Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(101)

Alex’s stories were fascinating. More than that. Revelatory, in so many ways.

Before each of his fics, he thanked his faithful beta reader and fellow writer, AeneasLovesLavinia. The laws of probability informed her who that author had to be. BAWN, unwilling to use his former pen name, lest he draw her attention to his continuing presence online and hurt her further. Marcus, either unable or unwilling to stop writing.

Now that she knew BAWN and Marcus were one and the same, she had to wonder what drew him to fanfic in the first place. What he got out of writing, and writing stories about Aeneas in particular, especially given the risk to his employment if anyone found out. What the Lavineas community, the community he’d left behind—for her sake, of course for her sake—meant to him. How it felt to remove himself from that circle of friends and start over again, his stories now without a guaranteed audience.

It had to hurt. How much she couldn’t say. Probably more than she realized.

Maybe it was foolishly sentimental, but once she realized who AeneasLovesLavinia must be, she read his stories, the ones written during their time together in Berkeley, before Alex’s.

They were recognizably Marcus’s work. More than that, they were—

April lowered her head. Bit her lip until she tasted blood.

AeneasLovesLavinia’s stories were swoony.

His trademark angst was never completely gone. There was always a jittery undercurrent of nervousness on Aeneas’s part, a fear Lavinia would find out about his fraught past with Dido and judge him harshly for it.

For the most part, though, his new fanfiction centered around love, not pain.

Story by story, Marcus’s Aeneas lost more and more of his heart to his wife. Determined to win hers in return, he did his best to woo her, to make her see his devotion, to battle past her insecurities and defenses, until they reached a hard-fought happy ending.

No one else would recognize the real-life parallels.

April could hardly miss them.

Once she’d blown her nose and applied cold, wet washcloths to her eyes and questioned all of her recent life choices, she switched back to Alex’s stories, and holy fuck.

The pegging. Oh, God, the pegging was glorious.

That wasn’t the aspect of his writing leaving her agape and concerned.

His fic depicting Cupid as an actor on a popular Gods of the Gates–esque show was beyond pointed. Beyond damning. It was searingly blunt about what he considered the strengths of the show—the crew, the cast, the source material—and what he deemed its key weakness.

Namely, incompetent and unpleasant showrunners.

Everything he wrote confirmed what she and most other Lavineas denizens already believed, as well as a few things Marcus had hinted at in private. But neither she nor her fellow fans had ever, ever thought a cast member would say those things so clearly and publicly.

Turned out there was a reason they’d never expected that kind of honesty from a Gods of the Gates actor. Because it damaged careers. Specifically, Alex’s.

As soon as she finished reading his fanfic, she searched for recent tweets about him, as well as new posts on entertainment blogs and websites, because there was absolutely no way knowledge of his online alter ego wouldn’t cause an uproar. Not given the content of his stories.

The search lasted seconds. Less than that.

Alex’s name was everywhere. He was trending on Twitter. He was the subject of breathless articles on the internet and smirking tidbits on television. On her laptop screen, he was looking out at her from a generic hotel dais, his face ruddy, his smile feral, his reputation in his chosen industry damaged. Maybe irreparably.

According to the most reliable blogs, Gods of the Gates’s furious showrunners were considering legal action or eye-popping monetary retaliation. One of Alex’s costars, the guy who played Jupiter, had denounced him on camera as an ungrateful turncoat. Worst of all, everyone seemed to agree: future directors and producers would avoid working with Alex, for fear he might turn on them in public as well.

Unhireable, one article called him.

CASTING POISON, an entertainment show’s chyron read. ACTOR’S WRITING PROMPTS BACKLASH.

His agent and lawyer were apparently working feverishly behind the scenes. Marcus too, of course. The articles didn’t say as much, but she knew him. He would be in the midst of the chaos, trying to support his friend and help however he could.

Before she quite knew what she was doing, her phone was in her hands, and she was tapping out a quick text to him.

When you get a chance, please tell Alex I’m thinking of him and wishing him luck. I hope he’s okay. After a moment, she added, No need to respond. I know you’re both busy.

Delivered, her phone told her. Good. He hadn’t blocked her number.

Within a minute, he’d written back, and just that simple fact made her eyes blur yet again. It didn’t even matter that his response was brief.

Lauren’s fired. Too late to fire him, since filming’s done. He might be able to avoid fines and a lawsuit, but IDK.

He’d responded. Not only that, he’d told her private information he wouldn’t want disclosed to the public—even though they weren’t officially together anymore, and she had reason to feel vengeful.

He trusted her. He did.

Okay, she wrote. Thank you for telling me.

Marcus didn’t respond a second time. Not then, not later that night.