the secret of us

zero. prologue

Magnolia adjusted the faux-designer lanyard around her neck, a gaudy relic she'd picked up at a flea market that added just the right touch of "I belong here." The party was already thumping fifteen floors above her, but she lingered outside the elevator with her three best friends, letting the anticipation build.

She loved this moment—the sharp little thrill of knowing she was about to step into someone else's world, someone richer, more famous, more interesting. And she loved even more that she wasn't doing it alone.

"Okay, quick pep talk," she said, spinning around to face her crew. "Devon, try not to scare anyone off with your 'too cool to care' thing. Cassandra, stop flirting with the doorman—it's embarrassing. Elle, for the love of God, please don't touch the caviar."

"I was drunk one time," Elle protested, clutching her  camera like a lifeline.

Magnolia grinned. "And you almost puked on Keegan Donovan's shoes."

"I still think he deserved it," Devon said, adjusting the collar of her blazer.

"Probably," Magnolia admitted. "But tonight, we're playing nice. Okay? In, out, a little scandal, maybe some light seduction, and we're golden."

"Define 'light,'" Cassandra said, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't worry about it," Magnolia replied, pressing the elevator button.

The doors slid open, and the four of them stepped inside. Magnolia's heart raced as the elevator climbed. She loved the thrill of the chase—not just the celebrities, but the stories, the moments, the chance to steal a piece of someone else's glittering life.

And, sure, if one of those glittering someones happened to be gorgeous, successful, and interested in women? Well, that was just a bonus.

The rooftop was dripping in decadence, every corner designed for maximum Instagram appeal. Fairy lights glowed overhead, casting a soft shimmer over the crowd of influencers, up-and-coming actors, and reality TV stars. A DJ spun something bass-heavy in the background while servers floated through the crowd with trays of champagne and miniature hors d'oeuvres.

"Holy hell," Elle muttered, craning her neck to take it all in. "Who's paying for this?"

"Not Trent Fox," Devon said, eyeing the host of the evening—a short, scruffy man holding court by the fire pit.

Magnolia smirked. "Trent couldn't pay for a Spotify subscription. This is studio money, baby."

"Is that him?" Elle whispered, jerking her head toward the far end of the rooftop.

Magnolia followed her gaze to a group of. In the centre was Trent Fox himself, all five-foot-five of him. He wore a leather jacket that looked too new and a pair of sunglasses perched on his head, even though it was well past sunset.

"Yup," Magnolia said, pulling out her phone to make a few quick notes.

"Who's the girl with him?" Cassandra asked, squinting.

"Probably his date," Devon said, already bored. She leaned over the balcony rail, lighting a cigarette she wasn't supposed to have.

Magnolia ignored them. Her eyes were locked on Trent, watching how he gestured too widely, his laughter just a little too loud. He wasn't acting like a man in control of the room. He was trying too hard.

"Do you think anyone recognizes us?" Cassandra whispered, spinning in a slow circle to show off her dress.

"No one cares about us," Magnolia said without looking up.