Page 148 of Knot Their Starlet

I’ve brought this upon myself. There’s nothing I can do or say to get me out of this situation.

I knew things with the guys were too good to be true.

Why would I ever think things could be different for me?

Leo’s reassurance, Eli’s protection, Beck’s wide-eyed hope, hell, even Everett’s steady guidance, none of it fucking matters.

“Do you have any idea what you look like? Stumbling out of a club at two in the morning with multiple men? In that dress?”

My blood turns to ice.

Did Cameron not keep his word? Does the media know that Beck isn’t the only one I’m seeing?

I put my mom on speakerphone, immediately Googling myself.

My throat is so tight I struggle to breathe as I scroll through the first few headlines.

Okay, nothing terrible.

“It—it was with Beck and his team, Mom,” I protest, weakly.

The worst headline I can find is Andromeda Sterling can’t handle her liquor? Beckham Knight spotted taking his girlfriend home after a night out.

Considering how upset my mom is, I was anticipating it to be much worse.

“And his team lets you dress like some cheap hooker?” Gina continues, my protests not stopping her angry rant.

I wonder what Nancy would say if I recorded this and played it during one of our sessions.

Is that even legal?

Do I care if it isn’t? Part of me desperately wants someone to tell me I’m not crazy for thinking this is crazy.

“I—I’ve worn that dress before, Mom.”

“Before you gained weight.” She lets out a frustrated huff, like I’m the one making her life difficult. “I thought I instilled in you that dressing for your body type was essential.”

I scrub a frustrated hand down my face, feeling the burn of tears behind my eyes.

I feel like I’m getting whiplash.

There’s no winning.

She just wants to yell, and I’m expected to just take it.

Flashes of Eli’s snarling face from last night make my chest feel even tighter.

That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. There’s no universe where you’ve gotta lose weight, you got that?

Well, turns out he’s wrong.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I rasp, hoping that’ll calm her down.

She bulldozes right over it, determined to continue her rant.

“Where are you right now? You’re not at your apartment, I can see that.”

“You’re tracking me?”