. Not only did she cross the line; she lit the line on fire and dumped gasoline atop the flame.

The video loads, and I blink incredulously at the screen. Instead of a scrawny, contrite redhead, a very tall, very handsome man stands on my front porch.

What the actual fuck is Asher doing here?

I've been too embarrassed by my bitchy attitude from last night to respond to his text. There's no way Asher wants anything to do with a messy, high-strung person like myself.

But he's at my door.

Why?

And why haven't I applied deodorant yet today? It's 8:52 p.m.