Page 1 of Falling Off Script

1. Emily

Here he is. The alphahole.

Leaning back in his faux-leather podcast throne, radiating smugness, voice dipped in testosterone and whatever he’s marinated his ego in. Adrian Zayne—dating coach, masculinity messiah, and walking cautionary tale.

“I don’t chase women,” he says, pausing for effect. “I attract them by being unapologetically myself.”

Perfect hair, perfect smirk, sitting in front of a skyline like he personally built it. A Marvel reboot jaw, gym-poster arms, and a face that’s never caught a bad angle—or a humble thought.

The video is titledWhy Modern Women Can’t Handle Real Men.

One million views in twenty-four hours. He is probably monetizing every second.

“In today’s world,” Adrian continues, voice slow and low, “men are shamed for being masculine. For being decisive. For walking away from drama.”

He stares directly into the camera. “But here’s the truth. Women don’t want equality. They want superiority. And when a man doesn’t pedestal them, they panic.”

The audience of hoodie-wearing man-puppies erupts in digital applause. In the background, a gong sounds. Why is there a gong?

I pause the recording and lean back, arms folded, staring at the frozen frame of Zayne. The algorithm loves him. Everysoundbite sharpened for virality. Every opinion designed to be clipped, stitched, argued with. And the worst part? It works.

He has podcasts. He has books. He has retreats, for God’s sake. Today’s video is a sales funnel for his new bootcamp,Masculinity A to Z. Conveniently signed off with his initials, because of course it is.

His whole brand is built on reductive certainty. “Women do X, so men must do Y.” Like relationships are algebra. What does he teach? Detach, dominate, disappear. And people eat it up.

I’m not new to this. I’m twenty-seven and have already coached more women than he’s allegedly dated at thirty-two. Which—judging by his content—is saying something.

I’ve seen every flavor of red flag the modern dating world has to offer—ghosters, love-bombers, guys who say they’re just really focused on their personal growth right now while subtly requesting nudes.

Adrian Zayne has built an empire out of it.

And I—I’m a woman with a mic, a message, and a major in gender studies.

He coaches men. I coach women. He teaches them to detach. I teach them to feel. He calls it power. I call it fear dressed up as confidence.

I say true things. But truth is slow. Truth is quiet. And truth, apparently, doesn’t go viral.

I close the clip. Then I hit record.

I’ve never done video before.

Not because I don’t know how—I mean, I can plug in a ring light like the rest of them—but because I’ve made a very intentional choice to stay off camera. My podcast is aboutideas, not aesthetics. No thirst traps. No outfit breakdowns. No clips of me holding a mic and staring into the void like I’ve just solved world problems with a smoky eye and soft focus.

But then... Adrian Zayne.

I’ve watched that damn video three times, each time with increasing disbelief and a vague urge to throw my laptop out the window. It had everything: the low voice, the brooding stare, the perfectly styled hair that probably has its own management team. He delivered one reductive cliché after another with the confidence of someone who’d never been interrupted in a meeting.

So, yeah. I was pissed.

And that’s when I made the decision.

Not a teaser. Not a clip. Not a cute little reel with captions and lo-fi beats.

A full video.

Me. On camera. Breaking every rule I’ve made for myself.

My friend Jessie’s already queueing up the cuts. She says it helps her feel productive between rejection emails.

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