Page 59 of Falling Off Script

My stomach drops. The cocktail. The bar called Bar. The Patagonia vest that deserves jail time.

He wouldn’t.

Oh, he would.

“Trevor,” Adrian continues, “is what we call a ‘late bloomer with brand enthusiasm.’ He subscribed to my newsletter. Watched every video. Once tagged me in a selfie with the caption ‘High-Value Energy.’”

The chat is giggling like a slumber party.

@CringeAndCo: “NO NOT HIGH VALUE ENERGY”

@SpiritualCatfish: “this is why I date women”

“Trevor tried,” Adrian goeson. “He cleaned up. Worked on his posture. Got new cologne. He was proud. He was ready. And then—he matched with a woman he admired.”

Oh no.

“He took her to a minimalist bar. Complimented her boundaries. Quoted dopamine discipline. Offered to ‘contain her feminine energy’ halfway through a $19 cocktail.”

I stare straight into the lens like it might suck me out of this reality.

“That woman?” Adrian says, his voice dipping into soft smug.

“You...” I gasp.

“You!” he echoes. “Emily. Saint of Emotional Depth. Crusader against My Entire Deal. And there you were—on a date with my disciple.”

The chat riots.

@IsHeReal: “WAIT. SHE DATED A ZETA?”

@NotMeDrinkingTurmeric: “EMILY. EXPLAIN.”

@ShamefullyTeamAdrian: “i’m living and dying simultaneously”

My face is on fire.

Then—

With one smug click, Adrian’s Zoom background shifts.

The bar. That bar. And the selfie of Trevor and Adrian, with me in the background. I’m shot mid-lip bite.

The chat riots harder.

@BuzzBattleOfficial: “HE DID NOT JUST GREENSCREEN HER DATE”

@EmilyILoveYouBut: “that was a lip bite. a submissionsignal.”

@ShipOrShred: “I hate them. I need them to kiss. I need therapy.”

Adrian folds his hands like a smug little dating demon at a TED Talk. “You keep calling it manipulation. I call it a predictable outcome.”

I blink. Once. Twice. My soul tries to detach and float out the window, but my ring light traps it.

“You stalked my life and turned it into décor.”

“I prefer: curated a multimedia learning moment.”

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