All My Love || Harry Styles

Chapter 18

As I stir from my sleep, I feel someone shaking me. I groggily open my eyes and find Paul, my manager, standing by my bed. Confusion fills my voice as I say, "Paul?" Sitting up, I watch him intently. Without any further explanation, he informs me, "Lucy, we need to talk. We've arranged a Zoom meeting with all of management in 5 minutes." He turns and exits the room swiftly, leaving me in a state of confusion. Shit, what could this be about?

My heart races, pounding against my ribcage, as I hastily throw off the covers and scramble to my feet. The gravity of Paul's words sends a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. I hastily throw on a cozy jumper and slip on my trusty slippers, my mind racing with a mix of curiosity and concern.

I make my way to the common area, my steps hurried yet cautious. There, I find Paul seated with his laptop open, his gaze fixed on the screen. As I approach him, a blend of trepidation and determination fills the air. I join him on the sofa, our surroundings seemingly shrouded in an aura of seriousness.

My voice quivers slightly as I blurt out the question that's been gnawing at me, "What's going on?" I try to steady my racing heart, but the urgency in my tone betrays the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me.

Paul looks up from his laptop, his eyes meeting mine. His expression is a concoction of seriousness and anticipation, a silent testament to the weight of the news he is about to deliver. I brace myself, ready to face whatever storm awaits.

He takes a deep breath, his words hanging in the air for a moment before they reach my ears. The impact is swift and brutal, hitting me like a freight train. "You fucked up." The words cut through the silence, leaving a palpable tension in their wake.

My heart freezes in my chest, and a surge of panic floods through me, making it hard to breathe. What did I do? My mind races, frantically trying to connect the dots and find an explanation for Paul's accusation.

Memories flash before my eyes like a montage of blurry snapshots. Was it the offhand comment I made during lunch yesterday? Or maybe I didn't reply to a fan?

My thoughts spin like a carousel, each possibility bringing a fresh wave of worry.

I wrack my brain, scanning through recent conversations, dissecting every word and action for any misstep. Did I inadvertently hurt someone's feelings? Did I unknowingly betray someone? I search for clues, desperate to unravel the mystery behind Paul's accusation.

Just as the weight of Paul's words begins to sink in, the sudden ringing of the laptop interrupts our tense exchange. The shrill sound jolts both of us, momentarily breaking the thick atmosphere that had settled around us. We instinctively turn our attention towards the screen, bracing ourselves for what awaits.

With a tight knot forming in my stomach, I swallow hard, feeling the weight of anticipation bearing down on me. Paul, ever composed, extends his hand to accept the call, bringing the faces of my entire team, as well as representatives from the label, into view. The gravity of the situation becomes even more apparent.

As I take in the sight of the familiar faces on the screen, I feel a wave of mixed emotions wash over me. Anxiety coils within me like a relentless serpent, tightening its grip with every passing second. The stakes are high, and the scrutiny feels suffocating.

Jeff, takes a deep breath, signalling the beginning of the conversation. "Firstly, thank you, everyone, for joining on such short notice," he begins, his tone laced with a mix of gratitude and urgency. A chorus of brief hellos fills the virtual space, as everyone acknowledges their presence.

Then, Jeff directs the conversation to me, his voice filled with a delicate blend of care and trepidation. "Lucy, have you seen the news?" he asks, prompting me to share any awareness I might have. My heart skips a beat, uncertainty clawing at the edges of my consciousness.

Shaking my head, I admit the truth, "no, I went straight to bed last night. What's going on?" I inquire, the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second.

With a deep breath, Jeff meets my gaze, "A fan managed to capture photos of you and Harry kissing side stage, and she's now spreading a fabricated story about the intensity of the kiss and what supposedly occurred behind the curtains."

Shit shit shit shit...

My heart sinks as Jeff's words hang in the air. Disbelief and shock wash over me, making it hard to comprehend the situation. "Wait, what?" I manage to stammer, my voice trembling. "Are you serious? How did this happen?"

Jeff's expression softens, his eyes reflecting the weight of the truth. "We're still piecing together the details," he explains, his tone filled with frustration. "It seems this fan was particularly determined and managed to deceive security measures. The photos have already made their way onto every news platform, it's gaining a lot of traction."

As anxiety tightens its grip on me, the weight of the situation intensifies. How much do they know? Did the fan see everything? Shit. This could ruin me. "How do we handle this?" I question, my voice steady but laced with determination.

"We've been in contact with Harry's team, and together, we've devised a plan," Jeff responds, his voice carrying a delicate balance of concern and resolution. "Given Harry's current position, where he's not dating anyone, we've decided that the best course of action is to publicly assert that the photos are completely fabricated, that they have been manipulated through the use of photoshop."

The weight of his words settles heavily upon me. It's a bittersweet solution, one that demands a sacrifice of truth for the sake of protecting our reputations. A pang of disappointment tugs at my heart, it means burying any genuine connection I may have started to develop with Harry.

Furthermore, Jeff continues, "We are also going to organise time where you will be seen in a relationship with someone else. It will be a carefully orchestrated strategy to divert attention from the fabricated narrative and ensure the focus shifts to a new relationship."

I pause, allowing the gravity of Jeff's words to sink in. "A fake relationship?" I echo, my voice tinged with uncertainty. A whirlwind of thoughts and concerns rush through my mind, like a tempest threatening to engulf me. How will this affect my relationship with my fans? Will they ever find out? And what about Harry? How does he feel about this plan? I can't ignore the importance of considering everyone involved, including Harry.

Jeff's expression softens, understanding the weight of the decision. "I know it's not an ideal situation," he admits, his tone empathetic. "But we believe it's the best way to divert attention from the fabricated narrative and protect both of your reputations.

Gathering my thoughts, I express my concerns to Jeff, hoping for some clarity. "I understand the need to divert attention, but I don't want to lie to my fans. Have we discussed this plan with Harry? What are his thoughts?"

"We've discussed this plan with Harry, and he believes that the best way to address the situation is for you to date someone else," Jeff reveals, his words causing my heart to sink. The weight of his statement hangs heavy in the air, a truth I wasn't prepared to face. Harry would rather see me with someone else, even if it's all a façade, than risk being associated with the rumours.

The pang of hurt resonates deep within me, though I find it difficult to fully acknowledge. Admitting my growing feelings for Harry would mean accepting a vulnerability I'm not ready to confront. Yet, despite my attempts to bury those emotions, the sting of his desire to distance himself, even if only for appearances, cuts deeper than I care to admit.

Suppressing my emotions, I steel myself and push forward. It's easier to focus on the task at hand, on finding a solution to the current predicament, rather than delving into the complexities of my own heart.

As Jeff nods, his eyes reflecting a sense of understanding, we shift our focus towards the practicalities of the situation. We delve into the details, strategizing our next moves to navigate this delicate dance of perception and truth, ensuring our reputations remain intact.

"So, who's the lucky guy?" I quip, injecting a hint of playfulness into the heavy atmosphere. It's an attempt to alleviate the tension, to momentarily escape the weight of the circumstances.

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Bit of a short one today 🙂

Any guesses on the lucky guy?