Page 43 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Sorry,” Myst said belatedly, but Jessie laughed and leaned down to hug her.

“Love you, cuz. Now don’t stuff this up, okay? George is a good guy, maybe the first one you’ve ever found. Hang on tight with both hands and don’t let go!”

Myst sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, her laptop resting precariously on a pillow in front of her. The Istanbul skyline glittered beyond the massive window, but she barely noticed it. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised and trembling, as if the words she was about to type weighed as much as the city itself.

“Come on,” Myst muttered under her breath, blowing a strand of dark hair out of her face. Jessie’s voice still echoed in her mind:“Take control of the narrative.”Easier said than done. She’d written and deleted this post at least six times already, each attempt sounding either too defensive or too vague. And then there was George, how would he feel about her putting their lives under an even brighter spotlight? Did she even have the right to do this when he hadn’t answered her call?

Her pale blue eyes darted to her phone lying beside her. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Just silence.

“Okay,” she breathed, steeling herself. “Just… be honest.” That’s what she always told her fans, didn’t she? Be authentic, be real. So why did it feel like baring her soul online was so much harder than singing about it onstage in front of thousands?

She started typing, the keys clicking softly in the quiet room.

“Hi everyone, I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you for all the love and support you’ve shown me these past few weeks. It means everything to know my music connects with you…”

“Ugh, too formal,” she groaned, backspacing furiously. After a pause, she tried again.

“Hey guys. Things have been kind of crazy lately, and I’ve seen some stuff floating around that I wanted to address…”

Better. Honest, but not dramatic. Her fingers moved faster now, the words coming out in pieces, raw and unpolished.

“I love what I do, and I’m so grateful to be able to share it with all of you. But sometimes, being in the public eye can be overwhelming. There are parts of my life I want to keep just for me. For us.”

Myst hesitated, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. This was the part where she could pull back, make it easy on herself. But Jessie’s words came rushing back again: “Stop giving him reasons to doubt.”

She typed the next line slowly, deliberately.

“I’m lucky to have someone who supports me through everything, even when it’s not easy.”

Scrolling through her photo gallery, she selected the picture she had in mind, one Jessie had taken of her and George together. She was leaning against his chest, looking up at him with a look of adoration on her face, but his face was turned away from the camera. He wasn’t identifiable except for his size… but anyone who had seen them together, or perhaps anyone who knew George well, would be sure of his identity.

Her thumb hovered over the “Post” button. The cursor blinked expectantly on the screen, taunting her. What if this made things worse? What if George saw it and thought she was being reckless, or worse, desperate? What if…

“Do it,” she whispered to herself. Then, before she could second-guess any further, she hit “Post.”

The message went live, and Myst immediately set the laptop aside, hugging her knees to her chest. She stared at her phone, waiting for the first notifications to pop up. They came in waves, as they always did. Likes, comments, shares. Her fans were quick. Some responses made her smile; the ones calling her brave, sending hearts and supportive messages. Others… well, the speculations started almost instantly.

“Who’s the mystery guy?”

“Is it Antoine??”

“No way, that guy’s huge compared to Antoine!”

“She looks happy; whoever he is, he put a smile on her face! Poor Antoine!”

“Poor Antoine, my arse,” Myst muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Still, a small knot tightened in her stomach. Putting herself out there like this felt like stepping onto a wire without a safety net. Vulnerable wasn’t really her thing, not offstage anyway.

But for George’s sake, she’d bare her soul for the world to see.

“Did you see this?” Sophie, George’s youngest sister, shoved her phone across the dining table toward him, nearly knocking over his glass of water in the process. “It’s all over social media.”

“Careful, Soph,” George muttered, glancing down at the screen reluctantly. He was mid-bite of his mum’s roast lamb Sunday dinner, but the photo of Myst’s Instagram post stopped him cold. His fork hovered halfway to his mouth.

“Nice of her to mention you without actually mentioning you,” Sophie teased, her grin wicked. “Very subtle.”

“Leave him alone,” their mother cut in, though even she had a knowing look on her face. “He doesn’t need you stirring the pot.”

“She’s not stirring anything,” George said quickly, though his tone lacked conviction. The words on Myst’s post blurred slightly as his mind raced. She’d done it for him. She’d taken the risk, put herself out there, and asked her fans for privacy. Forthem. Guilt crept in, sharp and unwelcome. Here he was, brooding and doubting, while Myst was out there fighting battles he couldn’t even begin to understand.

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