Summer's POV
Three days back in the city, and she still woke expecting waves instead of alarm clocks.
The first time she opened her phone, she regretted it.
Her notifications were a wildfire.
> #SummerAndEthanRealityOrNot
#ThatKissWasNotScripted
#StayWithMeReid trending in 12 countries
Her coffee went cold as she scrolled.
Clips from the finale flooded her feed—slow-mo edits, reaction videos, fan art that looked suspiciously professional.
It was everywhere.
They were everywhere.
Her agent, Chloe, called before breakfast. "Summer, baby, you're the internet's favorite couple. Do you know what that means?"
"That I'll never eat in peace again?"
"It means we can double your rate."
Summer groaned. "You'd monetize my wedding if you could."
"Already drafting sponsorship pitches."
"Chloe."
Her tone must've hit something, because Chloe softened. "Hey… I know it's overwhelming. But this—this is what stardom looks like. You've earned it. Just—don't let them write your story for you, okay?"
Summer exhaled. "Too late. They've already titled it."
Still, she couldn't stop scrolling. Every edit, every meme, every "analysis" video made the same claim: it was real.
And the terrifying part?
They were right.
---
Ethan's POV
He had three missed calls from his publicist, two from his mother, and one from a director who suddenly "had the perfect romantic lead" for him.
Showbiz smelled blood.
He ignored all of it and drove across town.
Summer's apartment was tucked into a quiet corner of the city, far from red carpets. When she opened the door, hair still damp from a shower, she looked startled—but not unhappy.
"You look like a man running from paparazzi," she said, letting him in.
"Technically, walking briskly."
She crossed her arms. "You're supposed to be resting. The world's on fire, you know."
"I know," he said. "That's why I came here."
She frowned. "To hide?"
"To make sure you weren't."
That earned him a reluctant smile. "You're annoying when you're sweet."
He leaned against her counter, watching her make tea. "They want interviews, you know. 'Ethan and Summer tell all.'"
She rolled her eyes. "Let them want. I'm not performing anymore."
"Good," he said softly. "Neither am I."
The quiet stretched between them again—familiar, charged. The kind of silence that hummed louder than any script.
---
Summer's POV
The doorbell rang. Loud. Persistent.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"
"Just Chloe."
"Sure?"
She peeked through the peephole—and swore. "Oh, hell."
Outside, three paparazzi stood armed with long lenses, shouting her name.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "How did they—"
"They always do," she sighed. "Welcome back to civilization."
He reached for her hand, steady. "Stay inside."
"You think I'm hiding?" she challenged.
His eyes softened. "I think you don't have to fight alone anymore."
It was such a simple thing to say, but it knocked the air from her chest.
Because he meant it—not as a line, not as a sound bite, but as something solid.
So she smiled. "Okay. But if we're stuck here—"
"Movie marathon?"
"Pizza first. Then you explain why your fans keep calling me 'Mrs. Reid.'"
He grinned. "Would you prefer 'Miss Hayes-Reid'?"
"Stop before I throw something."
He laughed, and the tension cracked like glass.
---
Ethan's POV
By the time night fell, the world outside their window pulsed with flashes—paparazzi staking out the street, drones hovering too close.
He watched Summer move through her apartment, half-frustrated, half amused. She wore one of his shirts now—unplanned, unbroadcasted—and it made something inside him ache in the best way.
"They'll get bored eventually," he said.
"No, they'll get better cameras."
He smiled. "Then let's give them nothing to shoot."
"Meaning?"
He crossed the room, stopping just inches away. "Meaning we live. Normally. Let them guess what's real."
Her gaze lifted, uncertain but warm. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," he admitted. "But I'm tired of pretending that the only version of us that matters is the one they film."
Summer's lips curved. "You realize if we start dating off-camera, it's going to drive them insane."
"Perfect," he said. "Let's ruin the internet again."
She laughed, low and genuine. "You're impossible."
"And you're still here."
She sighed, smiling as she leaned into him. "You say that like a spell."
"Maybe it is," he said softly. "One that keeps you close."
Outside, the city kept flashing. But inside, the light was softer—the kind of glow no camera could fake.