Page 2 of Knot Their Starlet

I take a few healthy gulps of my champagne, breathing in the atmosphere of the night. The cool parts of it, at least.

The room glows with the kind of energy that can only be found when the best of the best are put together in one place. The lights from above catch and reflect off everything. Sequins and satin, and champagne flutes glitter in the brightly lit room.

It makes everything feel a little unreal.

Or maybe that’s the champagne I’ve been chugging throughout the night to help me deal with babysitting my boyfriend.

“Ezra, seriously? Wait for me!” I huff, spinning on my heels and chasing after him.

He doesn’t.

The door to the main event almost slams in my face as he storms out.

He slows his steps, not for me, but because there are some paparazzi waiting with their cameras poised.

“That’s Jonathan Fletcher’s son!” One of them yells before lifting his massive camera.

There’s a blinding flash.

I instantly transform my expression into a practiced smile. The smile of a loving, supportive girlfriend.

This is what I’ve been trained for. I’ve spent hours in front of a mirror making sure my smile is picture fucking perfect. My mother would never accept anything less.

“Who’s that next to him?” another pap asks.

“I dunno. Do you know?”

Ezra finally slows enough for me to grab ‌his arm.

I’m not surprised the paparazzi don’t know who I am. I may have a lot of social media followers, but my mom’s world—I guess technically my world—of reality TV is pretty far removed from tonight’s event.

“Oh, I think I recognize her! Andromeda Sterling, over here!”

I flash a practiced smile and wave, leaning my head on Ezra’s shoulder, towards the direction of whoever recognized me.

“She’s the daughter of Gina Sterling, you know, that omega.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Ezra grunts through clenched teeth.

Ezra loves me. He’s my boyfriend of almost five years. But I can’t help but think that in a moment like this, he cares more about the fact that the paps didn’t recognize him enough to know his name than the fact they brought up my mom’s big controversy.

Ezra’s scent grows more overpowering with every step we take away from the crowd. It nearly has me coughing when we finally make it to the bathroom.

“What the fuck was that?” he growls.

It’s one of those fancy single-stall bathrooms with marble everywhere, so we’re alone the moment the door shuts behind us.

“Hey, let’s take a breath,” I say, leaning against the door with a sigh.

He immediately goes to the counter, pulling a small pen case from God knows where.

I bite my tongue. I know exactly what he keeps in that thing. It’s no surprise harder drugs are a common occurrence in the circles we run in, but I’ve never liked them.

Ezra gets mean when he gets shitfaced, and he’s already well on his way there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took something before we got here. Probably to celebrate a win he delusionally thought was his.

With quick and practiced movements, he cuts a line of coke and starts rolling up a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

“I can’t believe the paps didn’t even know who I was!” he snarls, rubbing at his nose after standing from the counter. “I was a nominee for fuck’s sake! And they only knew me as fucking Jonathan Fletcher’s son.”