She’d always been a night owl, a trait she assumed she’d inherited from her dad, but it was nearly dawn and she refused to so much as look at her pillow until her story was written, polished, and ushered into the world.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, fueled on the strongest beans Colombia offered and the insatiable rush of a shot at revenge. Queen Bitch Aster and Madison were going down, and they deserved nothing less. If Tommy got caught in the cross fire, oh well. He was the one who chose to rescue Madison.
She’d always figured Aster would go after Ira to secure the win. Maybe swing by his office after hours and flash a little thigh. And who was to say that she hadn’t? Who was to say they hadn’t hooked up—maybe, in fact, still were hooking up on a regular basis?
Either way, it was a wild card Layla wasn’t willing to play.
The last person she wanted to make an enemy of was Ira Redman.
But Queen Bitch Aster Amirpour?
Bring it.
As for Madison . . .
Layla reviewed the video footage. Her stomach grew queasy as she watched the part where Tommy whisked her to safety like some gallant white knight in a pair of faded jeans, a black leather jacket, and trashed motorcycle boots.
Tommy was a fool. And Madison was an entitled brat who actively promoted her shallow, overindulged existence, inspiring legions of kids to emulate her, some who ended up dead like Carlos.
She read through the piece again, not entirely sure she should post it.
BEAUTIFUL IDOLS
RIP RyMad
Dearly Beloved,
We gather here today to mourn the untimely demise of one of Hollywood’s greatest love stories—the not-so-conscious uncoupling of Madison Brooks and Ryan Hawthorne.
Yes, readers, you read it here first:
RyMad is dead.
I know what you’re thinking.
How?
And maybe even, Why?
And certainly, Nooooo!
Sadly, it’s true. And as the Gods of Hollywood would have it, yours truly was right there when it happened, and I captured every wretched wrenching moment on video.
Though a word of warning before you hit Play:
Once you’ve seen this, you can never unsee it. The images will be tattooed on your retinas for life eternal.
In lieu of flowers, feel free to pay your respects in the comments.
The best journalists were fearless. Told the stories that needed to be told. While it was debatable the Ryan-Madison-Aster love triangle counted as a story that needed to be told, maybe that wasn’t for Layla to decide.
Whether it mattered in the big scheme of things wasn’t the point. People would clamor to read every word. There was no greater pleasure than watching a celebrity’s life go off the rails. It gave people a chance to choose sides, declare their loyalty (or lack of), and collectively shake their heads, smirk, and scoff at the idiocy of the rich and famous.
How could he?
She should’ve known.
She looks like a gold-digging fame whore. . . .