Isla's POV
Perhaps spending five years perfecting the role of Theo Astor's devoted wife had made me forget what the internet could do to a person.
The algorithm didn't care about my careful planning.
And now 1.2 million people had watched me play Ravel in a cabin in Manzanita, and a not-insignificant number of them were convinced I was a dead woman.
I sat on the edge of my bed and scrolled through the damage.
Twitter—X, whatever they were calling it now—was worse. The hashtag had jumped from 2,847 posts to over 12,000 in the time I'd been watching. Someone had created a dedicated account: @IslaAstorTruth. Bio: "She's alive. I have proof. DM for collabs."
The "proof" was a side-by-side comparison of my hands. Just my hands. Close-ups from the cabin video next to screenshots from a Van
