Not yet. Everyone kept talking like she was on a moving walkway she hadn't stepped on. Like this had momentum independent of her choices.

Tamsin's phone buzzed. She checked it, then looked to the window. "They've identified your tote. Your building's tagged on a neighborhood forum. You have about twenty minutes before the first freelancer tests your buzzer."

Lily swore softly.

Stacy's stomach dropped. "How do we stop it?"

"We don't," Tamsin said. "We get ahead of it. We control angles. We limit oxygen."

Stacy stared at the edge of the coffee table to keep from spiraling. "And Axel... Mr. Kings... what is he doing?"

"Working," Tamsin said. "Calling favors. Threatening ad pulls. Feeding a different story to three outlets so they cannibalize each other. The usual."

"The usual," Stacy repeated, as if repetition could make it reasonable.

Tamsin pocketed her phone. "I'll be in the car out back. Lock your door. Curtains closed. If you need me, call. If you don't, still call in three hours so I know you're breathing."

She moved to the door, then paused. "And Stacy? Ignore the comments. Even the good ones. Especially the good ones."

The door clicked shut.

Stacy locked it. Drew the curtains. Sat down and pressed her palms over her eyes until she saw sparks.

Her phone ... the unmarked one ... buzzed.

AK:

You okay?

She stared at the letters for a long time. A small, sharp reality cut through the rest: she was relieved he'd asked.

STACY:

No. But I'm managing.

Three dots. Then:

AK:

Good. Eat something. I'm sending...

STACY:

No deliveries. No favors. Just... keep them off her. And me.

A longer pause.

AK:

Done.

She set the phone down and let the word settle. It felt too easy. It felt like stepping onto that moving walkway.

Across the room, Lily watched her with a look that understood more than Stacy wished she did. "He's not going to disappear, is he?"

Stacy shook her head. "People like him don't disappear. They expand."

Lily chewed her toast, then said, very quietly, "He looked at you like he already knew how this ends."

Stacy met her sister's eyes. "Then he's wrong."

A buzz at the intercom cut the moment in half. A male voice crackled through, bright with fake cheer. "Stacy? Hey! Sam from the building management. Quick note about your... uh... window unit?"

Stacy didn't move. The unit had been rattling for two summers and management ha

Another buzz. "Stacy? You there?"

She picked up the receiver, thumb hovering over the talk button. Then she set it down again and stepped back.

The unmarked phone vibrated.

TAMSIN:

Do not answer. He's press. Stay off the line.

The intercom buzzed three more times and went mercifully quiet.

Stacy exhaled and looked at Lily, who was staring at the ceiling like it might offer a hint.

"You still think I should quit?" Stacy asked, because the question was a raft and she needed something to hold.

Lily considered. "No. I think you should survive today."

A beat.

"Then figure out the rest tomorrow."

Stacy nodded, though tomorrow felt like a rumor.

She sat on the floor again, same spot as last night, back against the coffee table, facing the door. Two phones on the wood beside her. Two names on two cards. The city outside sharpening its teeth.

Her personal phone buzzed one more time. A notification preview lit the screen ... a new post from a gossip account she didn't follow.

KINGS' CROSSING: Who's the brunette with Axel? Our money's on a makeup girl with a sharp tongue and sharper cheekbones. Developing...

Her face wasn't shown. Her name wasn't there. But it felt like being seen anyway.

Stacy locked the screen and pressed her fingers to the pulse in her neck until it slowed.

"Axel Kings," she said under her breath, testing the sound the way he'd tested hers. A name like a headline. A name with teeth.

She looked at Lily, then at the door.

"Okay," she said to the room, to the noise, to the man whose gravity was already rearranging her orbit. "Let's see how bad this gets."

And she waited, listening to the building hold its breath.

Stacy was one breath away from screaming when the third car parked across the street.

Unmarked. Tinted windows. Same make as the last two.

She let the curtain fall back into place, heart jackhammering. The air in the apartment was thick with silence and cheap detergent. Lily was asleep again on the couch, earbuds in, the blanket tucked around her like armor.

Stacy's stomach hadn't stopped twisting since the headline dropped.

BLIND ITEM: Kings of Controversy? Media Titan Linked to "Innocent Bystander" in Car Incident Outside Fashion Set

There were no names. But the photo was clearer now. Her hair. Her walk. Her tote bag.

She'd checked the blog's timestamp. It had gone up eleven minutes ago. Which meant the vultures outside were only the beginning.

She picked up the burner phone Tamsin had left and called the one number she didn't want to use.

He answered on the first ring.

"Kings."

Of course he didn't say hello. Of course he sounded like an executive in a war room.

"It's out," she said.

"I know."

"There are three cars outside my building."

"Two of them are mine."

She paused. "And the third?"

"That's why I'm downstairs."

Stacy blinked. "You're what?"

"I'm outside your door. Buzz me up."

She stared at the receiver like it might explode. Then crossed the room, pressed the intercom, and let him in.

Axel Kings didn't knock. He stepped inside like he'd always belonged there ... black coat, black shirt, no tie. Eyes scanning. Jaw tight. The storm in his body language had nothing to do with her furniture.

"Talk fast," she said, closing the door behind him. "I don't have time for another vague warning."

He tossed a folded page on the table. A printed screenshot of the blog post.

"You're trending. They're triangulating. Reddit's halfway to doxing you."

"I didn't sign up for this."

"No one signs up," he said. "They just get caught."

"Why are they even interested? I'm no one."

"That's the angle," Axel said. "'No one' collides with a billionaire. It writes itself. They smell sex or scandal, and the facts don't matter. You're already the story."

She ran a hand through her hair. "Then make it stop."

"I'm trying," he snapped. "But unless you plan on disappearing to Wyoming for six months, we need to shift the narrative."

She looked up. "Shift it how?"

He took a breath. Measured. Calculated.

"We leak something false. Reframe the story. Buy us time."

"No."

"It's not about truth," he said. "It's about timing. We give them something cleaner than the truth so they stop digging for dirt."

"You mean lie."

"I mean manage perception," he said evenly. "That's what survival looks like when people want to eat you alive."

She stepped closer, fire in her throat. "I'm not your brand. I'm not some toy for public damage control."

"You're not a toy at all," he said, eyes locking on hers. "And that's exactly why this is dangerous."

There was a charge in the air now. Like something electric had entered the room and shut the door behind it.

"You could have walked away after the hospital," she said, softer now. "But you didn't."

"I couldn't," he admitted.

The silence that followed wasn't comfortable. It was sharp, hot around the edges.

Stacy crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice level. "You're used to control, aren't you?"

"I don't like surprises."

"And I am one?"

Axel stepped forward, not quite close enough to touch. "You're the kind that doesn't leave."

Her pulse skipped. Her mind screamed at her to stay sharp ... to remember how this story ended for girls like her. But her body? Her body had already noticed the way his voice dropped half an octave when he got serious. The way he stood like gravity bent for him.

"Do you flirt with every woman you nearly run over?" she asked.

"I didn't flirt," he said, quiet now. "I took responsibility. Then I couldn't stop watching you."

That broke her for a second. She'd spent years watching him from afar ... magazine covers, shareholder meetings, brief glimpses behind velvet ropes. And now he was here, in her shitty apartment, saying things he shouldn't mean.

She swallowed hard. "If we fake something for the press, they'll watch us even closer."

"Good," he said. "Let them."

Her throat dried. "You'd risk your reputation for... what?"

He stepped closer. "Maybe I like a little risk."

She didn't move. Didn't breathe. His presence pressed in ... heat and magnetism, inches away. Her fingers twitched, either ready to shove him or pull him in.

"I'm not sure about this..," she said.

"You probably will," he replied.

Then the moment cracked ... a knock at the window. Not urgent. Just enough to remind them of the world outside.

Axel looked. "Photographer. Fire escape. Ballsy."

She moved to yank the curtain shut, but Axel caught her wrist. His hand was warm. Steady. Her breath hitched.

"You're not alone in this," he said, low. "Whether you want me or not."

And then he let go.

The knock came again, followed by the faint snap of a shutter.

"I'll handle it," he said.

She wanted to tell him to leave. That he was making everything worse.

But she also wanted him to stay.

Instead, she said nothing. Just watched him cross the room and disappear down the stairs like smoke slipping under a door.

And for the first time since the accident, she wasn't sure if she'd just regained control of her life... or lost it completely.

Stacy didn't sleep that night.

She lay awake on the couch, Lily curled beside her, the city pressing in from all sides. Every sound outside ... a car engine, footsteps on the stairs, the soft creak of pipes ... felt like a threat. Her phone buzzed once around 3:00 a.m., an anonymous number texting only an eye emoji and a blurry shot of her building's front door.

She didn't reply.

By morning, the burner phone was powered off and wrapped in foil in the freezer. Not because she thought it would help. Just because Axel had mentioned once in an interview that old-school paranoia was often the smartest kind.

Lily stirred around 7:00 a.m., earbuds dangling from one ear, hair a mess. She blinked blearily at Stacy. "Is it over?"

Stacy shook her head. "Not yet."

Lily sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Was that him last night?"

"Yeah."

"Did he fix it?"

"No."

Silence. Then Lily pulled the blanket tighter and muttered, "Rich people are useless."

Stacy didn't argue.

~ ~ ~

By noon, the story had mutated.

A new headline was trending on X:

MYSTERY GIRL NO MORE? FASHION WEEK FIASCO HAS A NAME

It was her. Her name. Not just a blind item or a blurry zoomed-in still. Full legal name. High school city. Ex-boyfriend quotes. A TikTok she'd posted six years ago had already been stitched into oblivion by morning show interns mining content like it was gold.

There was no going back now.

Tamsin called just after 2:00 p.m.

"Don't scream," she warned.

"That's not reassuring."

"I have a contact at Barrage. They want to offer you an interview. A clean profile, full editorial control. Something glossy to humanize you."

Stacy almost laughed. "You mean, weaponize me."

"I mean reframe you," Tamsin said. "Before someone else does."

"I'm not giving them an exclusive just to become another PR casualty."

"You already are one."

That landed. Hard.

"Meet me at the bar on 9th," Tamsin said. "Wear sunglasses. And don't bring your phone."

Click.

~ ~ ~

The bar was one of those deliberately dingy places with taxidermy on the walls and $16 cocktails made with ingredients like "basil smoke." Tamsin was already there, two drinks deep and dressed like a Vogue intern moonlighting as a spy ... black trench, oversized scarf, mirrored glasses.

"You look like a conspiracy theory," Stacy said, sliding into the booth.

"Thank you."

Tamsin pushed a folder across the table. Inside: a mockup spread of the Barrage article. Photos already chosen. One of them was from a rooftop shoot Stacy had done two years ago for a friend's zine. She hadn't known it was still online.

"Do I have a choice here?" Stacy asked.

"No," Tamsin said, honest at least. "But you do have leverage. Axel's name still hasn't been dropped. That makes you the variable."

Stacy leaned back. "So what...you want me to threaten him with exposure?"

"Not threaten. Trade."

The idea left a bad taste in her mouth.

But it made sense.

"You're playing chess with someone who only plays to win," Tamsin added. "Don't show up without a strategy."

~ ~ ~

She didn't call Axel.

She walked into his office.

Or tried to.

Security stopped her in the lobby, radioing upstairs while trying not to look too curious. Stacy stood firm, arms crossed, sunglasses on, heart slamming against her ribs.

Eventually, a woman in a crisp navy suit appeared.

"Ms. Lang?"

Stacy nodded.

"This way."

The elevator ride was long. Too quiet. When the doors opened, it was like stepping into another world ... all glass and light and hushed power.

Axel was standing by the window. Jacket off. Shirt sleeves rolled. He turned when she entered, expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I didn't come for permission."

He motioned to the chair across from his desk. "Then sit."

She didn't.

"I want something from you," she said.

"I figured."

"I want space. I want my name out of this. And I want control over whatever gets said about me next."

Axel didn't blink. "And what do I get?"

Stacy met his gaze. "A clean story. One that makes you look responsible. Noble, even. Like you're protecting the innocent civilian caught in the media crossfire."

He smiled faintly. "You're not as soft as you look."

"You're not as cold as you act."

That flicker again. The one he never let anyone see in public.

"You really think one article's going to fix this?" he asked.

"No," she said. "But it's a start. And it buys me time to decide what kind of mess I'm willing to live with."

Axel walked to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and set down a single key card.

"Temporary apartment. Midtown. Discreet."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I told you I'd handle it," he said.

She picked up the card. "This isn't about protecting me. It's about managing fallout."

"Maybe," he said. "But you'll still sleep better there than here."

~ ~ ~

That night, Stacy stood in the doorway of the apartment he'd given her access to ... all sleek lines and soft lighting and silence that didn't feel threatening. There were no cameras outside. No knocks at the window. No Lily on the couch beside her.

Just her. Alone. In the middle of something she didn't ask for, holding a key that felt heavier than it looked.

She set her bag down.

Then she walked to the window and opened it.

The city was still there ... pulsing, hungry, watching.

But this time, she didn't flinch.