Page 117 of Scandal
“Oh.” She absently waves her other hand in the air. “Not your real sister. Your—what’s the word? Sorority sister?”
My mouth falls open. “One of my sorority sisters talked to the press about me?” Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Probably because you didn’t want to know…
I swallow, unsure whether I want to know anything more. I look over at Evie once more. Her unflappable demeanor has morphed into something a bit more empathetic.
Or sympathetic?
Oh god, is it really that bad?
All of my old insecurities are resurfacing this week because of the unspoken tension between Asher and me, which is why I ask, “What did she say?”
“You don’t know?”
I feel myself retreating, the confidence I’ve built up fading. “I don’t go on the internet much anymore.”
Isobel offers me a warm smile and places her wine on the side table for the first time since she arrived. Then she moves a little closer and gently pats my arm. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Then why tell her now?” Evie’s voice interrupts. It’s the first thing she’s said all night. I started to wonder if she was intentionally avoiding talking as a way to punish me for forcing her into this ridiculous girls’ night scenario.
“Because someone should,” Isobel argues. “She deserves to know what’s being said about her out there, and as her friend…” She emphasizes the last word. “I won’t be like the rest of you and hide things from her.”
My gaze shifts from Evie’s tense expression to Isobel’s gentler one. Is she right? What if they’re keeping things from me?
What if the gossip and rumors had gotten so bad that Asher was being pressured to break up with me? What if I misjudged Theodora’s affection for me, and she’s looking for my replacement at this very moment?
“Tell me,” I demand as my thoughts start to spiral out of control.
And she does.
She tells me everything, from the wild interview with LuAnn to the many stories from high school and college classmates who were more than willing to share anything they knew about me—for a price. Even my very first boyfriend, Mr. Clammy Hands himself, went on record, describing me as “forgettable.”
Others say I am boring and unimpressive. Just a typical nepo baby with no real talent or skills.
“Fans of Manic at Midnight are actually betting on how long it will take for Asher to get bored with you,” Isobel says with a casual shrug.
I’m so far gone in my emotional spiral that I barely notice the cruel smile on her face when I look up and mumble, “What if he already has?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ASHER
“Asher, you have got to calm down.”
I turn to glare at my mother, who’s looking out the window at the gloomy night sky. Aside from a few stray hairs, you would never know the stressful week she’s endured. Her wool pencil skirt and silk blouse look impeccable, even at this late hour. Even her lipstick is flawless.
I, on the other hand, can barely hold my teacup without trembling and don’t remember the last time I slept. I just lie awake in bed, staring at her, wondering when this unknown person will follow through on their threats and take her from me.
You always knew something like this would happen.
“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down when it’s been a whole damn week and we don’t have any leads?”
We have more texts, though.
More taunts. More threats. All coming from different, untraceable numbers.
But not a single fucking lead.
