The Rapper's Favorite || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 16: Closing In

Marshall POV

It's been two days since Not Afraid dropped, and the whole damn world's buzzing. The song's everywhere—radio stations, blogs, fans dissecting every word. Feels like I should be riding the high, but I'm not. Something's off. And it's not the usual post-release anxiety. It's her.

Aria's been pacing, restless. Like a caged animal just waiting for the right moment to pounce. That look in her eyes? I know it too well—anger mixed with frustration, with a side of "I'm about to snap." And the one person who can light that fuse? Evan.

The apartment door swings open, and she walks in, boots hitting the hardwood like gunfire. There's a force behind every step, the kind that says something's gone seriously wrong. She's holding a coffee cup in one hand, her phone clutched in the other like it's an anchor keeping her grounded.

Paul glances up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. He doesn't say anything, just waits, the same way he does when I'm about to blow. It's not his first rodeo. But Aria? She's got her own kind of fire—quiet, dangerous.

I'm leaning against the counter, watching her, waiting for the storm to hit. She drops her bag onto the chair and tosses her phone onto the counter with a sharp crack. The sound echoes, and for a moment, I swear it feels like the room's holding its breath.

"You look like you've had one hell of a day," I say, keeping my voice casual. The tension in her body tells me this isn't just some random frustration.

Her eyes flick to mine, and there's a spark of defiance there. "Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious."

She tries to play it off, but I'm not buying it. Something's crawling under her skin, and it's pissing her off.

Paul glances between us, always the one to mediate. "What's going on?"

Aria's jaw tightens, and she tosses her phone down on the counter again, like just holding it burns. "Evan happened. He sent more shit."

The air gets colder. I feel my fists clench, but I hold back. "What kind of shit?"

She lets out a slow, steady breath, trying to rein in her temper. But the fire's still there, burning hot behind her eyes. "Photos. Videos. From when we were together. Explicit shit—stuff he took when he'd get me drugged up or drunk. I was barely aware of what was happening, but he made sure I'd look... cooperative in the shots. Compromising positions."

Her voice doesn't shake. It's steady, controlled, but I know better. This isn't just about some threat—it's about him reminding her of the worst kind of control. Knowing what she's been through with this bastard makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

Paul's the first to break the silence. He's calm, too calm, and I know that means he's already moving pieces on the board. "If he's sending those, we need to act now. Get ahead of it."

Aria's eyes flash, her sarcasm cutting through the tension. "You think? It's been ten years, Paul. Ten years of this bullshit, and now, when I'm finally getting out from under him, he pulls this card. I look the same—I haven't changed enough for him to stop using this against me."

Her voice hardens, and I can see it—the wall she's putting up. It's what she does when she's pissed and too proud to let anyone help her. I know it because I do the same thing.

Paul, ever the pragmatist, pulls out a phone from his jacket pocket and sets it on the counter. "Here. New number. He can't reach you directly anymore."

Aria stares at the phone, then back at Paul, like he just handed her a toy. "A new number? That's your big plan? What's next, change my name and move to another country?"

Paul doesn't flinch. "It's a start. You control the contact. You control who gets to reach you."

She picks up the phone, turns it over in her hand like she's considering throwing it across the room. "You don't get it. He always finds a way. A new number isn't gonna stop him from digging his claws in."

"He won't have direct access anymore," Paul says evenly, his voice steady like always. "And we control the narrative. That's how we take back power."

Aria tosses the phone back onto the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's been in control for ten years. What makes you think I can shake him off now?"

Her voice cracks at the end, just enough to make me clench my fists harder. This isn't just about a few photos. It's about him making her feel like she's still in his grasp, even after all this time.

I step forward, my voice low but firm. "He thinks he's got you on a leash, but he doesn't. Not anymore. You've got too much momentum now—he's scrambling because he knows he can't bury you again."

She looks at me, her eyes fierce, but there's doubt there, deep down. "You really believe that?"

I give her a grin, leaning in. "Yeah, I do. You should too. You've been hiding for too long. Time to step into the light."

For a second, I see something flicker in her expression, a hint of a smile, but it's gone before I can pin it down. "You really get a kick out of this, don't you?"

I chuckle, stepping back. "Maybe a little. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Paul clears his throat, reminding us that he's still there. "We stay ahead of this. Evan's not gonna have the upper hand here. We're ready for anything he throws at us."

Aria's eyes narrow as she looks down at the phone again. I can tell she's fighting the instinct to say fuck it and handle this on her own. But this time, she doesn't have to.

"And what if he leaks the photos?" she asks, her voice quieter now but still hard.

Paul straightens, his expression turning serious. "We hit him with everything we've got. Legally, we can bury him in court. And if he tries to release anything, we'll be ready. We take control of the story."

Her lips press into a thin line, but the fire's still there. "I'm done playing by his rules, Paul. For years, I've been reacting to his moves, letting him keep me hidden. That's over."

I step closer again, meeting her gaze. "Then let's finish it. He's trying to push you off balance, but you're in control now. You've got the upper hand, and he knows it."

For the first time today, her expression softens, even if it's just a fraction. "You think I have control?"

"I know you do," I say, my voice firm. "You've got my name behind you, and Evan's scared. He knows he can't take you down anymore."

She watches me for a second longer, then looks over at Paul. "So what now? Do we wait for him to make another move?"

Paul shakes his head. "No. We stay ahead of him. He won't know what hit him."

She exhales, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. She picks up the phone again, but this time she doesn't toss it away. "Fine. But if he tries anything else, I want to know. No surprises."

"You'll know," Paul assures her.

She looks between the two of us, and for the first time in hours, there's a glint of determination in her eyes that wasn't there before. She sets the phone down and takes a deep breath.

"Alright," she says, standing a little straighter. "Can we get back to the studio now? I need to work."

I grin, feeling the shift in the air. "Hell yeah. Let's get back to it."