was beyond pointed. Beyond damning. It was searingly blunt about what he considered the strengths of the show—the crew, the cast, the source material—and what he deemed its key weakness.
Namely, incompetent and unpleasant showrunners.
Everything he wrote confirmed what she and most other Lavineas denizens already believed, as well as a few things Marcus had hinted at in private. But neither she nor her fellow fans had ever, ever thought a cast member would say those things so clearly and publicly.
Turned out there was a reason they’d never expected that kind of honesty from a Gods of the Gates actor. Because it damaged careers. Specifically, Alex’s.
As soon as she finished reading his fanfic, she searched for recent tweets about him, as well as new posts on entertainment blogs and websites, because there was absolutely no way knowledge of his online alter ego wouldn’t cause an uproar. Not given the content of his stories.
The search lasted seconds. Less than that.
Alex’s name was everywhere. He was trending on Twitter. He was the subject of breathless articles on the internet and smirking tidbits on television. On her laptop screen, he was looking out at her from a generic hotel dais, his face ruddy, his smile feral, his reputation in his chosen industry damaged. Maybe irreparably.
According to the most reliable blogs, Gods of the Gates’s furious showrunners were considering legal action or eye-popping monetary retaliation. One of Alex’s costars, the guy who played Jupiter, had denounced him on camera as an ungrateful turncoat. Worst of all, everyone seemed to agree: future directors and producers would avoid working with Alex, for fear he might turn on them in public as well.
Unhireable, one article called him.
CASTING POISON, an entertainment show’s chyron read. ACTOR’S WRITING PROMPTS BACKLASH.
His agent and lawyer were apparently working feverishly behind the scenes. Marcus too, of course. The articles didn’t say as much, but she knew him. He would be in the midst of the chaos, trying to support his friend and help however he could.
Before she quite knew what she was doing, her phone was in her hands, and she was tapping out a quick text to him.
When you get a chance, please tell Alex I’m thinking of him and wishing him luck. I hope he’s okay. After a moment, she added, No need to respond. I know you’re both busy.
Delivered, her phone told her. Good. He hadn’t blocked her number.
Within a minute, he’d written back, and just that simple fact made her eyes blur yet again. It didn’t even matter that his response was brief.
Lauren’s fired. Too late to fire him, since filming’s done. He might be able to avoid fines and a lawsuit, but IDK.
He’d responded. Not only that, he’d told her private information he wouldn’t want disclosed to the public—even though they weren’t officially together anymore, and she had reason to feel vengeful.
He trusted her. He did.
Okay, she wrote. Thank you for telling me.
Marcus didn’t respond a second time. Not then, not later that night.
As she waited for a text that never came, she kept scrolling through Twitter, kept reading more articles about Alex and the ruins of his hard-won Hollywood reputation, kept questioning herself and how she’d excoriated Marcus less than a week ago.
He should have known, she’d told him so self-righteously. He should have trusted her with his online identity. He should have laid his career in her hands once he found out she was Unapologetic Lavinia Stan, heedless of the danger to his livelihood and the reputation he’d built over two decades of endless, dedicated work.
And he should have done all that, according to her, even though public knowledge of what he’d said, what he’d written, would have damned him to Alex’s same fate.
The words had rolled so easily off her tongue, as if she knew what the fuck she was talking about, as if she understood the consequences he would invite. But as he’d tried to tell her, she hadn’t understood. She really hadn’t, as the aftermath of Alex’s revelation made clear.
Maybe Marcus still should have trusted her. After a month together. After two. But for a man who’d found his first, hard-won taste of self-worth and pride through his career, she could see how he would hesitate, even then.
Of course, he’d said trust wasn’t the main issue. Not in the end.
I was scared. I was terrified you’d leave me.
And she had.
On her laptop, she found herself searching for his parents’ articles about Gods of the Gates. They weren’t hard to find, given how extensively tabloids