Something About Us-Chapter 79: The Cracks Begin to Show

Across the sprawling expanse of the Peridot Arena, a state-of-the-art venue humming with the low thrum of pre-show energy, Henry leaned back on his stool. His eyes were glued to his phone, a low whistle escaping his lips as he scrolled through the latest online fodder.

"Damn, Rhys," he chuckled, holding up his phone with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Didn't peg you for the Bentley type. Thought you were more of a Lambo guy."

Rhys, who had been practicing their song paused, a frown creasing his brow. He snatched the phone from Henry's hand, his initial annoyance melting away as his gaze landed on the grainy photograph.

It was Heather, caught mid-eye-roll, her signature messy bun threatening to unravel as she shouldered a worn canvas bag. Even in the unflattering, paparazzi-style shot, a stray curl framed her cheek, and the familiar faded grey of his favorite hoodie peeked out from beneath her slightly stained café apron. A wave of unexpected tenderness washed over him.

His chest swelled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the stage lights warming the cavernous arena. It was a quiet, possessive pride. This was his Heather, navigating her everyday world with a blend of practicality and a spark of fiery spirit that the blurry photo couldn't quite capture.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips as he tossed the phone back to a still-grinning Henry. The image lingered in his mind, a stark contrast to the polished perfection that usually filled his world.

Henry groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Focus, man. We've got a sold-out concert in forty-eight hours, the biggest of the tour so far, and you're practically composing love sonnets to your girl's parking skills."

He tapped the screen of his phone.

"The internet's going nuts, by the way. Everyone wants to know who the 'mystery woman' is. Some are even speculating she's your long-lost sister. Seriously."

Rhys waved a dismissive hand. The online frenzy felt distant, a noisy hum in the background of his real life. His focus was on the music, on the impending performance, and now, undeniably, on Heather.

He reached for his own phone, his thumbs flying across the screen.

Ignore the noise. You look hot in that pic. Especially rocking my hoodie. <3

He added a heart emoji, a small, private message sent across the digital divide that separated their very different mornings. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the attention, but he couldn't resist letting her know that amidst the chaos, he was thinking of her, and that to him, she was everything.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Visit freewebnoveℓ.com for the best novel reading exp𝒆rience.

The bell above the door of the Black Star Cafe jingled incessantly. By noon, the small, usually bustling café was packed beyond capacity—but the familiar faces of regulars were noticeably outnumbered. Instead, a different kind of clientele had descended, drawn by the digital breadcrumbs of the viral photo.

Clusters of teenage girls, clad in oversized Starlight Entertainment merchandise featuring Lux's iconic logo, loitered near the pastry case, their whispers punctuated by excited giggles and furtive glances towards Heather behind the counter.

A young man with a professional-looking camera and a ring light had "coincidentally" set up shop at a corner table, his phone screen displaying a live stream with a rapidly growing viewer count. The air crackled with an unsettling mix of curiosity and blatant intrusion.

Heather's hands trembled slightly as she meticulously frothed milk for a matcha latte, the delicate green powder swirling into the creamy liquid. Every eye in the café seemed to be fixed on her, dissecting her every move, searching for clues.

The whispers followed her like a persistent hum, punctuated by the occasional pointed stare.

Then, it happened. A girl, barely out of her teens, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and audacity, approached the counter.

"Excuse me," she blurted out, her voice a nervous squeak. "Are you... are you really dating Rhys Connor?"

Heather froze, the frothing pitcher momentarily forgotten. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and her mind raced, searching for a polite yet firm way to deflect the invasive question.

Before she could formulate a response, however, Marjorie, her usually warm and welcoming demeanor replaced by a protective steeliness, stepped in front of Heather like a seasoned bodyguard. Her voice, though calm, carried an unmistakable edge.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," she announced, her gaze sweeping across the crowded café. "This is a place of business. My employees are here to work, not to be subjected to personal interrogations. Next person who harasses my barista gets banned. Permanently. Now, either order something or please make space for our actual customers."

A hush fell over the café.

The livestreamer's phone camera wavered slightly. The teenage girls exchanged nervous glances.

Heather mouthed a silent thank you to her aunt, her heart swelling with gratitude for her unwavering support.

But the damage was done. The question, once uttered, hung in the air, amplified by the digital echo chamber.

By closing time, fueled by the relentless curiosity of the internet and the constant stream of amateur paparazzi, the hashtag #WhoIsRhysGf was not just trending—it was dominating social media, a digital wildfire consuming Heather's anonymity and threatening to engulf her quiet life.

The world had discovered Rhys Connor's Bentley, and by extension, they had discovered her. And Heather knew, with a sinking feeling, that her life would never quite be the same again.

The heavy oak door of their secluded home clicked shut behind Rhys, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet after the cacophony of the arena.

He'd spent hours lost in the familiar comfort of his music, the roar of the imaginary crowd a temporary balm to the gnawing unease he felt about Heather. Now, stepping back into their sanctuary, he hoped to find her, to hold her, to reassure them both that this sudden storm of unwanted attention could be weathered.

He found her in their bedroom, a space usually filled with soft laughter and shared secrets, now heavy with unspoken tension.

Heather sat rigidly on the antique chair by the window, her silhouette framed by the fading twilight filtering through the trees outside. Her back was to him, her posture radiating a stiff, almost palpable anger.

"Baby, I'm home," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of weary affection. He'd imagined her rushing into his arms, a familiar ritual after a long day. Instead, the silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable.

Heather didn't turn, didn't offer the usual embrace. When she finally spoke, her voice was sharp, brittle, a stark contrast to its usual melodic warmth.

"You couldn't have gotten me a normal car, Rhys?" The question wasn't a genuine inquiry; it was an accusation, laced with a raw frustration that pierced him.

He frowned, his own weariness momentarily overshadowed by a surge of hurt. He'd envisioned the Bentley as a symbol of his love, a gesture of care and a touch of the extraordinary he wanted to bring into her life.

"I... I just wanted you safe," he stammered, the words feeling inadequate, almost foolish in the face of her obvious distress. "Something reliable, something... worthy of you."

Her head snapped around then, her eyes flashing with an intensity he rarely saw. "Safe? Rhys, I can handle myself! I was safe using Aunt Maggie's old car! Now? Now I've got strangers filming me through the café windows like I'm some animal in a zoo! There were flashing cameras following me all the way home! I had to take backstreets just to lose them!"

Her voice rose with each word, the carefully constructed walls of her composure finally cracking.

Rhys dragged a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair. The weight of her distress settled heavily in his chest. He hadn't anticipated this level of intrusion, this violation of her privacy. He'd been so caught up in the grand gesture, the desire to give her something beautiful, that he hadn't fully considered the ramifications.

"So... so we go public," he said, the idea forming as a desperate solution. "Properly. We'll control the narrative. I'll introduce you as my girlfriend at the Peridot concert. Everyone will see us together, on our terms."

Heather froze, her anger momentarily eclipsed by a stark, almost horrified disbelief. "You're not thinking, Rhys! Not about the consequences!"

"I am thinking, Heather! Finally thinking about us, about not having to sneak around, about not having to pretend you're 'just a friend' when you're the most important person in my life."

He stepped closer, his voice softening, laced with a raw honesty. "I'm tired of hiding you, tired of hiding us. You deserve to stand beside me, openly."

The vulnerability in his voice, the genuine yearning in his eyes, disarmed her for a fleeting moment. The anger receded, replaced by a familiar wave of affection. But beneath it, a deeper, more primal fear clawed its way up her throat, constricting her breath.

"But... what if your fans hate me?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "They adore you, Rhys. They've been with you since the beginning. What if they see me as some... interloper? Someone who doesn't belong in your world? What if this ruins everything you've built? Your career... your dreams..."

The thought was a cold fist clenching around her heart. She could bear the intrusion into her own life, but the idea of jeopardizing his, the brilliant, shining path he'd forged, was unbearable.

Rhys closed the distance between them, his large hands gently cradling her face. His thumbs brushed softly against her cheekbones, his gaze locking with hers, his eyes filled with a fierce tenderness.

"Then we'll handle it," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "Together. Your happiness, our happiness... that's more important than any fleeting opinion or any fear of the unknown. We face it together, Heather. Always."

But behind his reassuring words, a flicker of doubt, a shadow of the immense pressure he carried, danced in his eyes. He knew the intensity of his fanbase, the possessiveness that sometimes bordered on fervent.

Introducing Heather to that world was a gamble, a leap of faith. He just prayed that his love for her, and her quiet strength, would be enough to weather the storm that had just begun.