aleburton

[aleburton]

the type of ship i fuck with the most

[aleburton]

Janet Fitch, from her novel titled "White Oleander," originally published in 1999

[aleburton]

Alex pressed the inside of her cheek between her teeth, biting gently, a nervous tic borne of dread. She knew under different circumstances, this might’ve been laughable. If Zach hadn’t been harboring something so monumental, this situation might have even felt absurdly romantic. A cruel joke played by the Universe, tossing them together once more like magnets caught in a storm. They would’ve shared a laugh, quietly acknowledging the strange inevitability of it all. What were the odds? She imagined how it would play out. How she would circle around the back of the chair, guiding him through the choreography with a professional calm that belied the chaos beneath her skin. Her hands would glide over his shoulders, fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his white shirt, slipping beneath the heavy gold chain resting against his chest. Her body would align with his for only a moment, just long enough to feel the subtle catch in his breath. Just long enough to remember what it used to be like. She could already see it. The way his jaw would tighten, that stubborn muscle ticking as he tried and failed to appear unaffected.

They’d exist in a temporary pocket of tension, one that pulsed with heat and history. A private, unspeakable moment disguised as work. The only time it would ever be allowed. And it wouldn’t end quickly. No, Zach would drag it out, pretending not to understand. Can you show me that one more time? Just want to make sure I’ve got it down. His tone would be smooth, casual. Feigned innocence cloaked in bad intentions. She’d roll her eyes, play along, and eventually send him back out there, to perform the scene for real. With her. With Kylie. It would sting. Of course it would. But she could live with that. She’d compartmentalize, shove her jealousy into a box labeled Not Important Right Now, and do what she always did — put business first. Be the professional. Deliver. Only problem was… she couldn’t unsee what she had seen that morning. That little boy. That mirror image. The life Zach had built without her knowledge, without her at all. And no matter how composed she appeared, no matter how convincingly she moved through the steps, she couldn’t unfeel what it meant. Why hadn’t he told her?

Alex tapped her nails rhythmically against the cool metal of the chair, each click echoing like a ticking clock. Her eyes narrowed, ears tuned to the soft shuffle of two sets of footsteps approaching down the hall. Owen’s assistant was speaking, rambling, really, about the finer details of the video concept, relaying what Zach could expect from the scene, from the shoot, from the overall vision. And Zach? He was responding with polite nods, even the occasional chuckle. Charming, engaged. Cooperative. The contrast struck her like a slap. This wasn’t the Zach she remembered. The one who, when forced into obligations, turned everyone into an adversary. Back then, resistance was his default setting, and the collateral damage often included the innocent. Interns, assistants, crew members who caught him on a bad day, all of them had felt the bite of his agitation, especially when drugs and alcohol dulled his filters and sharpened his edges.

But now? Now he had mellowed. Softer around the edges, more self-possessed. Peter was long gone, no longer hovering, chastising like a disappointed father while lining his own pockets under the guise of “management.” Zach had taken the reins. With the Label behind him, the dynamic had shifted. No more power struggles. No more retaliation for saying no. Except maybe not when it came to Kylie. Alex knew better than most that professional boundaries blurred when love, or something like it, was involved. Declining Kylie’s request would’ve come with consequences, personal ones. Even if unspoken. So maybe he hadn’t agreed out of eagerness. Maybe this was just self-preservation dressed in charisma. Still, he seemed at ease. Good spirits, like this was just another day on set and not an emotional minefield waiting to detonate.

 Alex inhaled deeply, bracing herself as the footsteps neared. When Zach rounded the corner, her gaze lifted to meet his. She wasn’t sure what her face betrayed. Indifference, professionalism, quiet disdain? She hoped it read as neutral. Controlled. The assistant began her introductions, cheerful and efficient, clearly unaware of the nature between the two people in front of her. Her brow twitched, an involuntary tell. Of course, not everyone knew. How could they? Zach gently interrupted the assistant’s monologue, his voice warm, almost apologetic. It earned him a nervous laugh and a stammered recovery from the poor girl, who then doubled down on her scheduling notes in a flustered attempt to stay on track. Alex blinked at the word hour. One hour. With him. She’d need every ounce of restraint she possessed, every coping mechanism she’d half-mastered, and maybe even divine intervention to get through it without unraveling. Zach extended a hand to the assistant with his signature disarming smile. She looked up, cheeks flushed pink, clutching her clipboard to her chest like a life raft.

Her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she nodded too fast and too often. Clearly overwhelmed, she excused herself quickly, backing out and shutting the door behind her with a soft, definitive click. The moment it latched, the silence ballooned between them. They were alone now. No buffers. No cameras. Just four walls, mirrored glass, and the tension of two people trying not to look directly at the mess they’d made of each other. He stood there, arms loose at his sides, but his eyes working overtime, studying her like a language he used to speak fluently but could no longer quite decipher. Alex felt it. The stillness before the inevitable. Zach Winthrop couldn’t resist tossing out some sideways comment, not when the air between them was thick enough to taste. Sure enough, the scoff came first, dry and familiar. Then the telltale lift of his chin as he gestured toward the chair. Her gaze followed his, landing on the rickety, steel-framed seat she had dragged into place. She exhaled through her nose, her expression flat. “Just for you,” she echoed, voice clipped with a faux sweetness. She stepped toward the chair, feet clicking softly against the concrete floor, and gave the metal seat a few condescending pats. Light, dismissive. “Sit. Shouldn’t take you a full hour to learn how to be still and look pretty.” The corner of her mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it.

She pivoted on her heel before he could answer, her long hair fanning slightly as she walked toward the portable speaker perched in the far corner of the room. Her fingers tapped against the screen as she unlocked her phone and queued the song. Her thumb hovered, waiting to press play. She glanced up at him, eyes sharp and unblinking, already issuing a challenge. “Well?” she called, arching one brow. “Hello?” It was part invitation, part provocation. And he’d know it. She wasn’t going to necessarily make this easy, but she was going to make it perfect.

Not much time, but I’m sure Alex will take care of you. Zach’s face did not betray the tectonic disruption beneath his surface, the bubbling tsunami of a feeling, icy in his abdomen and rising. His eyes were still on her, though she had torn her gaze away. He considered her. Her slight frame, her sternness like a needle, that savage pulsing heart under it all. There wasn’t an ounce of amusement to his voice when he answered, “I’m sure she will.” Owen ricocheted into action, composed but he needn’t be. The light in his eyes sparkled, flared, spoke for itself. He was elated that Zach accepted. Hell, he’d probably be awarded with some kind of raise from Andrew at having achieved such a feat with America’s most difficult pop star. Zach’s mouth twitched as Kylie gushed beside him, positive he should prepare for a certain cruelty from Alex at him forcing her hand when she clearly wasn’t willing to offer it herself. But she knew him too well to believe he wouldn’t try to squeeze an explanation out of her.

“You look apprehensive. Why do you look apprehensive?” Kylie frowned, interrupting herself. Zach blinked down at her, rummaging around in his brain for an answer among his many distracted thoughts. “I’ve learned to sort of trust my gut on these things over the years, I guess. Being too public with anything is essentially asking to be torn to shreds.” She said nothing, the corner of her mouth tucking into her cheek as she considered him, her eyes glassy. “And it’s your video. Your moment. There was already going to be enough talk around me given the lyrics, but now…” Kylie rolled onto the balls of her strappy heels, folding her arms, seemingly in thought not over his words but how to dismiss them politely. His hand came to her jaw, fingers dipping into the hair behind her ear, and she raised her face to look at him. “It’s all good, baby. If you want me in it, I’m in it. I just want you to remember this is supposed to be about you, not me. Not even us.” Her hand settled over the top of his, and her teeth peeked out between smiling lips. “Aw,” she patted his hand. “But I’m confused. Isn’t everything always about me?” An unexpectant laugh stuttered out of him, and he pushed her playfully away by the jaw. “Right, right. I forgot.” 

She clipped him on his backside as he turned away, saying, “go learn your little dance then come show mommy when it's done, ok?” He waved her off, rolling his eyes. “Fuck off.” He peeled away, steering toward the crew who were seemingly awaiting him, ready to spring to action. He was led by Owen’s assistant down a quiet hallway with five sealed doors, all unmarked. As they went, she explained to him the concept of the scene and what was expected of Kylie’s male co-lead. “I live with her. That woman does not shut up. You think I don’t know all this already?” The assistant, flustered, apologised but persisted. “This was the brief given to Cedric. Owen asked me to relay it to you, too. Just in case.” Zach nodded listlessly and rotated his hand as though on a real, gesturing, go on, then. And she did. “Key emotional themes to hit on are; desperation, wanting, helplessness, power battle…” Zach laughed, interrupting. “All that in one, what, 45 second dance with no dialogue? Who am I, Daniel Day Lewis?” She laughed awkwardly. He looked at her. “You don’t have to laugh if you don’t think it’s funny. I’m not, like, a dictator. I won't get you fired if you don't laugh at my shit joke.” At this, she really did laugh, her shoulders a little looser. “Sorry. I just. You know.” She gestured at him broadly. He nodded, bored with the notion of his own celebrity. “Yeah. I know.”

They came to a stop at the last door along the long corridor as the assistant explained this room had previously been booked for wardrobe, but they were setting up a makeshift workshop in room 7B so this could be turned into a dance rehearsal room for him. Zach only-half listened, as when the door opened, the room had been cleared almost wall-to-wall besides an eerily composed Alexandra, standing with one hand leaning on a lone metal folding chair. Their eyes locked once again, and all through him charged this feeling. An expectant feeling. A foreboding one. “This is Alex, our choreographer,” the assistant explained, walking him further into the room. His eyes cut to the woman at his side, who was fiddling with her earpiece. “We’ve met,” Zach said. “Oh! Oh, of course, Alex is Andrew’s – right. Sorry. So.” She stood awkwardly for a moment, sensing the atmosphere in the room and surely not understanding where it was emanating from. Perhaps she thought it was her own fault. “All set then, I suppose. Um. Your call time is in two hours, Zach. And you’ll need at least forty five minutes for wardrobe, hair and makeup, all that. So. Is an hour good? Owen said –” Zach stopped her with a sudden, toothless smile and a patient hand. “Thanks for all your help.” She nodded once. “Of course.” Then she left the room.

Zach turned to Alex, the sound of the heavy door sucking shut behind him the only sound in the whole world. Then, silence stretched and rolled and grew thick. Silence grew arms and wrapped them up. He scrutinised her patiently, looking for some kind of clue, his arms folding over his chest. There was nothing that could make him feel uncomfortable around her. Not even this strange, ineffable tension. Not even a hundred unanswered questions. Not even admitting to her how badly he wanted her and being turned down. She was impossible. Giving him absolutely nothing. Stillness, coolness. He sort-of laughed at her difficulty, once, through his nose, then turned both his face and pointer finger to the chair by her side. “You set all this up, just for me?”

[aleburton]

Owen’s sun-kissed complexion drained to a pale gray the moment his eyes locked with hers. Alex didn’t need him to say a word — the look alone told her everything. Cedric wasn’t coming, and whatever time they had to salvage the situation had nearly evaporated. She lifted her manicured hand and gave him a subtle wave, beckoning him over like a general calling in reinforcements. With a theatrical tilt of his head, Owen sighed skyward, silently throwing a tantrum as his Gucci combat boots carried him across the set. “I have to be more careful with what I say,” he muttered under his breath, eyes wide and voice pitched in disbelief. “Manifestation is real. Cedric is in the hospital. Actual hospital. Fender bender on the way here. His agent just sent a picture of him in a damn neck brace. I kid you not.” He shook his head, incredulous. “What the actual fuck.” Alex blinked, absorbing the information, but Owen was already shifting back into crisis mode, his panic efficiently packed away, replaced with the razor-sharp focus of a man who’d run damage control for high-profile talent more times than she could count.

His fingers danced across the iPad screen, swiping through emails, headshots, and scheduling apps with blistering speed. “Okay, so,” she exhaled, “What are you thinking? What can I do? Say the word.” Alex’s eyes dropped to the scrolling array of model headshots, Owen favoriting and filtering them in real-time. It was a decent list. Talented, attractive. But none of them were Cedric. And more importantly, none of them had rehearsed. She wasn’t sure how Kylie would react. Everything had been going so smoothly. The video, her video, was almost perfect. And now, at the eleventh hour, her crowning scene was hanging by a thread. Owen groaned softly, doing his best to rally, “I’m going to put on my happy little executive smile and present Kylie with her dazzling options.” He flashed a grin that was more teeth than joy. “You are going to prepare to teach the choreography in under an hour to whichever poor soul ends up being sacrificed to the pop goddess, capisce?” Alex smirked, but only faintly. “Capisce.”And just like that, the countdown began.

“Cut! Great work, Kylie. Let’s clear for the next scene,” the director called out, pulling his headset down around his neck. His face was already lit with a satisfied grin, the kind that said we got it. He immediately turned toward the monitor, eager to review the footage, a man drunk on the adrenaline of another potentially iconic pop music video captured on film. Kylie exited the frame gracefully, still glowing with performance energy, and was quickly enveloped by a small swarm of crew members ready to cater to her every whim. Hair, makeup, water, notes. She accepted their attention with the ease of someone used to being adored. Zach approached, just behind the crowd, clapping softly, offering a muted smile. Always playing it cool. Too cool, like he existed on the edge of the moment rather than within it. And yet, he still pulled focus without trying. Tall, unbothered, carved from stillness. He wore the role of doting boyfriend like a perfectly tailored coat, and he wore it well.

It was more than Alex had ever received. She had been the secret. The liability. Something to be protected not for her own sake, but for the preservation of his brand. With Kylie, it was different. She was a statement piece.  Shiny, visible, and worthy of public admiration. He applauded her. He stood beside her. Acknowledged her. Alex had been erased. Kylie was exalted. She shook her head lightly, as if the movement might rattle the bitter thoughts free. Different time. Different version of him, she told herself. Let it go. But Kylie’s instincts were razor sharp, tuned like a sixth sense to shifts in energy, even ones carefully masked. Though no one in the crew had said a word, her eyes sharpened, scanning faces like a predator sensing something just outside the frame. “Oh boy,” Owen muttered, reading that shift immediately. “I’m going in. Wish me luck.” Ever the professional, he straightened his spine, plastered on a calm and capable smile, and began his confident march toward the platinum-haired pop princess, carrying himself like a man who had answers, even if he absolutely didn’t.

He stepped into the circle like someone used to delivering bad news in beautiful packaging. Though she couldn’t hear the exchange, Alex didn’t need to. She could read Owen’s body language like a book and his lips were just clear enough to decipher. He was keeping it light, charming, composed, but she could tell he was fully aligned with Kylie. The bedroom scene had to happen. It was the sensual crescendo of the entire video, and without it, the story fell apart. Owen pulled up the alternatives on his iPad, a handful of handsome, chiseled men with the jawlines of demigods and the blank expressions to match. Kylie scanned them with disinterest, her posture drooping ever so slightly. Deflated. None of them were it. Then it happened. Owen’s eyes lifted deliberately toward Zach. Alex’s stomach dropped. “Owen, don’t you dare,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. But it was too late. No formal proposal had to be made. Zach understood what the glance meant.

The offer was silent, but heavy. And he declined, at first, with a shake of the head. The kind that said don’t involve me. Alex’s gaze slid to Kylie. It’s her call now. If Kylie wanted him in the scene, he’d have no choice but to fall in line. He wouldn’t dare risk stealing her moment. Not visibly, not publicly. But if she said the word… Owen kept at it, undeterred. Pitching. Pressing. Alex could practically feel the heat crawling up the back of her neck. I’m going to kill him, she thought. No raise. Negative raise. Retroactive pay cut. Whatever he said worked. Kylie turned toward Zach, beaming, radiant, sparkling, Christmas-morning delighted. “Oh, Zach, we have to do it.” That part she heard loud and clear. It cut through the hum of background noise like a blade. Owen and Kylie dove into logistics, voices hushed but animated. Alex stood frozen, watching it unfold like a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Plans were already being made, details ironed out, accommodations set in motion. If there was no way to make it work, Owen would invent one.

Little shit. Kylie looked back up at Zach, eyes glittering with childlike wonder, her hand resting lightly on his chest. One more plea. Soft, sweet, impossible to refuse. And just as she did, his gaze shifted. Right past her. Right to her. Alex went still, breath caught mid-inhale. He was looking at her now. Not at the chaos, not at Kylie, not at Owen — just her. And something about the way he stared made her feel like the floor had dropped out beneath her. She kept her face unreadable. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, she thought, as if her mind could project the words into his. Then he nodded. “Okay.” Just one word. Simple. Unassuming. But it echoed in her like a gavel slamming down. Part of her wondered, no, knew,  this wasn’t just about being the hero of the day. Zach had played the game well. He now got the best of both worlds: the public adoration of a devoted boyfriend and the opportunity to wedge himself into Alex’s space again, silently, intimately.

Knight in shining armor to one. Psychological tormentor to the other. Perfect. She broke the eye contact first, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, bracing against the cold weight of regret. Why had she agreed to this? To any of this? The bitterness crept in slowly, hot and heavy behind her ribs. Owen, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement, barely containing the victory dance playing behind his polished professionalism. “Great. Perfect,” he said, clapping his hands once as if sealing a deal with the universe. “We’ll want to jump into choreography right away. Not much time, but I’m sure Alex will take care of you.” He turned toward Zach, all smiles. “Let me find get you two a space.” Then, as if propelled by invisible confetti cannons, Owen spun on his heel and made a beeline for her. His eyes were wide, his mouth stretched into a silent scream of disbelief, and Alex prepared herself for whatever was about to spill out.

“Oh. My. God,” he hissed as he reached her, arms flailing with restrained joy. “I can’t believe it. Zach’s actually doing it. Do you know how iconic this is going to be? It’s like, like pop royalty! The internet is going to explode.” Alex blinked at him, doing everything in her power not to unravel right then and there. Owen, of course, had no idea. No clue about the history, the landmines he was skipping across like a carefree deer in a minefield. He was just doing his job. And she couldn’t fault him for that.But oh, how she wanted to.She still hadn’t figured out how to face Zach. Not with what she now knew. Not with everything unspoken between them buzzing like electricity beneath her skin. So, like always, she’d put on the mask. Play the role. Do just enough to meet Kylie’s expectations and keep things professional, all while praying she came out of this unscathed. “There’s an empty room just down the hall, to the right,” Owen said, scrolling through his iPad. “We were using it for wardrobe earlier, but it should work. I’ve got to make a few adjustments to the schedule.” He looked up at her. “You’ll be good, right?”

Alex planted her feet, exhaled slowly, and gathered her things.“Sure, sure. Just peachy,” she muttered, eyes trailing down the hallway as if it led straight to her own execution. “Perfect. Thanks for being such a good sport, Ale. You’re the best,” Owen called over his shoulder as he sauntered off, still glowing with the high of a production miracle.She rolled her eyes.Dragging her feet just slightly, Alex made her way down the hall and turned the corner into the makeshift rehearsal room. It still smelled faintly of fabric and perfume. Racks of clothing lined the walls, but there was more than enough open space to move. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected every inch of the room, every angle, every flaw.She dropped her bag by the door and moved to the center, hands on her hips as she paced, her thoughts loud in the silence. Then she spotted a single metal chair folded near the corner. She grabbed it and dragged it across the floor with a low screech, placing it dead center. Now all she had to do was wait for him.

His mind was fractured, a jagged fissure running right down the middle, pulsing with the urgency of what was contained within. Because as Kylie moved, fluid and sensual, clean and practiced, what he saw flickered in and out of reality. Kylie, Alex, Kylie, Alex. She was a fantastic mimic. Perhaps that’s what made her so successful. The ability to plug her fangs into the necks of those possessing talents she did not, to drink them down and feel them expand within her. A composite of all that she had seen, learned, and regurgitated. He had seen her dance a hundred times. These inflections, these sharp yet silky mannerisms, were not hers. They were Alex’s. Brava, he thought. It was Alex’s gait, after all, that most perfectly married with the atmosphere Kylie sought to bring to life in her video. Maybe she was suspicious, and that was still part of asking Alex into the picture. But she’d had a vision and knew what it would take to come to life. And here it was, coming to life, just like she wanted. 

Zach’s shoulder pushed up against a pillar, melting into his environment with the ease of a man never out of place. Never afraid of who might approach him, what they might say, nor being seen alone. A little trance-like as he watched her and ruminated over all their differences; these two women who clung to his heart like goddamn barnacles. The only two who ever had. The only two who could even come close. And yet, they were so stark from one another. He had no type. Only instinct. The only way it made sense was to turn the critical eye upon himself; fractured, as he knew himself to be, with two very distinct parts of himself that needed sating. A tittering in the back of his mind interrupted. Alex can be both. You just never let her. You never let her. It was an unforgiving line of thinking. One that would bury him if he wasn’t careful. 

The balcony scene was shot, in full, three times over before Kylie was given a break. Zach pushed off the pillar, made his way over to her, path parting for him as it always did. The smell of her perfume tumbled from her in thick swathes with her perspiration. He smiled, offering her a subdued, slow round of applause, meant only for her, and bowed his head. “Alright. So some things are worth the early wake up call.” She smiled up at him, panting, accepting a water bottle with a straw from an assistant so as to not disturb her lip makeup. “You’re welcome. Or thank you.” She handed it off and accepted a hand towel in its place to carefully pat at her face. A makeup artist rushed in, a woman who until that moment had been waiting on the frontlines anxiously for her opportunity. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?” she asked, brow lacing delicately inward. She was so quick to observe the subtleties sometimes, it unnerved him. What else did she see? He cast a glance out at the increasingly frenetic crew. As he was about to tell her what he had heard, but Owen parted through the crowd and made a beeline in their direction. “Looks like you’re about to find out.”

His face was creased in preemptive apology, the iPad in his hand alive with friction, an audible voice coming from his earpiece. All of which he ignored to offer Kylie his full attention. “First of all, you’re a superstar and there wasn’t a single bad take, and this video is going to be a sensation no matter what.” Kylie’s face rounded out, eyes fretful and lips downturned. “But?” Owen gave a sympathetic smile. “But…” he continued, “Cedric can’t make it, but – listen, listen!” He interrupted her hissy fit before it even began, clocking the swell in her features, her jaw unlocking and eyes going wide. She fell quiet. “He did get in a car accident on his way here. He’s fine, he's fine. But I suppose we can give him the benefit of the doubt given he’s in hospital with a concussion and multiple facial wounds. Not cute on camera.” Kylie, appropriately concerned for both the male model and her video shoot, folded her arms and worried at her bottom lip. “That sucks and everything, glad he's alive and not permanently mangled, but... We can’t not have the bedroom scene. It all orbits around the bedroom scene.” Owen nodded. “I know. So. Obviously nobody has had the rehearsal time like Cedric, but we do still have a couple of options. I have some headshots here of some guys on our roster we can call up and bring in.” He turned his iPad screen to her, and she looked listlessly down at it, not touching it. “Or…”

For the first time in the entire interaction, Owen looked up at Zach, held his eyes for a loaded few seconds until the proposition clicked into place through the silence. “No,” Zach said, firm and calm. He had always been resolute in his refusal to engage with her career. It was messy enough, their relationship as public as it was. Though Zach avoided seeking out any discourse about himself religiously, it didn’t mean that having such a private aspect of his life on display to the entire world didn’t open the both of the up to, at best, scrutiny. At worst, desecration. And these things had a way of seeping into cracks, of bloating once within the belly of the beast. Of fucking things up from the inside out, parasitic as they were. As hungry as the public are to tear him apart, to watch him suffer. It was just as entertaining as his best work. Even the fans sometimes fell victim to this, the feral wanting of him. They could claim to want the best for him, but what they truly wanted was anything at all. They had attempted to destroy Kylie at the start, until they realised this was their only way through to him, as avoidant as he had become. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Okay, so, I did anticipate you being reluctant, but listen…” Kylie was barely listening, though, one thing after another unravelling behind her eyes, her expression morphing into that of awe. Excitement. "You have to appreciate all these options," he gestured to the iPad, "are models. They won't pick up choreography like you will. And, obviously, it's you. And it's the two of you together. This could be-" Kylie patted Zach's chest rapidly, light on her feet, interrupting Owen. “Oh, Zach, we have to do it.” She said, exasperated by the very thought. She turned to Owen. “Will wardrobe be able to make adjustments? Can we make the outfit fit him in time?” Owen only nodded once, clearly having already looked into this and assuming the inevitable before approaching them at all.

It was an expert plan, really. Lay the groundwork then let his perfect, preened popstar do all the heavy lifting for him. Owen's expression was open, plain, but Zach looked at him and he knew he had just been blindsided by the checkmate. Making the proposition in front of them both, offering her the lacklustre headshots as first resort, knowing she wouldn’t be sold by it, then nonchalantly removing the lid from a silver platter. Not bad. Zach understood that his presence in the video would inevitably guarantee its success. The number of watchers, and therefore commenters, more tongues to pass on the word, would not just double. They would triple, or more, with the influx of his fanbase. Of people just curious to see what the formidable couple might look like when in a perceptibly natural setting. Just like them. Only better. Kylie tucked her nails into his open lapel, scraped lightly along his inked chest, knocking his chain, and finally he looked down at her. “Zach, don’t think too much. Please. Do this with me. It’ll be fun. It’ll be fucking amazing, even.”

He paused, swallowed, tried to take her advice. Don’t think too much. Don’t think too much. Then he glanced up, and his eyes found Alex’s without even trying. Locked on as though there was no other place in the world he could look, no other eyes he could find. Ground-zero, white-out, he didn’t think. Just like she asked. “Okay,” he said. I’d do anything Kylie asked me to do. Alex’s face washed over him, carried him to the decision he would inevitably regret. He didn't even truly understand why. Only that he was mobilized; a sleeper agent. He looked down at Kylie. “I'll do it.”

[aleburton]

[aleburton]

[aleburton]

Owen rolled his neck, his gaze tilting skyward as he exhaled through his nose — a quiet, measured sigh that barely scratched the surface of the frustration he was holding back. His skin, dewy and flawlessly moisturized, caught the overhead lights with a faint sheen, but beneath the surface, Alex could feel the tension humming through him. If he weren’t so composed, he’d probably let out a guttural scream or drive his perfectly manicured fist through the nearest wall. And honestly? She wouldn’t blame him. No one understood the weight Owen carried better than Alex. He was Andrew’s right hand. The fixer, the buffer, the middleman between chaos and composure. His phone was practically an extension of his body, buzzing at all hours with problems to solve, schedules to shift, fires to put out before Andrew even smelled smoke. She’d heard his voice so often on speaker during late-night calls that it had started to bleed into her dreams.

Now, with the male model still missing and time ticking mercilessly forward, she knew Owen was silently sifting through a thousand worst-case scenarios, mentally constructing contingency plans. And still, he held it together, cool as ever. He deserved a raise. A promotion. A parade. And if no one else pushed for it, she damn well would. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling with the kind of practiced urgency that suggested he already knew there were no new messages. No calls. Just more silence. Alex leaned forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees, her teeth grazing her lower lip as she considered how she could help. Maybe she couldn’t fix this, but she could try to keep hope alive. “I’m sure he’ll show,” she offered gently. “We ended on such a good note yesterday. He seemed really into it. There’s no way he’d flake on something like this. Not with all eyes on him.”

Owen didn’t look convinced. His brows arched as he met her optimism with a pointed glance, eyes widening just slightly in exaggerated challenge. “Even if that’s true,” he said, voice low and dry, “he’s doing a hell of a job making a terrible impression by ghosting his call time and ignoring all my messages. As far as I’m concerned, he’s unofficially blacklisted from the Label unless he’s got a damn good excuse. And by good, I mean I better get a selfie of him in a full body cast.” Alex burst into laughter, the kind that came from the belly, honest and involuntary. It felt good. Necessary. The tension that had been coiled tight inside her loosened just a little, and for a brief moment, she remembered what it felt like to be light. She shook her head gently, still grinning, fully understanding why Andrew had hired Owen. He ran a tight ship, took no nonsense, and yet somehow still managed to be the most charming person in the room. She could admire that.

“Well,” she said, still giggling, “if he bails, we’ll figure it out. I’m sure you had backup options. The choreography for that section isn’t complicated. We can make it work.”Owen’s fingers were already flying across his iPhone screen, thumbs tapping with furiously. His face was taut with focus, likely composing a sharply worded message to Cedric that would be both terrifying and perfectly punctuated.“Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine,” he muttered, not even looking up.Alex batted her lashes in mock innocence, flashing a saccharine smile. “Of course I am. Had you heard otherwise?”He finally looked up, lips pursed like he was weighing the comedic value of his next move. A beat passed.“Never,” he said, then smirked. “Well… maybe I heard one thing. No big deal. Just that you’re a spoiled, rotten gold digger.”His grin stretched wide, clearly pleased with himself, teasing her with the same inside joke she’d once self-deprecatingly confessed during a late-night vent session.Alex rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her face said everything. She adored him.

Her mouth dropped open in exaggerated offense. “Ah, ah, ah,” Owen warned, wagging a finger. “Close that. You might need it later. What time does Drew get in again? Alex gasped, clutching her chest in mock outrage. “I’m going to have to report you to HR, Ma’am.” Owen merely shrugged, sliding his phone back into his pocket with zero remorse. “What? You and Drew will definitely have a lot to talk about after today’s shoot.” He was incorrigible, delightfully cheeky and unbothered. And God, she loved it. His humor wrapped around her like armor, briefly protecting her from the sting of the earlier run-in with Zach. For a few blessed seconds, she felt like herself again. But it never lasted long. A blink later, and there he was again. Zach. Lingering just within her periphery, casually chatting with a crew member as if he didn’t still live in her bloodstream.

The sight of him tugged her straight back to center, the familiar discomfort tightening her spine. Owen noticed. Of course he did. “I mean,” he murmured, nodding in Zach’s direction, “there’s always him.” Alex’s brows shot up, drawing together sharply. “No. Absolutely not.” Owen turned to face her, his expression mischievous. “And why not? He’s perfect. Broody. Gorgeous. They’d go viral. People love a couple’s music video. It’s like catnip for fans.” He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, “Though… it is kind of cursed. But whatever. We’re living for the moment.” Alex opened her mouth to protest, but before she could gather a single word, the energy on set shifted.Kylie had arrived.All conversation fell away as she was ushered in by her team, a vision of manufactured perfection. Her blonde hair was curled into immaculate waves, makeup flawless under the studio lights. She glittered like a walking diamond in a stage-ready ensemble, every detail styled for maximum impact. She looked exactly as a pop star should.

Alex understood the allure — she always had. Kylie possessed that rare, star-quality shine that couldn’t be faked or taught. But seeing her like this, under lights and in motion, it hit different. It cemented everything. This was the moment that confirmed what she’d known all along. Zach Winthrop was a damn fool. He was willing to risk all of this? Kylie French, a glittering, untouchable megastar for an old, fractured flame? For something bruised and broken, riddled with regret? For her? The director walked Kylie to her mark with the reverence of someone handling fine China. They exchanged a few hushed words, subtle nods, lingering glances. Then he vanished behind the camera. “Action,” he called out. The studio flooded with sound as the bassline of Kylie’s track throbbed through the speakers. And just like they’d practiced, over and over, Kylie moved. Fluid, precise, magnetic. The choreography was sultry without trying too hard, powerful without being aggressive.

Every movement seemed effortless, as if the music poured directly through her veins. Alex leaned forward slightly, propping her chin in her hand, her pinky brushing absently across her lips as she watched. Then her eyes drifted. Zach stood a few feet away, his focus locked onto Kylie. A soft, pride-filled smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, that radiated something real. Admiration. Maybe even love. Alex blinked, heart dipping slightly. Had he ever looked at her like that? Had she ever done anything that made him smile with that kind of unfiltered warmth? Probably not. Back then, they weren’t living. They were just trying to survive each other. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Owen pacing. He was glued to his phone again, tension radiating off of him in waves. Then his face fell. His posture shifted. He exhaled slowly, like someone absorbing the final blow. He looked over at her, eyes wide, voice low. “We’re fucked.”

Zach tried, for a moment, to step into a world in which he and Alex had never been refamiliarized. A world in which he could enter into a room she already inhabited and not suffer the insistent, potent instinct to be near her. It couldn’t exist, though, he theorized. Because from their very first meeting, his magnetism to her had been instantaneous. Before he’d learned a single thing about her, beyond her sour attitude and part-time job, he hadn’t been able to leave her alone. She had come to understand this wasn’t a trait he usually possessed, despite suspecting he was treating her the way he treated every pursuit. He should’ve known from the start that he was done for. So, if their first encounter truly had been in the lobby of Andrew Dupree’s Manhattan penthouse suite, would his predicament not be eerily similar to the one he found himself in now? Impossibly attracted to her orbit, always trying to circle her until she noticed him. It was impossible to say.

Without having met her, he wouldn’t be where he was now. They both knew this to be true. He wouldn’t have the girl, he wouldn’t have held onto the career. He might not even be alive. So, what was his life without her in it, truly? He toyed with the notion that she didn’t exist at all, right then, in this room. Probably, he’d be interested in the goings on around him. He’d want to watch the scenes being shot, talk to the director, joke around with the crew. Maybe he should do that, then. He was not granted the space nor the time to deduce what exactly had made Alex come at him so cold, so he’d box that up for inspection later. Attuning to the energy, he began to clock a certain unrest. Show runners and assistants whispering, harried, pressing phones to their ears and ducking out of sight. Kylie went over her routine quietly, in her own world, blind to the rising tension of those around her. Zach sauntered through the crowd, greeting those who greeted him, the Label employees he’d worked with before or seen around, then sank into a chair beside the key grip. He vaguely recalled this guy's name was Jason. Jacob? “Something wrong?” Zach asked casually, leaning back.

The key grip tensed, then sighed when he laid eyes on Zach. “Mm. Not my field, but something about a missing model.” Zach blinked, glanced around, got distracted just like that. Alex, across the room, hair unraveling down her back, bouncing and refracting light as she ran her hands through it and sighed. His chest inflated. He looked away, looked at Kylie. “She know yet?” The key grip shrugged. “It’s not urgent, yet.” Zach nodded, eyes on Alex, wrapped up in the skinny embrace of Andrew’s right-hand-man. He was barely thirty but, with Andrew being so busy with the Label’s rapid inflation, was basically running the day-to-days at the company. Zach liked the guy. Owen. Thought he was funny, if a little frantic at times. They hadn't spoken much.

“Action!” the director yelled. A moment later,Kylie’s voice flooded the grand, open space, bouncing off the concrete ceilings, and as she danced he watched her pull the skin of that girl the world knew over her taught frame. Kylie French the star, the performer, the dancer, the vixen. It was a flipped switch – one he knew well. He sat up a little straighter, realizing something. This was what had ultimately driven their friendship to something deeper. An understanding, a shared experience. A passion for the same poison. He watched her, head tilting, a small smile flitting over thick lips. But of course, something else had played a part. The middle-of-the-night frenzy to flush Alex from his system. The night he finally had enough of enduring her haunting. Then that magnet, that fucking North Pole inside him, acted independently. His gaze slid to Alex across the room, and it froze there. His chest filled with breath. He almost laughed. What a stupid, stupid fucking idea, that he could ever live in a world without her in it. What a childish, ridiculous idea.

[aleburton]

Though the shift was subtle, Alex saw it – the flicker in his expression that told her he’d heard her loud and clear. Zach tilted his head slightly, confusion knitting across his brow as he studied her with quiet curiosity, as if trying to decode the sudden frost in her tone. And she understood his bewilderment. Just weeks ago, they’d been entangled in shadows, pressed against the velvet wallpaper of a hotel hallway, their breaths shallow, hearts pounding, teetering dangerously close to something neither of them had the right to want. Their behavior had been reckless, yes, but unspokenly mutual. There had been no signs of resentment then. No cold shoulders. No lingering looks laced with hurt. They had been fine... until they weren’t. Alex crossed her arms over her chest, the gesture both defensive and grounding. She inhaled slowly, trying to soothe the tightening in her throat, already regretting the icy jab she had thrown at him.

Why here? Why now? But that was always the problem. She was at war with herself more often than not. Her feelings came in waves too big for her body, crashing before she had time to understand what they meant. Her mind raced in spirals, looping back on half-spoken fears and past wounds. It was exhausting. Words often failed her when it mattered most. It was easier, safer, to stay silent, to hold it all in, to suffer in private rather than risk being labeled dramatic or unstable. She hated that label. Feared it, even. So instead of saying I’m hurt, or this blindsided me, or I don’t know how to be okay around you anymore, she froze him out. She knew she had reason to feel cold toward him. She knew that. But the ache in her chest remained inarticulate. Murky. Was she even allowed to feel anything at all? Years had passed. Lives had moved on. Technically, they owed each other nothing. And yet, she still couldn’t let it go.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Zach fired back with a mocking retort, his voice laced with that familiar, infuriating smugness. It was so very him, turning tension into a game, a test, a performance. Alex glanced at him with thinly veiled amusement, her lips curling into a smirk. He could be so childlike when he wanted to be. Always poking, always provoking, just to see how far he could push before something snapped. She bit back the bitter reply that surged up her throat, acid-tinged and ready to burn. Anything for Kylie? The phrase echoed sharply in her mind. Would he really? Would he do anything for her? What if Kylie asked him to cut Alex out entirely? To stop seeing her? To stop speaking to her? To stop sneaking off, hiding under dim hallways lights? Could he do it? Wouldhe do it? Her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing slightly as she tilted her chin up to meet his. He stood above her, all six-foot-something of him casting a shadow over her five-foot frame. It was a posture she knew too well.

One that used to thrill her, intimidate her, undo her. The tension between them was taut, electric, painfully familiar. This was their cycle: disagreement, friction, and then the inevitable. The explosion that always ended in breathless apologies, discarded clothing, furniture askew, hearts temporarily mended.But not this time. She didn’t know how this one would end.She swallowed hard, her throat tight, eyes fixed on him like a dare. He was watching her closely, trying to read the blank canvas of her face, searching for clues. But she gave him nothing. No roadmap. No signal.Just stillness.Eventually, he seemed to get the message. Zach’s gaze cooled, his expression hardening to match hers. He picked up his drink, slowly and deliberately, and turned. But not before delivering one final parting shot. The shrill, grating screech of his straw scraped against the lid and she flinched at the sound. It was petulant. Childish. Deliberately obnoxious. So Zach.

Alex watched as Zach ambled away, likely off to find his golden-haired girlfriend, which, if she was being honest, was exactly where he belonged. Her shoulders dropped slightly, the adrenaline of their encounter dissipating just enough to leave behind a dull, familiar ache. Though the exchange had rattled her, she was grateful, at the very least, to be alone for a few minutes. Just enough time to regroup. Breathe. Pretend none of it had ever happened. She wished she’d handled it better, offered him something other than bitterness and tight-lipped silence. She wanted to explain, to be gracious, maybe even mature. But for once, the words wouldn’t come. Not the right ones, anyway. And what was the point in offering half-truths when the whole of her confusion couldn’t be made sense of in a single breath? With a quiet sigh, Alex moved across the set, weaving through towering equipment and idle crew members until she found one of the spare canvas chairs nestled near the monitors.

She sank into it, elbows on her knees, temples beginning to throb. Last night’s wine was still making its presence known, a slow, pulsing reminder that indulgence always had its price. She reached up, fingers finding the tight knot atop her head and slowly unwinding it. Her hair fell in soft, unstyled waves around her shoulders, a small, physical release that brought surprising comfort. She ran her fingers through it, fluffing it into something passable. Already, she felt better. More human. Digging through her oversized tote, she retrieved a bottle of water and three Tylenol, tossing them back. Something told her she’d need the full dose just to survive the day. If managing Kylie wasn’t exhausting enough, the added complication of Zach lurking somewhere on set, likely watching her every move, watching them interact, would only heighten the pressure. Just as she screwed the cap back on her water, a familiar voice rang out.

“Alex!” She turned, her features softening into a smile as she caught sight of Owen making his way toward her. Tall, stylish, clipboard in hand, already halfway to frazzled.“Hey,” she said, the warmth in her voice real this time. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”Owen returned her smile with one of his own, all affection and exaggerated exasperation. He’d become something of a safe haven at the Label for her. Someone her age, kind, quick-witted, never judgmental, and best of all – gay. She stood and opened her arms, welcoming the hug before he could even ask. “Oh, you know me,” he groaned, embracing her with a genuine squeeze. “I’m everywhere. Especially when Drew vanishes into thin air. Honestly, I need a raise.”Alex laughed softly, the sound easing something tight in her chest.“It’s a shit show,” he added, pulling back and running a hand through his perfectly styled curls. “We haven’t heard from the male model. Cedric? He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Radio silence. I’m trying so hard not to spiral.”

Alex’s eyes flitted just-so, scrutinizing him in taut silence. It made him sit up straight, bring his leg down from the chair arm, lean forward elbows to knees. A thick but calculable atmosphere built between them in the short silence. She was terse. Unwelcoming. Interesting, he thought. He had been attempting to appear casual – sell the lie that there was nothing there to make space for something to be there – but she received him coldly. Perhaps he’d freaked her out in the hallway that evening. Perhaps the memory of his breath on her skin made her tight. Or maybe she just fucking hated him. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred. Then, slowly, a toothless, unfeeling smile stretched itself between her ears. She talked back with an easy attitude, wielding a svelte needle intended to puncture clean between the ribs. A slow-bleed, an assertion. I am not yours. I am all his. Zach’s head tilted, subtle but challenged. He was stung exactly as she'd intended. Her head tilted, too. Mirrored his in the opposite direction. Two sides of the very same coin; their invisible, invincible string. Couldn’t she see that? 

Zach raised his eyebrows, glanced over her shoulder at the set, the business. Are you? Surprised to see me? He shrugged, eyes sliding patiently back to hers. What a fucking face. He hated it, sometimes. Whatever battle this was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to win it. But he could not help being slightly tickled by the opportunity to strike a blow back at her; “well,” he began, mimicking her tone, her facial expression, with eerie accuracy. “I’d do anything Kylie asked me to do.”

He was as masochistic as he was sadistic. He was as severed as he needed to be, in order to be Him. Alex was sort of right, though. If he truly hadn’t wanted to come, he wouldn’t be there. Nobody made Zach Winthrop do a thing he didn’t want to do. So why was he there, really? That insidious worm of hope that wriggled in his chest wanted to see what would happen, that’s why. It wanted to see Alex in her element alongside Kylie in hers. Maybe he was a sick fuck. Maybe that’s why she only caved to him in her darkest moments. He stood, not wanting to think that way. He had to at least give that worm of hope something to chew on, and whatever iciness she was shielding herself with needed to thaw. It wouldn’t happen here. And, knowing her, it likely wouldn’t happen for a while. In her flat shoes she was just a slip of a girl. He looked down at her, fixated. What the fuck is your problem this time, baby? His hand almost went gently to her shoulder, but at the last moment, he pulled it away and held it up by his own. A white flag, of sorts. “Warm as this interaction is, it’s unwise to be too buddy-buddy under all these eyes, right?” He picked up his takeout cup, tugged at the straw with his teeth so it scraped loudly through the serrated hole in the lid. “Break a leg, Burton.” 

He sourced Kylie behind a curtain, getting into her first outfit. A black, lacy catsuit that hugged her figure in an eye-popping way. He blew out a long, low whistle. She turned, flustered, the sparkles on her outfit catching the light. Her alarm undid itself once she laid eyes on him. “I know, I know.” Turning back to the mirror, she asked, “zip me up?” Zach complied, holding her eyes in the reflection, offering a crooked smile. “Are you nervous?” he taunted. She laughed, high and tinkling, and shook her head. “Suits and camera guys don’t make me nervous, screaming teenage girls do. And certain popstars, on occasion. But I have a different, less sexy song about that, for another day.” She pushed his shoulder playfully, passing him. “So I think I’m good.”

“Kylie in two,” a runner prompted. She kissed his cheek and tittered to her spot on the fake balcony set. Zach’s gaze slid from Kylie to Alex, who loitered among the crew, waiting to be needed. Perhaps the choreography would need tweaking to fit a scene, perhaps Kylie on a whim would be inspired to try something new. Or maybe she’d need her stance correcting, her lines made cleaner. Arms neat across her chest, there was a composure to her gait he couldn’t shake. He wanted to undo her. He leaned against a load-bearing pillar and watched, lying in wait. What changed?

[aleburton]

[aleburton]

Shen Yueh, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from "Farewell to Fan Yun at an Ch'eng,"

[aleburton]

THE NOTEBOOK, 2004

[aleburton]

Alex paused mid-step, the buzz of her phone vibrating against her palm. She turned it over, brows lifting slightly when she saw Andrew’s name flash across the screen. “About to board. Hope to be there soon. I love you.” Her iced latte shifted in the crook of her arm as she typed a quick reply, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Can’t wait to see you. Be safe. X.” A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, even as something in her chest ached.He hadn’t been gone long, just a few days, but the space he left behind felt heavier than usual. His work, demanding and unrelenting, continued to scatter him across time zones and red carpets, pulling him farther and farther from home. As his roster of celebrity clients swelled, the time he spent grounded beside her grew increasingly rare.

People always said absence makes the heart grow fonder, but Alex wasn’t so sure. For Andrew, the sentiment seemed to ring true. He returned from every trip with a spark in his eye, arms often filled with flowers or a carefully planned date night, as if trying to make up for every lonely hour she had endured. And it helped. For a while. Until the next flight, the next departure, and the creeping doubts returned like clockwork. She used to be certain. If you had asked her just a few months ago what kind of life she wanted, she would have said this one — without question. But that was before he reappeared. Before a certain popstar walked back into her world, uninvited and unresolved, upending everything she thought she knew. And now, even the sweetest gestures from Andrew couldn’t quiet the unrest inside her.

Years had passed since she and Zach had been in a relationship, even longer since it could be called a healthy one. Certain memories still clung to her like bruises, tender and hidden under layers of time. There were pieces of that past she never wanted to relive again. And yet...beneath the chaos, beneath the volatility, there had been something else. Something fierce. Unfiltered. A kind of passion that had seared itself into her. Trying to replicate that intensity with anyone else had proven futile. Depressing, even. Alex had never spiraled into the depths of hard drugs. Pills, yes, and she never shied away from admitting that, but she had been around it. Surrounded by it. People always spoke of chasing a high, an elusive euphoria that could never be recaptured once it slipped away.

She never understood it fully until Zach. He was the high. And the crash. Could anything ever feel like that again? With Andrew, things were steady. Safe. But safety didn’t spark in her the way danger once had. Maybe, over time, those fiery feelings would dull into something quieter. Maybe life would gently pull her away from the edge, and she’d learn to be grateful for the stability Andrew gave her. Or maybe, someday, she’d look back and wonder if she let go of something irreplaceable. A once-in-a-lifetime thing she’d never feel again. Both futures were heavy in her hands, each with its own ache. It was too much to untangle now. Too layered, too raw. She lifted her gaze, returning to the present.

The set around her was almost surreal. Extravagant. Towering light rigs and cascading backdrops framed the space in dramatic color. It didn’t feel like a music video. It felt like a dream sequence. Andrew had truly spared no expense. That much was clear. She had never seen anything quite like it. It was impressive. She recognized a few familiar faces from the Label. Executives, assistants, creatives, all of whom greeted her with polished smiles and warm, surface-level enthusiasm. “We’re so excited to have you on board.”“Kylie’s lucky to be working with you.” The compliments came easily, like lines from a script. Alex returned their greetings with polite nods, but internally, she cringed. As always, her mind spun beneath the calm exterior. Did they mean it? Or did they see her as little more than a bored fiancée — another woman with too much money and too little purpose, dabbling in “creative work” to fill the hours between facials and charity galas?

Swiping credit cards could only stay entertaining for so long, after all. If that was their impression, she hoped today would dismantle it. Even if she had agreed to the project reluctantly, she never showed up halfway. When it came to her work, she gave everything, whether they expected it or not. She wandered the set slowly, letting herself take it all in. The scale of it was immense. Lavish and theatrical. Each backdrop echoed Kylie’s original vision. Surreal, sensual, dramatic. Alex mentally mapped the choreography onto each space, picturing how the bodies would move, how the light would fall. It would look stunning on camera. She had to admit that much. As she turned the corner of one set, her breath caught. Just ahead, she spotted a familiar crown of sunlit blonde hair, tousled, unmistakable. He had his back to her, relaxed upon a chair. But only for a second. As if sensing her presence, he turned.

Their eyes locked and for a suspended heartbeat, the noise of the set fell away. Her face remained unreadable, frozen in place, the choreography of her emotions thrown completely off. She hadn’t planned for this moment. Not now. Not like this. Not after what she knew. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything. She wasn’t ready. Not even close. Not enough time had passed for her to sort through the tangle of emotions twisting inside her, and she feared what might slip out if she spoke. Some parts of her had changed, evolved. But not all. The sharpness still lived just beneath the surface, waiting. And yet, true to form, Zach couldn’t help himself — cool, unbothered, like there was nothing unusual about this moment. Like everything was fine.

His voice reached her, casual and infuriatingly composed. Her jaw tightened, and her gaze narrowed ever so slightly as she studied him. The familiar ease in his posture, the same infuriating glint in his eyes. She forced a smile, all lips and no feeling, blinking slowly before responding. “Well,” she said flatly, “I’d do anything Andrew asked me to do.” The delivery was smooth but glacial, ice beneath the veneer of warmth. She paused just long enough to let it sting before tilting her head slightly. “Surprised to see you here,” she added, her tone sharp with bite. “Very masochistic of you.”

Hands flat to the wet tile with knuckles plucking like sprung knees on old jeans, he shut his eyes to the blanket of water rushing to a cone off the tip of his nose, trying to rally himself. If he knew anything to be true it was that ignoring the issue would not solve it; Alex was in him now, married to the fissures of his bones, creaking with every movement. Never seeing her again wouldn’t rinse his mind of the what-ifs, even if Kylie kept him happy and distracted for the rest of his dumb, blind life. This was his plague until he squashed it. So he’d see her again, rip the bandaid off, try to make some sense of all the muddled pieces. Light himself on fire and beg her to melt with him in the flames.

“Zach, baby,” came Kylie’s gentle whine, enmeshing with the wall of steam billowing around him. His fingers tapped the wall where he leaned, elbows hinging as he teetered with his weight. The sound of things moving from beyond the clouds; feet shuffling, doors shuttering, the scrape of a Vaseline tin being opened. “Babe?” Zach pushed off from the wall, shaking his hair out like a wet dog, and streaked his hand across the misted glass. “Yeah.” Through the fog, her golden head turned to him. Her smile spread, and with his view of her so fuzzy it appeared too wide. Contorted. Something else. She giggled. “Please don’t make me late. You’re supposed to be my ride.” Right. He turned to the faucet, having finished washing a while ago, and shut the water off. As he stepped out from the shower Kylie handed him a fresh towel, fluffy and pristine in his hands, the faint waft of detergent blooming from it. He let it roll out to his ankles like a giant scroll. Her face was bare and youthful, pink in her cheeks under a wash of freckles, fair, soft eyelashes catching the light, petroleum jelly mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he denoted, removed from the notion. Almost sad about it. Her lips twitched, indecisive of their smile. She rolled onto her toes, kissed his wet shoulder. “Get dressed.”

The sun bled through the car windows, hot even in contest with the AC running just as loud as the music. The wide lapels of his loose silk shirt fluttered on the faux-breeze, waylaid to the chain that never left his neck. Kylie absently ran through his slightly grown-out hair, slicked-back, patted his linen-clad thigh. Squeezed. The constant proximity was beginning to irk him. Maybe that was his guilt, maybe it was something else. He turned his sunglass-darkened gaze out the window as she told him how excited she was for him to see. To see it all. What they’d made together, the love of his life and her. It still seemed sometimes that Kylie was one step removed from him, even as familiar as they’d grown. It was evident sometimes that she revered him as an other; marveled at his position and his experience and his success. That it was not her partner she wanted to show off to, but an idol. The closest thing to true stardom anyone could get without killing themselves. He was boxed into an almost paternal position when she urged him to be her attendee at work. Look what I can do. Look what you made me. She asked him his thoughts on everything, and when she made a decision on her own she brought it to him like a pet cat with a hunted mouse dropped on the doorstep. Wanting praise. Validation. He didn’t quite know how to swallow it, nor what to make of it. He wanted to help, usually. His instincts often kicked into gear when something wasn’t quite right, but this industry was his arena. It had always been his arena. He didn't know how to turn it off. He wasn’t much good to anyone for anything else.

Except to Alex. 

His hand came sharply down on the wheel as he took a turn, and Kylie jumped, but he blew out a long whistle and played it off, answering something he’d heard her ask through the noise of his thoughts. He couldn’t think like that. But it was true – Alex had fought not to want him, or need him, but she did anyway. And it was never about the celebrity. It was him. And in a way, he’d resisted her, too. Tried to only want her body, but ended up needing all of her, all the time, for every reason. A sharpshot of sunlight dazzled him and he was returned to the present, car rolling over gravel as they pulled into the film studio parking lot. Kylie clapped, squealed. “My very first purpose-built set. Fuck, I’m a movie star.” She grabbed her purse. “I love having a fat budget.” 

Zach traipsed a step behind Kylie as they made their way inside, flanked by a healthy throng of security guards. He peered out into the sunrise, still so early, and spotted those long lenses on the chaparral-tipped hillsides. They almost worked as hard as Ky. The moment the doors opened a wave of energy flowed out. It had been a long, long time since he was last on a music video set. Prior to having ever met Alex, even. There were maybe forty staff milling around, busy at their stations or at the buffet table, talking to each other or setting up equipment. All of them welcomed Kylie with enthusiasm, their eyes sparkling with reverence when they fell upon Zach in her wake. He scanned quickly, quietly, for Alex. Not here yet, maybe. The set was beautiful, extravagant. A fever dream of different scenes. One a lush, leather office, slots of faux-moonlight cutting through the dim between the blinds. The next a bedroom; fluffy and satin and red, dripping sex, a chair strapped with ropes at the foot of the heart-shaped bed. Then a balcony backed with a hammy scene of the Hollywood hills. A recording booth. A hot tub. 

“A lot to get through in one day,” Zach said, eyebrows raised at the multitude of sets. Kylie took his hand and lead him through each one, explaining that the choreography would be filmed in full on each set and the video would be spliced together, flitting between every scene. But the bedroom was the special one, the only one where the love interest would be featured, and that they had conjured a special choreography for. “It’ll be lit entirely different, and edited slower. More lingering shots. Really different to the others so it stands out and luxuriates while you’re in it. It’s so good.” She turned back to look at him as she sat in her makeup chair. “Try not to get too jealous.” Kylie smirked, and he laughed. “Mm. Try my best.”

She didn’t get out of the chair for another 90 minutes. In that time, Zach indulged in his surroundings, chatting with the creative heads on the team and offering his thoughts, ideas, always having enjoyed the backstage stuff as much as the front of house. Once she was done, the whole room knew about it. She sprang to her feet in her robe to indulge in the buffet table, lining her stomach before the hours of repeated dancing she was preparing to endure. As attention turned to her Zach took the opportunity to sink into the AD’s chair, sipping from his takeout cup and lazy in his position. He checked his phone. From Paula, a photo of Warren. Won’t shut up about his day with you yesterday. He smiled, clicked off it in case anybody saw, and maneuvered to the next text. Ryan. Let’s hang again soon man. Sorry yesterday ended weird. He locked it, sensed a change in the air, looked up.

Alex was strapped up in all buttery-soft black, hair scraped into a bun, dainty and pillared, spine stacked perfectly. A dancer. A professional. Fucking beautiful. His strewn position, leg propped over the chair arm and back slouched into the corner of the seat, twitched slightly, fighting the urge to stand right away as though met with his drill seargeant. Their eyes locked square, and his blood slammed deafening in his ears. Plastic straw still between his teeth, he raised a lone eyebrow and nodded. He could still feel that diamond in her lobe between his teeth. Feel her waist shrink between his palms. Smell her perfume as he gasped into her neck. Despite all that, he greeted calmly: “Sounds like you made the woman of the hour very happy last night.” Zach set his cup down, sat up straight. “Good job I’m not a jealous guy.”

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ariana grande | swarovski

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Notting Hill (1999) dir. Roger Michell

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“I was just on my way out,” Alex said, her voice brittle as she lifted her chin toward the front door, hoping the gesture masked the tremor in her chest. She had nearly made it. So close to slipping out unnoticed, to preserving whatever fragments of control she had left. Her heart pounded violently, an erratic thrum that rattled her ribs like the panicked flutter of a bird trapped in a cage. Any second now, she feared Zach would turn the corner with that small, devastating shadow at his side. She wasn’t ready. Not to see the child again, not to hear the explanation he would undoubtedly offer with those storm-dark eyes and that weary, apologetic tilt of his voice. She could already imagine his words. How it happened during the time they were apart, how he had spiraled into darkness and made choices he didn’t recognize himself in. He would say he wasn’t thinking clearly then, but that he was different now. Steadier, grounded, trying. He wanted to be the father he never had. And the cruelest part of it all was that she would believe him. That he was capable of being exactly who needed when he just a little boy pleading to be loved. She just thought that if anyone could have convinced him, to have given him that gift, it would have been her. She had told him she was getting married, knowing that it would absolutely crush him, and it had. But marriages could dissolve, she realized now. Vows could be broken. Hearts could change. Children, though? Children were forever.

“Don’t say anything,” she said softly. “I don’t want to make things worse than they already are.” Ryan blinked, his head nodding slowly, as if the motion had been tugged from him rather than chosen. His expression flickered between disbelief and reluctant understanding, and Alex couldn’t help but wonder if had Zach told him. The stolen glances, the near-irreversible moments alone that could have shattered everything? Judging by the look on Ryan’s face, wide-eyed and almost dazed, it seemed likely. His eyes weren’t just seeing her, they were replaying things – scenes from a twisted reel of old memories. Ones no one wanted to revisit. The parties, the fights, the tension so thick it could split skin. It was as if he were watching it all unfold again, horrified to think they might be circling back to that same chaos. A cold splatter of ice cream landed on his hand, snapping him out of it. He blinked rapidly, shaking his wrist and fumbling for words. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. Don’t worry about it.” But even now, grounded in the present, he looked at her as if she’d risen from a place he thought long buried, a ghost that had no business standing in front of him. “Thanks. I’ll see you around,” she mumbled, though the words came out more like a question than a farewell. Because she wasn’t sure anymore. When she and Zach split, Ryan had been an inevitable casualty. He’d chosen sides, however unconsciously, and Zach had claimed the larger piece of his loyalty. Now she only saw him by accident. She missed him. His ridiculous laugh. His inability to keep a straight face, even in the most serious moments. His way of diffusing the most difficult situations with humor when everything felt like it might collapse. And with the way her life was unraveling, she needed someone like that more than she could say.

Alex offered him a faint smile as she turned toward the front door and with careful hands, she eased it shut behind her. She stepped out into the fading afternoon light and it was almost like crossing a threshold between realities. She moved quickly but deliberately, eyes flicking once more toward the lawn where the golden-haired boy lay tangled in the folds of a picnic blanket, sunlight gilding his curls like a halo. Her chest tightened, but she did not stop. She would not mention him to Kylie. She would not ask a single question. Alex had made a promise to Andrew, to finish this project, to give everything she had in service of the vision he had nurtured for the Label. She owed him that, at the very least. Even if every cell in her body begged for escape. Even if all she truly wanted was to retreat into the shadows of their rental, down an Ambien, and sleep the next twenty-four hours away; float into oblivion and wake up in a world where this moment had never happened. Instead, she chose the only option that ever seemed to serve her: she dissociated. Folded the image of the boy neatly into a box in her mind and slammed the lid shut. She would compartmentalize, perform, pretend. Whatever it took to survive the rest of the day without screaming. But as she drove back toward the studio, hands clenched around the steering wheel, the effort to suppress it all unraveled. Her mind spun faster with every passing mile, looping back to him, to Zach and the child he hadn’t seen fit to tell her about. A secret nestled behind his ribcage all that time, even as he leaned in close, even as he dared to pull her back into something fragile and dangerous. He had trusted her enough to lure her toward the edge of infidelity, to whisper promises in the quiet, to look at her like she was the only thing in the world that ever made sense. But not enough to tell her the truth?

When Alex returned to the studio, she found Kylie sprawled comfortably across the polished wood floors, laughter bubbling from her like champagne. Her glossy hair fanned out behind her as she lay propped on one elbow, engaged in easy conversation with the male model. From the effortless rhythm between them, the way their voices dipped and rose in tandem, how they finished each other’s sentences and tossed back shared memories, it was clear they knew each other. Stories of mutual friends, overlapping projects, glamorous parties that bled into one another in the blurred timeline of Hollywood excess. Alex paused in the doorway, hovering just out of sight, collecting the scattered remnants of her composure. She needed to wear it now, her second skin. The version of herself that was poised, unaffected, untouchable. She watched Kylie for a moment, trying to decipher the depth of her awareness. Clearly, she knew. Her ease, her laughter. It all but confirmed it. And why wouldn’t she be fine with it? There was no rule against falling in love with someone who had a child from a previous relationship. But still, it was no small thing. Alex didn’t know Kylie intimately, but she had a keen eye for fragility disguised as flair. Kylie wore her confidence like designer couture. Flawless on the outside, yet likely stitched together with insecurities underneath. Behind the perfectly arched brows and gorgeous charm, Alex suspected a delicate ego. One that might bruise easily, especially when a child, an entire other life, was folded into the mix. What did their relationship look like when the cameras were off, when no one was watching? How did Kylie navigate the weight of loving someone inevitably tethered to another woman? A burst of laughter echoed through the studio, rustling Alex from the chasm of thought she had stumbled into. She cleared her throat gently, a quiet signal of her return. “I’m back,” she called out in a singsong tone, lifting the laptop above her head like a prize. “Oh my God, you’re the best,” Kylie gushed, springing to her feet with ease. She crossed the room in a few quick strides and reached for the laptop, sparkling with excitement.

The three of them remained tucked away inside the studio for hours, the outside world fading as Alex focused every ounce of energy into refining the choreography to match Kylie’s vision. She moved with precision, her body obedient even as her mind buzzed with static. Somehow, she managed to suppress the spiral long enough to deliver exactly what was expected. A seamless performance, a collaborative triumph. Kylie beamed, effusive in her praise and clearly thrilled with the result. And yet, beneath Alex’s calm exterior, the questions continued to echo like footsteps in an empty room. They never left her. They waited. By the time she returned home that evening, exhaustion had set in and not the physical kind, but the deep, bone-weary ache of emotional overload. She didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Instead, she made her way to the wine cellar as if pulled by gravity. Her fingers closed around a chilled bottle of French white, vintage, the label’s date eerily close to her own birth year. It felt poetic, or tragic. In the kitchen, she retrieved a heavy crystal glass from the cabinet and poured until the wine nearly kissed the rim. It was just past nine o’clock. She knew she’d have to be up early, but the idea of sleep felt laughable. Her mind was too loud, her heart too raw. Leaning against the marble counter, she brought the glass to her lips, letting it rest there for a moment before taking a long, numbing sip. The wine was crisp and clean, completely at odds with the storm swirling in her chest. How had he kept this hidden? She set the glass down with a soft clink and reached for her phone, fingers moving without thinking. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. She scrolled through post after post — fan pages, red carpet photos, magazine spreads. Hundreds of images of Zach since their breakup, his life unfolding frame by frame. And not once, not once, had there been any indication of a child. No candid paparazzi shots. No cryptic captions. No whispered blind items in the gossip columns. It was as if the boy didn’t exist, but she had seen him with her own eyes.

His team must have been working overtime. Her search for answers only led her down a rabbit hole of memories, a carousel of moments captured and shared with the world, though she herself remained invisible. Still, here and there, she caught glimpses of her former self. A blur in the background, the flash of her silhouette seated in a darkened car, waiting outside some gala or awards show. She had been there, just out of frame, just out of sight. So much time had passed. It didn’t just feel like another chapter. It felt like another life entirely. And maybe it was. They weren’t those people anymore. Whatever existed between them then had long since been buried under years of change, reinvention, and distance. She took another sip of wine, the buzz now comfortably dulled and warm. The bottle had steadily emptied, her glass refilled more times than she could count. Her fingertips moved without intention, opening her Photos app and scrolling until she reached the Hidden Albums folder. There it was. The archive. Every photo they’d ever taken together, locked behind a passcode made up of their birthdates. She entered the digits, a quiet treachery against herself. The album opened with a soft click. Filtered selfies in hotel mirrors, grainy kiss-blurred Polaroids, candids of her cherry-red hair tangled in his hands. Some of it felt embarrassingly young. Others, heartbreakingly real. Just as she reached to enlarge one, a blurry shot of the two of them laughing in bed, her phone buzzed violently in her palm. She flinched, nearly spilling her wine. Drew. She let out a slow breath and steadied the glass against her chest before answering. “Hi, Baby.” His voice was warm, familiar and the call was exactly what she expected. Sweet, supportive, uncomplicated. He wanted to know how things had gone. Had Kylie been easy to work with? Had they made progress? Alex told him everything he wanted to hear. How Kylie had picked up the choreography quickly. How enjoyable the collaboration had been. How excited they were for the shoot in the morning. Her voice softened into something melodic, practiced. He was thrilled, almost childishly so, showering her in thanks and praise, unaware of the glassy-eyed woman curled up in the dark with a forgotten photo still glowing on her screen.

“Mhm,” she hummed, cradling the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she made her way up the stairs, her bare feet ghosting across the floor. She entered the stillness of her bedroom, all clean lines and empty sheets. “I’m going to try and catch an early flight back tomorrow,” he murmured. “Hopefully I’ll make it to set before you guys wrap. Then maybe we can go to dinner. Have a drink or two.” Alex let out a husky, unfiltered laugh as she set her wine glass on the nightstand, the crystal clinking softly against the marble. The warmth of the alcohol lingered in her limbs as she peeled off her clothes, letting each piece fall lazily to the floor like shed petals. “Oh, so that’s my payment for entertaining one of your starlets?” she teased, her voice low and sly. “Dinner and a drink?” Drew didn’t miss a beat. “I never said that. But it’s a start.” She rolled her eyes with a playful grin, sliding beneath the cool sheets, their silky weight brushing against her bare skin. “I’d rather have a week alone with you,” she murmured. “Somewhere far from Los Angeles.” “I’m listening,” he prompted, voice a low thrum in her ear. She smiled and pressed her lips against the phone like a kiss. “Somewhere tropical. No phones. No iPads. No laptops. No work.” Drew chuckled. “I think I can arrange that. But no iPad? How are we supposed to finish White Lotus?” She sighed, head sinking into the soft, feathery pillow, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Guess we’ll have to find some other way to occupy our time, then,” she breathed. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

6:00 AM. The alarm cut through the silence with merciless precision. Light filtered through the linen curtains, golden and intrusive, slicing across her face like a blade. Alex groaned quietly, eyes peeling open with reluctance. A dull throb pulsed at her temples, the price of too many heavy pours from that sentimental bottle. She tossed back the duvet, the sheets rustling in protest, and sat up slowly. The room was still, faintly chilled, the kind of early morning quiet that felt indifferent to human suffering. She regretted the wine now – not the indulgence, but the aftermath. Still, she moved with purpose. Her obligation to Kylie French was nearly complete but nearly wasn’t done. There was still work to do. Once the filming wrapped, perhaps she’d vanish. Slip back to New York for a while. Reclaim the parts of herself that felt frayed, bruised. She needed space. Silence. A horizon without Zach Winthrop at the edge of it. Maybe then she could finally reset. Maybe then she could remember who she was before all this. She moved through her morning routine on autopilot. A shower to clear the fog from her mind, a cooling eye mask to chase away the faint shadows beneath her eyes, and a layer of makeup to restore some illusion of vitality. Her hair was swept into a sleek, effortless bun. Once again, she dressed in all black. Leggings, a ballet wrap top, and flats. By the time she slid into the driver’s seat of her SUV, coffee in hand and music low, she felt emotionally numb but outwardly composed. The studio was already buzzing when she arrived, the production team flitting about with clipboards and camera gear, Kylie’s entourage sipping iced matcha and checking lighting filters. Alex inhaled a steadying breath and walked onto the set. She was ready, not with excitement, but with resolve. Today wasn’t about artistry or expression for her. It was about getting it done. Finishing what she started. And then finally, maybe, letting it all go.

If his fever in the hallway with Alex had caused a fissure, confessing to Ryan had blown a hole right through him. To reckon with it was admitting that, finally, if it wasn’t her it wasn’t anything. And a question still hovered over him, them, as to whether she reciprocated at all. There was a ring on her finger; the weight of its jewel that of the whole world. People had made jokes over the last two years-and-something – Kylie’s finger looking a little bare. What's the hold up? Are you struggling to scrape the money together? But he hadn’t acted on it, hadn’t felt as though engagement was even in the realm of possibility. But Alex had taken that plunge, had been happy about it. He hated to think of how she might’ve flushed when she accepted, maybe even cried. He couldn’t blame Andrew. He would do it too, in a heartbeat.

Ryan had started acting strange, nervous. Alert like a meerkat. Stumbling over his words. Zach couldn’t be around it, knowing it was in the wake of his divulgence, and shooed him away quickly. Warren slept for a full hour until Paula came to collect him. Then the house sprawled, empty and hollow, beneath and around him. As the temptation creeped up, he worried not for the first time that the main reason Kylie kept him from drinking was not some magic touch she possessed but only that she was a distraction. She was so talkative, drowning out the endless whir of his thoughts and his need to escape them. Therapists dictate nobody else could be his cure, that he had to be his own cure. But he couldn't be that for himself. Not when he was so sick over his indecision. Not when he was torn in half. He went to the basement studio to fill his head with noise, to stop the need to do something stupid. He refined, added riffs and harmonies to tracks that didn’t need them, taking a break every time he felt her leaking into the music. She was littered all through it already. Frustrated, trapped, locked into a cage of his own making, he spasmed and lashed out at the nearest thing to him; a guitar sailed from its stand, puncturing a jagged divot into the wall and landing in the dust on the floor. 

He came upstairs right as Kylie arrived home. Her ponytail messy, her cheekbones smeared with color, her eyes bright. She smiled and it was, like it always was, as though the sun had broken the horizon. Only nowadays, Zach found himself more and more turning toward the moon. “Hey, baby,” she breathed, tucking herself into him, around him, squeezing his ribcage which was as high as she could reach. His arms took a minute to catch up. Slowly, his brain turning over, he hugged her back. “How was it?” he asked, listless. And she boomed, bloomed, all talk and optimism and bubbling over. How brilliant Alex was, how the choreography was more than perfect for the song, how it had felt like finally, really meeting her, how they’d gotten on like a house on fire and she couldn’t be happier she’d finally agreed to the job. Zach couldn’t listen to it. His head buzzed like a fly trap. He had to make her stop, so he did what he knew how to do.

She was silenced by his lips, by the stopper in her throat when he held onto the back of her neck and craned her up to meet him, pulled her in, pinned her to the kitchen island. She whined at him between kisses; she hasn’t showered yet, she’s exhausted, she hasn’t eaten; but each one got breathier, lower, longer. She melted, as she always did, until he could pick her up and her legs wound around his waist and they could collapse onto a sofa in another room. He disappeared into her. Fucking to white-out the brain, to lose his grip on everything and to like it. Only it didn't. When his eyes fluttered shut, it was not golden hair that tickled the tattoos on his chest as she bowed over him, but deep chocolate. It was a thicker mouth on his throat, hazel eyes that found his. It was fucked.

But maybe this was what he could promise Alex, if nothing else. Better, even, because everything was with them. He could silence her mind, make her nothing but her body, her whining and needing. Maybe if she wouldn’t let him be it all for her, she’d let him be just that. It’d be enough.

In the morning, Kylie begged him to come to the video shoot with her to see what they'd made, what she was so goddamn proud of. He couldn’t think of a reason not to; she knew he had no plans, and just saying no was the kind of thing Kylie’s eyes got wet about. And he couldn’t deal with that right now. He could stay for a while, then leave, maybe. Maybe it would even be fun. He didn’t know what he thought. What he knew was that, despite his brain telling him not to, his skin hissed under the shower head at the thought of seeing her again. He would have to rein it in. He knew Kylie suspected something, though he didn’t know what, and thought she didn’t know either. But he hadn’t seen Alex dance in so long, and not like this. Face turned up to the water stream, he scrunched his eyes, nose, and felt her seep through him. It was a hot rush. It was too good to say no to, even when it was fucking bad. So, he said yes. Obviously, he said yes.

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ARIANA GRANDE for Swarovski Spring-Summer 2025

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