THIRTY MILLION VIEWS LATER
1240 Words
REEVE’S POV
His lips collided with mine. For a second or maybe two, I couldn’t tell because everything slowed.
The cameras, the crew, Priya’s voice. Everything just—-slowed.
There was just him. The warmth of his mouth, faint taste of coffee. His hand slid to my waist, thumb pressing against my hip bone through the sweater. My heart slammed against my ribs, loud enough for the mics to catch it.
I’d imagined this—more times than I’d ever admit.
But not like this. Not with thirty strangers watching, a camera that won’t stop recording and his growing hate for me.
His lips were softer than I expected, unmoving, like even this was too much. They felt nothing like the boy who’d backed me against a counter last night.
Then he pulled back sharply—Like I’d burned him.
My eyes fluttered open. He was staring at me, jaw tight, and something unreadable flashing across his face before he looked away.
I stood there frozen, my pulse still racing in my throat.
“Cut!” Priya’s voice shattered the silence. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I needed. You see, it wasn’t difficult.”
The crew got back in motion immediately around us, lowering cameras, sound guys pulling off headsets and someone laughing about needing coffee. Reality settled in again.
But I couldn't move.
My lips tingled. I could still feel where his hand had been on my waist. Zane was already walking away, hands shoved into his pockets, not looking back.
It was just for the cameras.
So why did it feel like something cracked open in my chest ?
”Reeve.” Priya appeared beside me before I noticed. Her phone in hand, grinning like she’d won the lottery. “That was good, really good. You two actually looked like you wanted to kiss each other.”
I blinked back rapidly. “Huh? We were just—“
“Save it, I know what you were doing.” Her fingers tapped rapidly on her phone, then she turned the screen towards me. “Take a look.”
I hesitated. But I tore my eyes off her and settled on the screen. It was a video, thirty seconds long with cuts of me and Zane walking into the studio, his arm around my waist and his diary room confession.
It looked real.
The comments were rolling in underneath, hundreds of them popping up every second.
’OMG! They look so cute together.’
’The chemistry is insane’
’ I need the full episode RIGHT NOW!’
’He looks at her like she’s the only person in the room’
My stomach twisted. Chemistry? They wished.
”I dropped the teaser this morning.” Priya said, taking her phone back. “Six hours ago and we have thirty million views already.”
My head snapped up sharply. “Th-Thirty Million?”
”Thirty f*****g Million!” Her grin widened. “Ugh! I can almost see the dollar signs. People are obsessed and episode one hasn't aired yet.”
I stared into nothing. Thirty million people had seen Zane confess his fake feelings for me, seen me so close to him.
My phone started buzzing in my pocket, drawing me back. I pulled it out with shaky hands. I swallowed hard at the screen.
Notifications had flooded the screen, texts, missed calls and i********:. My follower count was climbing in real time, people I hadn’t talked to since high school were—rooting for me?
”This is just the beginning.” Priya continued, her gaze on the crews. “Wait till Episode one airs. You two—would be everywhere.” She walked off.
I stood there, phone still vibrating in my hand and the weight of thirty million people pressing down on my chest.
Across the room, Zane was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. His shoulders seemed tense. He hadn’t even bothered to spare me a glance.
I took my eyes off him, my feet finally moved as I approached the hallway. Pushing open my room door, I closed it behind me and walked towards the bed, collapsing onto it.
My phone screen lit up again. Three hundred and forty seven notifications. I scrolled through them, seeing comments on photos I’d posted months ago. Friend request, follow request and messages asking if Zane and I were truly together.
But then reality hit again when my phone started ringing.
The name sent my hands shaky instantly. I stared at it, and a familiar dread pooled in my chest. She never called unless she wanted something. And now—-oh it made sense.
Of course she was calling thirty million views later.
Diana. No—My mother.
I answered. “Mom?”
”Reeve.” Her voice came through scratchy, like she had been smoking. She never really stopped. “I saw you on TV.”
My eyes squeezed shut. “It’s just a show. It’s not re—“
”Thirty million people, Reevie.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Thirty million people watching my daughter play lovers with some rich hockey player.”
”It’s not like that.” My eyes opened.
“Isn’t it?” Her voice shifted. “You’re on TV. You’re famous. Living in some expensive apartment with cameras everywhere. And you didn't even think to call your own mother.”
My grip tightened around the phone. That familiar ache started in my chest, the one that always came when I talked to her.
“I’ve been busy. The show, the filming is-“
”I guess you’re too busy for your family.” She laughed bitterly. “Of course. You’re too good for us now.”
My vision blurred slightly. “That’s not fair.”
”You know what’s not fair, Reeve?” Her voice cracked, and I could hear her taking a drag of something. “It’s watching you on TV, happy and with some boy, while I’m here struggling to keep the lights on.”
I drew in a sharp breath, blinking away the tears. “I’m doing this to help. The money from the show—“ I paused, then forced myself to ask. “How’s Nads?”
”Nadia?” Her voice went cold. “That brat wouldn’t shut up about a pair of shoes.”
My breath caught. “Mom—“
”For God’s sake, enough with the mom shit.” She snapped. “Call me, Diana. You know I hate when you say mom.”
I knew that. She’d said it a thousand times. I reduced her to being just a mother, no one else. Like her entire identity got swallowed up by having kids she never wanted.
But I called her mom anyway. Every single time. To remind her, to pinch that ego. To make her remember that she ‘was’ a mother, whether she liked it or not
”How is Nadia doing?” I asked again, my voice breaking.
”She’s fine.” Diana exhaled sharply. “That spoiled little thing thinks everything should be handed to her. At her age, I was already on the streets fending for myself. But she whines about shoes like it's the end of the world.”
My free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm.
“She’s twelve, Mom” My voice sharpened. “She’s not you.”
“Excuse me!?” She scoffed.
- Writer
