One night, after another brutal event where strangers ogled me like a prize cow, I found myself on the patio, breathing in the cold night air.
"You're freezing."
I jumped. Ace Rivera leaned against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn’t even supposed to be in town.
"Go away," I muttered, hugging my arms tighter around myself.
He didn’t.
"You looked... uncomfortable tonight," he said, voice low.
I laughed bitterly. "Gee, thanks for noticing."
He flicked the cigarette away and stepped closer. "Why do you let them do this to you?"
I stiffened. "You don't know anything."
His jaw ticked. "I know you’re better than this."
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. "I’m doing what I have to."
"Bullshit."
I shoved past him, but he caught my wrist, gentle but firm.
"Brit."
The way he said my name—rough, broken—it cracked something inside me.
"You think you know everything?" I snapped, spinning on him. "You have no idea what it’s like. Being invisible unless I’m perfect."
He stared at me, breathing hard. "I see you."
The world tilted.
I yanked my hand free and ran inside before I did something stupid.
Like kiss him.
The next day, I stood on a new set, draped in expensive silk and drowning in photographers shouting directions.
I swayed on my feet.
"Brittany! Look this way! Arch your back! No—more! More!"
I tried. God, I tried.
But the edges of my vision blurred. The floor rushed up to meet me.
Blackness.
When I woke up, it was Ace pacing at the foot of the bed.
Not Mom. Not Dad.
Ace.
"You passed out," he said roughly. "Probably because you haven't eaten more than a crumb all week."