Pretending To Be His

Nine : Where will I go?

The rest of the workday was a blur of meetings, phone calls and endless back-and-forth with marketing over the statement. When it was finally released, Aria had hoped it would stop the hounding from the press, but all it did was divert their attention. Instead of contacting the company, they zeroed in on her and by 2pm her inbox was overflowing and her voicemail at its limit. Most of her colleagues had fled the office entirely, opting to work from home, but she noticed they made sure to shoot her accusing glances as they left, as though this media frenzy was somehow her fault.

Marcus had assured her time and time again that it would get better, that the media storm would blow over. ‘It’s just a phase’, he said. ‘These things always die down eventually.’ But no matter how many times he tried to comfort her it didn’t stop the gnawing guilt that seemed to settle deeper every time people whispered as she walked by, shooting her looks of suspicion. She tried ignoring the burning in her chest but with every hour that passed, it became harder to keep up the facade that she was unaffected, that she was fine.

Slipping behind the wheel of her beat-up car, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The day had been a whirlwind, and all she wanted now was to get home and disappear from the chaos, if only for a few hours. As she pulled out of the garage, the crowd of reporters clocked her car and rushed towards her, cameras ready, but she breezed by, leaving them behind. For the first few minutes of the drive, she felt a small sense of relief. The thought of her quiet apartment brought some comfort and she hoped she could finally steal a moment of peace. But as she approached her street, that hope shattered and her heart sank.

The swarm of reporters from this morning were still camped outside her building and their numbers had grown.

She was forced to park down the street, knowing full well she’d have to endure another gruelling barrage of questions. Steeling herself, she stepped out of the car and the moment her foot hit the pavement, they closed in, cameras flashing, and voices shouting.

“Miss Hart, how long have you been dating Grayson Stone?”

“Is it true you met during a business meeting?”

“Will Mr Stone be helping you secure any projects?”

The flashing cameras blinded her, making it hard to focus as they tugged at her coat, trying to hold her back. More than once, she worried she’d trip and fall as she was jostled by the crowd, the hands gripping her keys stinging as the metal bit into her tightly closed fists.

“Excuse me.” She muttered, trying to keep her head down, pulse quickening with every step.

Her legs moved faster as she fought through the mob but a sharp tug on her sleeve nearly sent her sprawling, her arm knocking into a camera as she tried to steady herself.

“Watch your step!” The reporter called out sarcastically.

She shot him a glare as she pressed on. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she reached the entrance to her building, yet they still didn’t relent, staying close behind and shouting more questions as she fumbled to discreetly type in her passcode. With a click, the main door opened and Aria slipped through the small gap she made, slamming it shut behind her. She leaned against the door for a second, heart hammering in her chest, the muffled voices of the reporters still echoing outside. Without pausing to catch her breath, she rushed to the stairwell, too anxious to wait for the elevator.

Her footsteps echoed as she climbed and she all but sprinted to her apartment door, her fingers trembling as she unlocked it. Slamming the door closed behind her she pressed her shaking fingers to her eyes as her heart raced, her breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. She was safe… But it didn’t feel that way just yet. It took what felt like an eternity for her breathing to slow and for her heart to stop hammering against her ribs but slowly, the panic began to subside. Her fingers finally stilled and she let out a long, shaky exhale.

Desperate for some sense of normalcy, Aria peeled off her work clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket with more force than necessary. She slipped into her most comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, trying to shake off the tension that clung to her. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch and she wandered into the kitchen, deciding to make something simple.

The rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the gentle bubbling of water brought a welcome distraction and she focused on stirring the pasta, the warmth of the stove and the soothing scent of food filling her tiny kitchen. Just as she was starting to relax a sharp knock echoed through the apartment. The spoon clattered from her hand into the pot, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. The familiar panic threatened to return, her mind racing. Had one of the reporters somehow gotten inside?

With trepidation, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and quietly made her way to the door. She hesitated before peering through the security peephole and saw it wasn’t a reporter but the building manager, yet even his familiar face didn’t offer relief. Why was he here? With a deep breath, she unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peer out and offered a tentative smile. Something about his expression told her this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Miss Hart.” He greeted, voice clipped. “I’m afraid we need to talk.”

Her stomach twisted. “Is something wrong?”

He shifted on his feet, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting her eyes again.

“There have been several complaints from the tenants about the reporters downstairs.”

Aria’s heart sank. She knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud still sent a wave of dread through her.

“I know and I am so sorry…”

“All day I’ve been receiving complaints about the noise and people are having trouble getting in and out.”

A few doors down she heard her neighbours door click open, the wrinkled face of Mrs Rodgers peering around the doorway to eavesdrop. Aria stepped back a little so she couldn’t be seen.

“I’m afraid it’s become a problem for the building and I hate to do this, Aria, but I have no choice...” He paused, and she could see the regret flicker across his face before his expression hardened. “I’m terminating your lease with immediate effect.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than she could process and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“You... You can’t do that.” She whispered, voice shaky, barely audible.

Mr. Connors shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her pleading gaze. “Actually, I can. You’ve violated one of the terms in your lease regarding disturbances and maintaining the peace of the building. The media attention, the reporters camped outside—it’s causing too much disruption for the other tenants, and that section of your lease allows for immediate termination.”

“This isn’t my fault, I can’t control what the reporters do—”

“But it doesn’t change the fact they’re here because of you and your actions.” He interrupted sharply. “The lease agreement states that any disturbance to the quiet enjoyment of the other tenants, no matter the cause, can lead to eviction.”

Aria swallowed, her throat tight. “But where am I supposed to go?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re giving you until Sunday to move your things out. I’m sure you’ll figure something out by then.”

Sunday. That was just five days away—four, if she didn’t count the eviction day itself. The finality of it sent a cold shock through her, freezing her in place. She stood in the doorway, numb, as Mr. Connors gave her a tight nod and turned to leave, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. She barely registered him stopping to talk with Mrs. Rodgers until the older ladies voice carried down the hall.

“Sunday? I thought we agreed she would leave tomorrow!”

Her stomach churned at the words. She strained to hear Mr. Connors’ reply but it was too low. A part of her wanted to listen closer, to hear what was being said, but she wasn’t sure she could bear knowing more. With shaky hands, she closed the door behind her and locked it, the click of the lock sounding so final, so hollow. She stood there for a moment, letting the silence of her apartment wrap around her, before her legs gave out and she sank to the floor.

Aria’s chest tightened, constricting with such intensity that it felt as though a weight was pressing down on her lungs. The panic rushed back, stronger this time, clawing at her insides and making her breaths shallow, quick and desperate as she struggled to draw in enough air. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest and the room seemed to close in around her, her vision spinning slightly, the walls blurring.

What am I going to do? Where will I go?

Her hands trembled as she pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to block out everything—the noise in her head, the pounding in her chest, the rising tide of panic. She tried to focus on breathing, on grounding herself, but her body wasn’t listening. The thoughts kept spiralling faster and faster, her mind latching onto each possible disaster, each what-if scenario until the weight of it all became unbearable. She was drowning in it, completely overwhelmed. Her attempts at steady, measured breaths crumbled into sharp, uneven gasps, each one leaving her feeling more helpless than the last.

She could feel the hot sting of tears building behind her eyes as the panic clawed at her chest and before she could fight it, everything went black.

The next thing she heard were sharp, insistent beeps piercing the haze around her. Groggily, she sat up, body heavy. It took a moment for her to realize where she was—slumped on the floor, her back against the door. Her heart still raced but the panic had dulled into a numb sort of shock, the beeping noise causing her head to throb painfully. It took a few more disorientating moments for the smell hit her, acrid, burnt and unmistakable.

Smoke!

Her eyes widened as she shot up, the beeping sound from the fire alarm snapping her fully awake. The stove! Rushing into the kitchen, Aria’s heart pounded for an entirely different reason now as she watched the smoke billowing from the pot on the stove—her pasta completely burnt to the bottom. With trembling hands, she turned off the burner, coughing as she then stumbled toward the windows, throwing them open as wide as they would go. The cool evening air rushed in, doing little to erase the bitter scent of scorched food. Grabbing a dish towel, she waved it frantically beneath the smoke detector.

“Come on!” She muttered through gritted teeth.

After what felt like an eternity, the alarm finally quieted leaving her apartment in eerie silence, save for her shallow breathing. Wandering back to the kitchen, Aria stared at the blackened remains of her dinner, shoulders slumping. Not only had she passed out, but she’d almost set her kitchen on fire. It’s a good job I’m already being evicted, she thought bitterly as she tossed the blackened pot into her sink, because there was no way her neighbours weren’t going to complain about the noise.

Staring around her apartment blankly, she tried to think through her options. Finding a new place wasn’t an option, since she didn’t have the money needed for a first and last months deposit. Family also was out of the question, since hers lived across the country and she needed her job, probably now more than ever. Staying with Sara was an option, but her best friend lived in a studio smaller than hers and it was at the other side of the city, meaning her commute to work would take hours, rather than the ten minutes it did now.

But she had no choice.