THE STRANGER I MARRIED

‎HOLLYWOOD PRINCESS ‎Imani West ‎ ‎The thing about Hollywood was that everyone was performing, everyone knew everyone was performing, and nobody said so. ‎I had been sitting there for the past hour, and I swear to God, I was already exhausted and wanted to go home. I was buzzing from just one shot of vodka. My stomach rumbled beneath the incessant chatter around me while red light washed over the hall, giving everything an unnatural glow. The room was filled with the gorgeous faces of influential people -actresses, influencers, and millionaires all performing grace and charisma. ‎The floral pink silk wrapped around the tables spoke loudly of a designer who knew exactly what they were doing. Beside me, Alicia Stone engaged David Wilde in conversation while casting glances in my direction. Whether it was admiration or her usual gossip, I didn’t give a f**k. ‎Being in Hollywood was bittersweet. Fame came with a lot of good and a lot of ugly, more ugly than good, if I was being honest. ‎Zaria sat beside me, her attention fixed on Charlie, a blonde guy she was exchanging puppy eyes with. I rolled my eyes at her attempt to get laid. ‎The burgundy silk gown hugged my body with precision, its plunging neckline exposing enough cleavage to make me nervous about bending forward. My chunky gold bag sat on the table beside me, along with drop earrings that contrasted beautifully against my deep brown skin. ‎“I love the outfit,” someone said from my left. ‎I took a moment before turning to her. ‎“Thank you, Layla,” I replied smugly. ‎She smiled at me like the evil woman she was. ‎That was it. I was done with this event. Why did I keep coming into contact with people who had hurt me? And why the f**k was she sitting beside me? ‎“So…” Layla began. ‎“Oh, girl, please shut the f**k up,” I muttered. ‎“Excuse me?” ‎ ‎“Nothing, Layla. So what now?” ‎“Oh, um…” She tilted her head. “How’s Ryan? Are you two still together?” ‎I tensed at the question. ‎Before I could respond, a man approached our table. ‎“Imani West, Hollywood’s biggest princess. I’ve heard a lot about you.” ‎“Director Blackwell. Nice to meet you.” ‎He took my outstretched hand. ‎“The pleasure is all mine, Imani. I’d love to work with you.” He handed me his business card. ‎I accepted it, exchanged a few pleasantries with him, and watched as he walked away. I let out a sigh of relief. ‎My gaze shifted toward the other end of the table, where a couple of directors were watching me. My face turned cold when I noticed the pervert among them. We stared at each other, hard and cold, my teeth grinding together. ‎Our silent competition was interrupted when my phone lit up with a notification. ‎I glanced at it and saw that Darius’s podcast was talking about me again. I understood that I was the star girl, but this was becoming exhausting. I was definitely going to sue his broke ass. ‎A commotion snapped my attention away from my phone. Alicia Stone had fallen and was now screaming hysterically. ‎What an Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad the Oscars didn’t think so. ‎I chuckled. ‎“Ouch. What the hell?” I stared at Zaria after she stepped on my foot. ‎She nudged her head toward my phone. ‎I picked it up, and my entire body went cold. ‎“God, not again.” ‎Ryan’s name was everywhere, attached to the video that had already humiliated me once before. My hands shook so badly that I could barely hold my phone. My lips pressed together as my chest tightened. ‎I felt a small tap against my hand and looked up. Zaria was staring at me with wide eyes. ‎“Not here,” she whispered. ‎I forced my attention back to the room. I smiled far too brightly; I was sure my jaw might break. The blonde beside Zaria smiled at me, and I smiled back cheerfully. ‎My eyes burned, but I needed to remain composed. No matter how long it took, the pain still didn’t go away. ‎The rest of the event passed in a blur, as though I were present without actually being there. ‎“Let’s go,” Zaria said, taking my hands. ‎I tried to stand, but my legs nearly gave out. Zaria held on to me tightly. ‎“Not here, Imani. Please. Pull yourself together. It’s not your fault this happened to you.” ‎I knew that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. ‎We hurried out of the hall and reached the entrance within a minute. A black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of us. I recognized it as one of mine and entered without waiting for the driver. Zaria followed. ‎“Oh my God, Imani. This is awful. I’m so sorry.” ‎I gave a weak laugh, wondering why Zaria was apologizing for something Ryan had done. She wasn’t the one who had humiliated me, yet she was the one saying sorry. ‎I picked up my phone and tightened my grip around it until it felt as though it might break in two. I opened the video again, but I couldn’t bring myself to play it. The sting in my eyes was already unbearable. ‎I didn’t know why I kept torturing myself by watching it over and over. ‎I was sure Zaria could hear my heart pounding. ‎“How did this resurface again?” I whispered, my voice cracking. ‎“Do you think he kept the video somewhere and decided to post it again?” ‎“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice filled with rage. ‎“I’ll call Freya.” ‎“Thank you, Zaria.” ‎“Anything for you, Mani.” She smiled bitterly. ‎The car pulled over, and I rushed out, bile rising in my throat. I needed to breathe. ‎ ‎The rest of the ride to my penthouse was quiet, not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind where there was too much to say and no way to process any of it. ‎The car came to a stop outside my building. I rushed into the elevator, with Zaria following close behind me. She pressed the button for the fifty-sixth floor, where my condo was located. ‎I went through my nightly routine in the bathroom and stepped out to find Zaria still there. I was always grateful for her. ‎She was pacing around the room, talking on the phone and trying to keep calm. I wondered who was on the other end. Freya, maybe. Or Jeff. Probably not the blonde. ‎Shit. The blonde f**k. ‎She ended the call and walked toward me. ‎“Imani,” she breathed, her face full of worry. ‎“I’m sorry for ruining your attempt at getting laid,” I blurted out. ‎She froze before bursting into laughter. I joined her. ‎“What? f**k the blonde,” she muttered. ‎Then her smile faded. ‎“Are you okay, though?” ‎“No.” I allowed the tears to fall freely. “But I’ll be fine.” ‎I slumped onto the bed while she sat on the couch. The little moment of peace we had was interrupted by my phone ringing. ‎I groaned, debating whether I wanted to see who was calling. ‎I stared at the screen and picked up immediately before the call could end. ‎“Take the next flight to New York and come home, Imani. It’s urgent.” ‎The voice sounded heavy. ‎