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?
But now, in the dark, with the cameras off and her glam team dismissed, the tear had been real for the wrong reasons. She wasn’t lonely because she was famous. She was lonely because she had engineered every room in her life to echo. lacey jayne interrogating her ass
Then she turned off her phone, drew a bath with no bath bombs from any sponsor, and sat in the water until it went cold. She tossed the phone onto a cushion
She flipped to a new page. When did I last laugh? Not a “for the camera” laugh. A real one. Did her 8
Lacey Jayne leaned back into the velvet curve of her chaise lounge, a half-empty glass of sparkling water sweating in her hand. The floor-to-ceiling windows of her downtown loft framed a city that glittered like a consolation prize. Outside, millions of lives hustled past without a glance at her penthouse. Inside, a perfect, curated silence.
The silence answered.