Colin Price had survived everything.
That was what he kept telling himself as he stood in the center of the National Whisper’s main conference room, one hand gripping the back of a chair hard enough that his knuckles had gone white.
He was sixty-two years old and the editor-in-chief of one of the nation’s foremost news companies.
The National Whisper had been sued before.
Of course it had. Any tabloid worth reading had been sued. Actresses, athletes, politicians, musicians, directors, reality stars, angry spouses, furious parents, disgraced producers, dead men’s estates. The Whisper had been dragged into court so many times that Colin sometimes thought of litigation as another department in the building.
They had survived all of it.
They delayed. They countersued. They demanded discovery so invasive that plaintiffs backed away. They pushed legal fees until ordinary people gave up. They settled quietly when they had to, printed tiny corrections when forced, and buried apologies on pages no one read. They knew which judges were friendly and which celebrities wanted privacy more than victory.
The Whisper endured because outrage passed, but money kept moving.
Only this time, the money was moving against them.
Colin slammed the file onto the table.
“We’ve been sued before,” he snapped. “We’re still here. Why is this any different?”
Mara Voss did not flinch. Their general counsel sat across from him with three open folders in front of her and a laptop glowing beside them.
“Because these are not ordinary lawsuits.”
“They’re lawsuits.”
“They are coordinated lawsuits,” Mara said. “Filed in multiple jurisdictions by plaintiffs with strong claims, excellent representation, and no visible concern about cost.”
“That happens.”
“Not like this.”
She tapped the first folder.
“This one alone could destroy us.”
Colin looked at it, then away.
He knew the name.
Anna Phoenix.
Former child actress. Former Whisper target. Years of old stories, harassment, planted claims, edited photographs, and one article that had crossed more lines than even Colin liked to remember. She had disappeared from public life for almost a decade after that.
Now she was suing.
Mara continued, “The Phoenix complaint is not just defamation. It includes intentional infliction of emotional distress, invasion of privacy, coordinated harassment, unlawful acquisition of medical information, and evidence that someone inside this company paid for private records.”
Miles Tanner, the deputy editor, shifted in his chair.
“That was years ago.”
“Statutes of limitation become complicated when concealment is involved,” Mara said. “And their attorneys are arguing a continuing pattern. They have documents.”
Colin’s throat tightened.
“What documents?”
“Enough that I am telling you this case alone is dangerous.”
He pointed at the other folders.
“And the person representing her. Harvey Specter. It had to be him…”
“And the rest?”
“More of the same. Better prepared than they should be. Better funded than they should be. Meaning someone powerful is backing them.”
The room went still.
Colin barked a laugh, but it came out thin.
“No one has that kind of money or influence. I mean, they do, but they wouldn’t do something like this to us. We don’t even go after people like that.”
Miles gave a humorless laugh from the other side of the table.
“It’s Adler.”
Colin turned on him.
“Don’t start.”
“I told you we should not have pushed that story.”
“Adler doesn’t have the balls to do this,” Colin said.
Mara closed one folder very carefully.
“That kid is a billionaire, one of the most connected people in Los Angeles, and possibly the most powerful man in entertainment under thirty. If he decided to make this personal, then you made a serious mistake.”
Colin hated the way she said it.
Not the company.
Not the paper.
You.
He jabbed a finger at her.
“Then we say it publicly. We say Adler is attacking the free press. We tell people he’s trying to silence us because we asked questions about him. We bring the public around us.”
Miles stared at him.
Then he laughed.
“Are you actually serious?”
Colin’s face reddened.
“Watch yourself.”
“No, Colin. You watch yourself.” Miles leaned forward. “We are one of the most hated media companies in the country. Yes, people like our stuff, but many also hate us. If Adler goes public and says he is helping our victims sue us, half the internet will buy popcorn, and the other half will ask why it took so long.”
Tessa Rowe, the senior reporter who had written half the articles currently being cited online, crossed her arms.
“Don’t look at us like we invented this problem. You wanted the most clickable angle on Adler. I gave you one.”
Colin turned toward her.
“You pushed domestic violence.”
“You approved it.”
“You wrote it.”
“You asked for it.”
Priya Nair, who ran traffic and analytics, looked exhausted as she turned her laptop toward the room.
“The article did twenty million clicks in six hours.”
Colin pointed at the screen.
“Exactly.”
“No, Colin,” Priya said. “That is not a defense. That is the problem. We pushed the domestic-violence angle harder than anyone else. We boosted it across every social channel. We changed three headlines in two hours to make it darker. We knew police had denied injuries, and we still framed it as a cover-up.”
“It was speculation.”
“It was reckless,” Mara said.
Priya looked at Colin with open anger now.
“We told you it was a bad idea. Legal warned you. I warned you. Even Miles warned you, and he greenlights stories about celebrity clones and secret lizard cults.”
Miles lifted a hand.
“The lizard cult story performed well.”
“Not the point,” Priya said.
Colin opened his mouth, then closed it.
He knew why he had done it.
Jeremy Wesker had contacted him months earlier. Jeremy, son of Albert Wesker, one of Colin’s oldest friends.
He had called with stories about Daniel Adler. About how Adler had many enemies in the industry, and how they were waiting for the right moment to bring him down. Colin had listened because he disliked Adler already.
The boy irritated him.
That was how Colin thought of him, even now.
The boy.
Too young. Too successful. Too adored. Too clean. Nobody climbed that high without dirt under their nails, and yet Adler’s reputation never seemed to crack for longer than a day.
So when Jeremy said powerful people were preparing to expose Adler, Colin had wanted in. He had imagined traffic. Exclusives. Access. Maybe even money, if the right backers wanted the Whisper useful.
He had not imagined this.
Mara watched him too closely.
“Colin.”
“What?”
“Who did you piss off?”
He forced a laugh.
“You’re my lawyer. Get us out of this.”
“I am trying to tell you there may not be an out.”
Mara opened another file.
“The Phoenix case has depositions lined up from former staff, former contractors, and at least two people who handled payments. They have financial records. They have internal emails. If those enter discovery, we are exposed.”
“Then settle.”
“Their attorneys are refusing quiet settlement unless it includes a public admission and oversight provisions.”
Colin stared at her.
“No.”
“Then we fight.”
“Good.”
“And bleed.”
He said nothing.
Mara continued, “The other cases are smaller individually, but together they are designed to pin us down. If we focus on Phoenix, the others move. If we settle one, another plaintiff comes forward. If we countersue, they appear ready to fund defense and discovery all the way.”
Miles rubbed his face.
“So this is a siege.”
“Yes,” Mara said. “And whoever is behind it knows exactly how to keep us trapped.”
Colin looked around the table. For the first time in years, he saw fear on the faces of people who had built their careers feeding on the fear of others.
That made him furious.
“This is Adler,” he said.
Mara did not answer.
“It is,” he insisted. “That little bastard.”
“If it is,” Mara said, “then he is not trying to scare you.”
Her voice was flat now.
“He is trying to end you.”
The room went quiet again.
Outside the glass walls, the newsroom kept moving. A television mounted on the far wall showed some daytime host discussing Ellen DeGeneres’ collapsing reputation.
Mara softened her tone. “The same pressure is beginning to hit other outlets that pushed the Adler domestic story, but not like this. They are getting warnings, demands for retractions, isolated complaints. We are getting buried. The money being thrown at this, all of it suggests we are the main target.”
Tessa looked at Colin.
“Because we went hardest.”
Priya added, “Because you wanted us to.”
Colin slammed his palm against the table.
“Enough.”
No one spoke.
He pointed at Mara.
“You find me a way.”
“Colin.”
“You hear me? You find me a way out.”
Mara held his gaze.
“I can defend the company. I can delay. I can try to negotiate. I can try to reduce exposure. But I cannot stop this, Colin.”
“Find me a way. Do your fucking job.”
Mara stood, gathering her files.
“You need to understand something. If there is more coming, and I believe there is, then this is not a storm we ride out by pretending we have survived worse.”
Colin’s breathing had grown harsh.
“We have survived worse.”
“No,” Mara said. “You haven’t.”
She left the room.
For several seconds, Colin did not move.
Then he swept the nearest folder off the table. Papers scattered across the floor.
“Find something!” he shouted at everyone left in the room. “Find something on Adler. On his companies. On his family. On anyone around him. I want leverage!”
Miles did not move.
Tessa looked away.
Priya closed her laptop.
Their silence told him what Mara’s warning had not.
For the first time in his life, Colin Price had attacked someone who could hit back harder. Hard enough to end him.
.
.
.
Ryan Reynolds sat in the back seat of his car, phone pressed to his ear, watching Los Angeles slide past the tinted window.
He was already late.
That was not unusual, but tonight it annoyed him more than it should have. Blake had gone ahead to the party without him, which meant he was now arriving alone to an event hosted by one of her good friends.
Taylor Swift’s parties were not the kind of thing a person wanted to enter late.
Ryan rubbed at his temple.
“Yes, it’s an issue,” he said into the phone. “I don’t care how much screen time Vigilante has. From what you yourself said, he’s basically doing the same humor we’re going for.”
The producer on the other end sighed.
“I still don’t think there’s a problem.”
“There is absolutely a problem.”
“Ryan.”
“No, listen to me. If people start comparing Deadpool to Vigilante, that becomes a problem. Especially if they decide Adler did it first.”
“Deadpool is not going to have issues because Daniel Adler made a supporting character popular in one superhero movie.”
Ryan leaned back against the leather seat.
“You say that like the internet is reasonable.”
“I say that because you’re spiraling.”
“I don’t want to be fucking compared to fucking Adler.”
There was a pause.
Then the producer said, “You need to stop this stupid feud you have with him.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not stupid.”
“It is extremely stupid. And Adler is out of your league.”
Ryan sat up slightly. “Excuse me?”
“I mean in terms of influence. Money. Have you not heard what’s happening with Ellen? Or the National Whisper? I think he’s behind that stuff.”
“Daniel Adler is not the reason Ellen is in trouble.”
“You sure about that?”
“Okay, maybe Ellen and I making a few jokes started the whole hashtag thing, and maybe it got hijacked, but Daniel Adler does not have an army of men and women working on her downfall.”
The producer did not answer.
“He doesn’t,” Ryan insisted.
“Sure.”
“He’s not some supervillain.”
“No, but it does make him someone you should stop poking.”
Ryan looked out the window again.
The car climbed through the hills, sunlight flashing between houses and trees.
The producer continued, “Deadpool will be fine. The problem you’re imagining is not real. And honestly, we should cut that Adler parody character from the script.”
Ryan turned sharply.
“No.”
“Why continue your feud inside the movie?”
“Because he did it first.”
“Ryan.”
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t stand that fucker. I can’t let him win.”
The producer sighed again, longer this time.
“You’re already letting him win by caring this much.”
Ryan ended the call.
For a while, he sat in silence.
Then his phone buzzed.
A text from Blake.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Ryan frowned.
He typed back a question mark.
No reply came.
He stared at the screen for several seconds, waiting for the typing bubble to appear. It did not.
By the time the car reached the mansion in the Hollywood Hills, Ryan’s curiosity about the text had become unbearable. He needed to know what it was about.
The house was enormous, all white stone, glass walls, open terraces, and warm evening light. The party was mainly outside, where guests gathered around the pool and along the balcony overlooking the city.
The sun would not set for another hour, but the sky had already begun shifting toward orange. Music played softly from speakers. Servers moved through the crowd with trays of drinks, and laughter rose and fell across the terrace.
It was a beautiful evening.
He stepped out of the car, adjusted his jacket, and made his way through the house toward the back.
He found Blake near the terrace doors.
She was standing with Taylor and Joanna. Ryan knew Joanna, though mostly as one of Adler’s closest friends. He had always been careful not to show his dislike too openly around Adler’s circle. He did not hate Adler’s friends.
He hated Adler.
There was a difference.
Taylor noticed him first.
“There he is,” she said, smiling. “The greatest actor ever.”
Ryan’s mood improved despite himself.
“Well, finally someone says it.”
Blake looked at him with narrowed eyes, though there was a smile fighting at the corner of her mouth.
“How could you not tell me?”
Ryan stopped.
“Tell you what?”
She crossed her arms.
“You know, I really thought you hated him. So I never even tried to talk to him or introduce myself. And now I learn this whole thing is some big joke between you two?”
Joanna laughed.
Taylor did too.
Ryan looked between them.
“What are you talking about?”
Blake raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t know.”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
Joanna smiled. “Daniel.”
Ryan’s face changed. The name landed like a fly in his drink.
Taylor pointed at him.
“Wow, look at that. Still doing the bit.”
“What bit?”
“We all know now, Ryan.”
“Know what?”
“Daniel told us.”
Ryan felt something inside him go still.
“Told you what?”
Blake made air quotes with both hands. “That your ‘feud’ is fake. That you both came up with it years ago.”
For a moment, Ryan did not answer.
He could not.
His thoughts hit a wall and stopped.
What the hell was Adler doing here?
When did Adler talk to Blake?
Why was Adler telling people the feud was fake?
Joanna was still laughing.
“He didn’t even tell me, and I’m one of his best and closest friends. Apparently, he didn’t even tell Margot until a few months ago.”
Taylor smiled. “I wish Margot was here tonight.”
“She’s busy with wedding planning,” Joanna said.
“Have you seen the flowers?”
“Yes. They’re gorgeous.”
Ryan lifted a hand.
“No. No, let’s get back to the Adler thing.”
Blake looked amused now.
“Ryan.”
“It’s not fake. We hate each other.”
“Stop.”
“I am serious.”
“Daniel just told us.”
“Wait,” Ryan said. “Just told you?”
Taylor turned her head and looked toward the pool.
Ryan followed her gaze.
And there, near the water, stood his nemesis.
Daniel Adler was laughing with Selena Gomez, Cara Delevingne, Gigi Hadid, and Emma Stone. All four women were laughing too.
Then Daniel turned.
Their eyes met.
Adler smiled.
No.
He grinned and pointed toward Ryan, which made the girls laugh even more.
Then he started walking toward him with both arms spread wide.
“Hey, buddy!” Daniel called.
Ryan stared in disbelief.
What the hell is he doing?
Ryan watched Adler cross the terrace as if he owned the place. Soon, he reached the group and slipped an arm around Taylor’s side in an easy half-hug.
“I’m sorry, man,” Daniel said, looking at Ryan with a grin. “Taylor was too insistent. I had to tell her about our thing.”
“Our thing,” Ryan repeated.
Taylor leaned into Daniel, laughing.
“Hey, I get what I want. Joanna had a suspicion. She told me this whole feud might be an act, and I refused to let it go until Daniel admitted it.”
Joanna smiled over her drink.
“He held out for about five minutes.”
“I tried, Ryan. I really did,” Daniel said. “But Taylor is very persuasive.”
Blake looked at Ryan, still amused.
“You really kept this going for years?”
Ryan stared at Daniel.
Daniel gave him a helpless little shrug.
“Look at him,” Daniel said. “That’s what I love about him. He still won’t admit it. Still completely in character.”
Ryan opened his mouth.
Blake lightly hit his side with the back of her hand.
“Stop.”
He closed his mouth.
Daniel’s smile widened by the smallest amount.
Bastard.
Joanna glanced toward the small stage near the far side of the terrace, where a few musicians were setting up.
“Oh, it’s time for my song. Ryan, I am going to sing the new one tonight.”
Taylor straightened immediately.
“Yes, yes, I’m so excited. Let’s go.”
Blake looked at Ryan, only smiled, and followed Taylor and Joanna toward the crowd gathering near the stage.
For a few seconds, Ryan and Daniel stood alone near the edge of the terrace.
Music drifted around them. People laughed behind them.
Ryan stepped closer.
“What are you doing?”
Daniel did not answer right away.
He reached for a fresh glass of juice from a passing tray, took a sip, and looked out over the city.
“Giving you a way out.”
Ryan stared at him.
“My way out?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
Daniel turned back and gestured between them.
“From this.”
Daniel spoke quietly enough that no one nearby could hear, but there was no softness in his voice now.
“Look, Ryan. In my mind, this feud ended when I did the Vigilante thing. It was funny for a while. You made jokes. I made jokes. People laughed. Everyone got headlines. Fine.”
He took another sip.
“But now it’s getting annoying, and I want to go into my wedding by putting things like this behind me.”
Ryan said nothing.
“So I’m giving you an out. A good one. A clean one. By tomorrow, people will start hearing that this whole feud was fake. Something we cooked up years ago. Like Damon and Kimmel, but better.”
“I told Taylor and her squad, so you know that by the end of the night, half this party will know. By Monday, half of Hollywood will know. Nobody will question it because it makes sense. People will love that.”
Ryan looked toward the stage, where Blake was now laughing at something Taylor had said.
Then he looked back at Daniel.
“If this is some elaborate way of admitting defeat…”
Daniel laughed.
“Me? Defeat?” Daniel asked. “No, Ryan. I won.”
Ryan went still.
Daniel’s expression remained pleasant, but his eyes were sharper now.
“I won years ago. Maybe when this started, we were on the same level. Maybe. It made sense then.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“But come on, man. Now?”
Ryan felt heat rise in his neck.
“You and I are not even in the same ballpark anymore.”
Ryan’s fingers tightened around his glass.
Daniel continued. “We’ve said some horrible things about each other. Some funny, some not. But lately, you’ve been using me to keep your name in the conversation.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed.
“Like I need that.”
“I think that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.”
Ryan wanted to deny it.
He wanted to laugh in Daniel’s face and say the kid was delusional. He wanted to remind him that he had been famous long before Daniel Adler became the prince of Hollywood, before every studio acted like his approval was a papal blessing.
But the denial got stuck.
Because Daniel was right.
That was the part Ryan hated most.
His plan had been simple.
Needle Daniel. Make him react. Make him look petty. Keep his name in the headlines when he needed to. Bring in everyone who hated Adler and turn them into his growing fanbase.
If Daniel responded, Ryan stayed in the headlines.
If Daniel ignored it, Ryan still stayed in them another way.
Either way, Ryan won.
Except now Daniel had changed the rules.
By turning the feud into a fake joke, he erased the sting from everything. Every insult became performance. Every attack became a bit. Every clip, every interview, every headline became part of a long-running comedy act Ryan had supposedly helped create.
Ryan could fight that, but how? Publicly insist that no, actually, he genuinely hated Daniel Adler?
No. That would not work now.
Or he could play along and gain access to a cleaner, more profitable version of the same attention.
They could coordinate.
Maybe even do some cross-promotion.
A fake feud that audiences would adore.
It was smart.
It was perfect.
But it was also surrender.
Not publicly. No one else would know.
Only Ryan would know.
Ryan and Daniel.
That made this surrender better.
Somehow, it also made it worse.
Daniel watched him process it.
“You don’t have to like me,” he said. “Honestly, I’d be disappointed if you did. But this version works better for both of us.”
Ryan forced a smile and looked across the party again.
“Here is what happens now, Ryan, to make your decision easier,” Daniel said.
His voice remained low, almost friendly.
“I’ll repeat it so it gets through your thick head. You follow my lead. Everything we’ve ever said about each other becomes part of the bit. Public rivalry. Fake feud. Long-running joke. You get to keep playing along, keep making your little comments, and keep leeching off my fame, which I’m sure will continue helping you quite a lot.”
Ryan’s jaw flexed.
“I don’t need…”
“No,” Daniel said softly. “Let me finish.”
That shut him up.
“I want you to understand exactly how much worse this could become for you if I stop finding you amusing.”
Ryan’s expression changed.
Daniel smiled.
“Ask Ellen.”
“I know you’ve heard the other rumors too,” Daniel added.
Ryan took half a step back before he could stop himself.
For a second, the noise of the party seemed to fade. The laughter, the music, all of it drifted somewhere distant.
Ryan looked at Daniel and realized he had been thinking about him the wrong way.
He had treated him like another famous man. Another public rival to needle on talk shows and interviews. Someone he could push, mock, bait, and turn into content.
But Daniel Adler was not just another famous guy.
No.
Ryan had made a mistake here.
Daniel held out his hand.
“So,” he said. “Are you taking the exit or not?”
Ryan looked down at Daniel’s hand.
For a moment, pride flared hot enough that he almost refused.
He wanted to slap the hand away. He wanted to tell Daniel to go fuck himself in front of everyone. He wanted to hold on to the last scrap of dignity he had left, even if it meant burning the whole thing down.
But he could not.
The feud had become one of the biggest things people talked about when they talked about him lately. That was partly Daniel’s fault.
It was also his own.
Now Daniel had leaked the idea that it had all been fake, and Ryan knew exactly how people would react once it spread.
They would love it.
A fake celebrity feud years in the making. A secret joke between two stars. Insults that were not insults. Interviews that were performance. Memes that were suddenly part of the act.
People loved that kind of thing.
Ryan loved fame.
He hated admitting that he loved it more than he hated Daniel.
He reached for Daniel’s hand.
Daniel pulled his hand back.
Ryan froze.
Daniel’s smile widened.
“We can shake on it,” he said. “But first, you apologize.”
Ryan stared at him.
“For what?”
“Towing my car.”
Ryan breathed in through his nose.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Ryan glanced toward Blake. She was watching the stage now, smiling at Joanna. Taylor had stepped aside to let Joanna take the microphone.
Ryan looked back at Daniel.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel tilted his head.
“For?”
Ryan’s teeth pressed together.
“For towing your car.”
Daniel smiled properly this time and offered his hand again.
Ryan took it.
They shook.
To anyone watching, it probably looked warm. Friendly. Maybe even affectionate.
To Ryan, it felt like signing a treaty after losing a war.
“This is going to be a great partnership,” Daniel said. “Maybe we can outshine Kimmel and Damon. Who knows?”
Ryan nodded once.
“Sure.”
Daniel released his hand and turned slightly toward the stage.
“Oh, Joanna’s about to sing. You know, we actually wrote this one together.”
Ryan looked over.
Joanna stood in front of the microphone, the last of the sunset behind her. People had gathered around the stage, conversations falling quieter as the music began to build.
Daniel started walking away, then stopped and glanced back.
“By the way, I heard about the character based on me in the movie.”
Ryan went still again.
Daniel’s eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Pull no punches. We can do some promotional synergy when the time comes. I have a Star Wars movie coming out that year, after all.”
Ryan could only nod.
Daniel walked away slipping back into the crowd.
The music swelled.
Ryan focused on Joanna's singing.
You should see me in a crownI’m gonna run this nothing town
He stood alone, a drink in his hand, watching Daniel Adler laugh with the people around him.
He felt smaller than before.
Watch me make ’em bowOne by one by oneOne by one byYou should see me in a crown
.
.