Until now.
Trena tipped her stool forward, reached for the chai tea that’d grown cold, and read the headline again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so immersed in a story she’d lost track of time.
She was onto something good—she felt that deep stir of knowing that had never betrayed her. The story was so much bigger than it seemed on the surface, and she was sure that with a little more digging, she’d discover it went even deeper than anyone had yet to presume.
Was It Murder?
Someone, somewhere, knew the answer. Though Trena sincerely hoped that it wasn’t. As someone who’d grown up impoverished, forced to work for everything she’d ever achieved, she had little tolerance for privileged princesses like Madison. Yet the more Trena dug, the more Madison continued to surprise her. And though Trena was nowhere close to calling herself a fan, there was something strangely vulnerable about the girl that made Trena long to protect her. And yet, that wasn’t her job. Her only responsibility was to report the facts. It was up to the police to safeguard the citizens. Though so far they’d hardly done much at all.
Was It Murder?
If that didn’t get the police moving, nothing would.
She pushed Publish, carried her mug to the sink, and tossed the contents.
Outside, the sun was starting to set, and when the sun disappeared, her most interesting subjects came out.
Trena had no plans to miss them.
FORTY-SIX
GLORY AND GORE
Was It Murder?
The headline alone was enough to give Aster chills, but that didn’t stop her from reading the corresponding article. Whoever this Trena Moretti person was—well, she seemed convinced that it was indeed murder. Or, if not murder, then something far darker than the Madison is in rehab rumor that had recently circulated.
But what was even worse than the thought of Madison being murdered—well, maybe not worse in a big picture sort of way, and certainly not worse for Madison, but definitely worse for Aster—was the implication that Ryan and Aster’s now well-publicized tryst had somehow played a part in an A-list celebrity’s disappearance.
An implication that was never brought to any real conclusion, but then that was never the intent. The seed had been planted. The worst-case scenario declared in bold headlines. The idea of an unthinkable tragedy released into the ether for anyone and everyone to speculate on and come to their own sordid conclusions.
Aster’s phone buzzed with an incoming text, and she didn’t so much as flinch, wasn’t even tempted to glance at the screen. Her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since the day Layla Harrison’s blog broke the story. The video, the stills from the video—they’d all been forwarded to her by “friends” who somehow thought she needed not only to know about all the horrible things being said about her, but also to read them firsthand.
Why they thought she needed access to the thousands of anonymous commenters calling her a whore, a bitch, and a slut—a few of them even threatening to kill her—was beyond her. What exactly did they expect her to do in return?
Aster had responded the only way she knew how—she’d obeyed her parents’ orders and stayed sequestered in her room, musing on the slim divide between fame and infamy.
She’d wanted one—she’d gotten the other—and as luck would have it, they were inextricably linked.
Then again, from the moment she’d woken up alone at Ryan’s apartment, nothing in her life had gone as planned. The press had portrayed her as a slutty, conniving boyfriend stealer, only to fall for the lie Ryan had told them about trying to make Madison jealous. And yet, despite the numerous interviews he’d given, not once had he mentioned that Madison wasn’t the only one who’d gone missing that night.
Her phone stopped chiming, allowing for a brief moment of peace, before it started again. Aster sighed, rolled her eyes, and thought about shutting it off. The calls and texts were relentless. A quick glance at the screen showed a caller ID reading Blocked.
She knew better than to answer it—willed it to go into voice mail. But after catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror, something irreversible shifted inside her.
It’d been days since she’d last looked at herself. She was too ashamed, too afraid of what she might see. But after getting a glimpse, she found it nearly impossible to look away.
She moved toward the mirror and studied her face. Her hair hung loose and limp by her cheeks, her complexion was ashy and pale, and her eyes bore deep shadows, making her appear as bruised, hunted, and haunted as she felt.
What was it Ryan had said? Something like, You just took your first step toward making a name for yourself.
He’d also promised
to remain right by her side.
You have no idea how good it’s about to get, he’d told her. Will you trust me?
She had, only to never hear from him again.