𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟏𝟑. 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

The morning sun hadn't even fully risen, and yet Suki was already under its harsh spotlight. Paparazzi had gathered outside her hotel before she'd even stepped foot out the door, waiting like vultures. 

She pulled her cap lower over her eyes and slipped on her sunglasses, but it wasn't enough. It never was. The second she emerged, cameras flashed from every direction, the click of shutters overlapping like a deafening drumroll.

"Over here, Suki!" one photographer called out, lunging forward as she moved swiftly toward her car.

"Did you see the pictures of Drew and Odessa?" another shouted, the words slicing through the air like a blade.

She kept walking, her head down, ignoring the swarm that had formed around her, but they were relentless. They always were.

"Suki, are you and Drew still together?" someone else asked, the tone laced with mock sympathy, like they cared about the answer.

She clenched her jaw, the question digging under her skin. The pictures. 

Gracie had called this morning, hesitant, her voice barely above a whisper, telling her what she already knew—what the whole world had probably seen by now. 

Drew with Odessa. Odessa with Drew. The perfect image of a new, shiny couple, while Suki stood in the wreckage of what they used to be. 

And he'd never responded that text, every chance of closure passing by them in a matter of hours.

But the paparazzi didn't stop there. They never did.

"Odessa looks happy," one of them continued, trying to rile her up. "Is it true you and Drew were seeing each other while he was with her?"

Another voice, closer this time, cutting deeper: "Like you were with Shawn and Camila, huh? Gonna steal this one too, Suki?"

The accusation hit her like a punch to the gut, even though she'd heard it before. It was the same narrative they loved to twist—painting her as the villain, the one who wrecked homes, the one who lured men away from their perfect, high-profile relationships. 

It didn't matter that it wasn't true. They didn't care about the truth. The scandal sold more.

Suki pushed past them, ignoring the snide remarks and whispered rumours, trying to keep her cool. But every step felt heavier, like the weight of their words was pressing her into the pavement.

"You're quiet today, Suki!" one photographer sneered. "What's the matter? Gonna write a song about this too?"

She reached her car, gripping the handle a little too tightly as she yanked the door open. Her driver, Gary, was already behind the wheel, his face grim as he watched the scene unfold. "You okay, Miss Monroe?" he asked quietly once she was inside, the door safely closed behind her.

Suki exhaled, her body sinking into the leather seat. She wanted to scream, to lash out at them, to tell them they didn't know a damn thing about her or her life. 

But that's not how it worked. She knew the game by now. She'd play it cool, play the pop star untouchable by scandal, even when the headlines were calling her a "homewrecker" for the hundredth time.

"Yeah," she muttered, though her voice was brittle. "Let's just get to the studio."

As the car pulled away, she glanced out the window, watching the photographers fade into the distance, their cameras still pointed at her as though they could capture the cracks forming in her composure. Her phone buzzed in her lap—a new notification lighting up the screen.

It was Drew. Of course it was.

"Call me when you're free. Let's talk."

Her fingers hovered over the message, the nerve of it making her chest tighten. Talk? Now? After all of this?