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Steele, never married, owns The Fifth, The Strip, and the Downtown nightclubs here in Columbus as well as several other establishments elsewhere in the state. Turner was engaged to be married until very recently to local award-winning journalist and accessibility activist Adam Hallman, who recently suffered a spinal cord injury after a horrific car accident.
While Adam Hallman is confined to his wheelchair, it seems Chloe Turner sure landed on her feet.
Filthy Laundry Online has it on good authority that the children of Michael Steele never requires spouses to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.
This is a blog with no other entries. It was just created for this purpose.
Vertigo briefly attacks my senses as I calculate the ramifications here. I’ll have to explain this to my parents. My friends. This means things are going to be even messier than I expected they’d be.
Derek wanted Adam to take the blame, but when people find out, they’re going to be looking at me like I’m a gold-digging cheater. A monster who got a better offer than what I was looking at with my paraplegic fiancé.
Adam’s probably at the hospital with his family, saying goodbye to their gran while they deal with the emotional whirlwind of their uncle’s death.
As I sit on the bed, my phone chimes again.
Someone tagged me several times on Instagram.
The same gossip blog’s Instagram. And it’s a carbon copy of the other article, only this one has me tagged and there are a lot of comments.
“Chloe Turner is a disgusting human being. She’s dumped her fiancé a respected journalist who lost use of his legs in an accident for Derek Steele. Gold digger or what?” - Anonymous
Underneath it, a commenter says, “Who wouldn’t? Look at that hottie. And he’s rich?”
Nested under that is a comment that says, “Yeah, but everyone knows the Steeles are practically mafioso.”
I exit the app and write back to Alannah.
FML. Check Instagram. It’s worse.
She sends me a broken heart emoji and then messages again.
I’m here if you need me. Love you.
The door clicks and opens. Derek is back. He doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t look happy.
“You’d better get a load of this,” I tell him and open up the link Alannah sent and hand him my phone.
He takes it, looks at the screen, and massages his forehead with his fingers.
His eyes close for a second and when they open, he says, “Might as well pack up.”
I frown.
“You don’t want to go on a trip with me, do you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Then let’s go. We’ll swing by your parents’ place and then we’ll go home.”
“My parents?”
“They need to meet me. You need to tell them. This could go viral. Someone went to the trouble to put it up, they’ll undoubtedly want to spread it far and wide. Let’s go.” He waves toward the door.
I stare at the dining cart full of food and wine. At the flower petals all over the rug.
“Carson?” Derek says into his phone, “I need PR to take control of the gossip that’s come from my and Chloe’s wedding today. Yes, on the…” He looks at my phone, “Filthy Laundry site. Chloe Turner hashtag.”
God, I’m a hashtag.
