She tossed the phone onto a cushion. Love you. Did her manager love her, or love the 12% commission? Did her 8.4 million followers love her, or love the outrage when she wore the wrong thing, said the wrong thing, ate a carb?
For the first time in years, Lacey Jayne listened to the sound of nothing—and didn't rush to fill it. lacey jayne interrogating her ass
Her phone buzzed. Trending at #3. “Lacey Jayne real tears.” Stay offline. Love you. She tossed the phone onto a cushion
The question sat on the page like an uninvited guest. For ten years, she had wanted visibility. Then relevance. Then wealth. Then to stay wealthy. Then to be untouchable. Now she was all of those things, and the air at this altitude was so thin she could barely remember what it felt like to breathe without being watched. Did her 8
She stayed there until the city dimmed, then picked up her phone again. Not to post. Not to check her mentions. She opened a private note, one she’d never synced to the cloud, and typed: