I didn’t think viral fame would come with this much noise.
Like, literal noise—my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, reporters were emailing me, and my DMs were a full-blown dumpster fire of praise, hate, proposals (ew), and conspiracy theories. Apparently, some people thought I was a government clone. Others were calling me “High School Erin Brockovich.”
And then there was Ryder.
His texts were the only ones I actually read.
Ryder: Wanna burn the world down or go grab boba?
Me: Why not both?
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Chaos in a Latte Cup
Chloe and I were sitting at a boba café downtown, still riding the high of ruining my dad’s empire with one exposé and a viral hashtag. She was wearing a new cropped blazer and glossy lip gloss she swore made her “look like a PR nightmare in the best way.”
“Okay,” she said,
