Call it love,Call it war

The champagne was still fizzing in Riven’s veins when he slid his keycard into the hotel door, lips still slick with someone else's gloss from the lounge downstairs. He didn’t know whose. He didn’t care.

The party had been chaos dressed in couture, a networking retreat in name only. Really it was Hollywood at its worst—messy, indulgent, insatiable. He danced until his knees ached, flirted with anything in a suit, smiled until his jaw burned.

Now, back in the hush of his suite, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed without even bothering with the lights. His phone buzzed once beside him, a soft vibration against the dark. Confirmation of the order.

Not food,not room service.A hookup.

He didn’t usually do this. But tonight wasn't usual. Tonight was about forgetting.

Then came the knock.

He rose slowly, shirt open, belt half undone. opened the door and froze upon seeing a tall and built blonde. Eyes wild under the hallway light. The man’s lips parted like he wanted to speak but didn’t. Riven stepped aside so the man could walk in.

Their clothes came off in frantic pieces, yanked and pulled like they couldn’t get them off fast enough.

 No words. No names. Just mouths, hands, heat. Riven shoved the guy against the wall, kissed him hard, desperate, grinding up against him like he wanted to disappear inside his skin.

The man turned him, pushed him face-down on the bed, dragged his teeth along Riven’s shoulder. Riven moaned, loud and unashamed, as hands grabbed his ass and fingers dug in deep.

“Condom?” the man asked, voice low.

“Drawer,” Riven breathed.

It was clumsy and hot and urgent. The guy tore open the packet, rolled the condom on, then pushed in slow and deep, stretching him until Riven cursed into the pillow. He arched back, breathing fast, every nerve lit up and trembling.

The rhythm built fast. Skin slapping. Bed creaking. Riven’s hands fisting the sheets while the man gripped his hips and fucked him like he couldn’t get enough. He was grunting in Riven’s ear, whispering filth that made Riven shiver.

“Fuck, you’re so tight...”

Riven bit his lip, breath stuck in his throat.

He came first, hard and messy, legs shaking. The stranger followed seconds later, groaning as he buried himself deep, then collapsed beside him, breath ragged and heavy.

For a moment there was only silence, their breathing the only sound.

Then the man stood, pulled his shirt on, and left.

Riven passed out as the door clicked shut.

***

His phone was vibrating off the nightstand when he woke. Sunlight poured through the windows, sharp and unforgiving. His head throbbed. His body ached like he’d been hit by a truck.

Twelve missed calls.

He groaned, reaching for the phone…Mom. Manager. Unknown.Seven messages from Harlow.

Trending: #RivenVale

His stomach flipped. He sat up, heart in his throat, opened T*****r with shaking hands.

The photo hit him like a punch.

His bare back. The stranger’s face turned toward the camera, clearly visible. Sheets tangled around them. Riven’s leg was thrown over the guy’s thigh,mouth open, flushed and 

LEAKED: Popstar Riven Vale and Billionaire Heir Leo Vane Caught in Bed at Retreat Hotel

He knew that name. Leo Vane. Tech mogul’s son. Also at the retreat and also famously spiraling.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Another notification lit up the screen.Evelyn Vale. Calling again,but he silenced it, and then came Harlow’s message. <Pick up right now!>

he couldn't avoid… be had to.

“What the fuck did you do?” Her voice was razor-sharp, breathing panic.

“I don’t know—”

“You slept with Leo Vane? In the retreat hotel? Do you even understand how bad this is?”

“I didn’t know it was him.”

“Well, everyone does now. TMZ. PageSix. Variety. You trended overnight. I’ve already lost you two campaigns. Get your shit together, Riv. This is war.”

****

An hour later, they met in a private downtown suite. Harlow shoved sunglasses on his face, pulled a hoodie over his curls, and shoved him through the side door like he was radioactive.

Silas Greaves was waiting.

CEO of his label. Polished and dangerous.. 

“Riven,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Rough morning?”

Riven sat across from him. Harlow stood behind, arms crossed like a bodyguard.

Silas slid a folder across the table. “You saw something you shouldn’t have. I’m giving you the chance to forget it.”

Riven’s throat tightened.

He had seen something. That night, at the lounge. He’d stepped away to make a call. Ended up on the wrong floor. A door cracked open and there were voices and a screen glowing in the dark.

Words that didn’t belong at a retreat.

Biometric tracking.

Civilian surveillance via entertainment.

He’d left fast. Thought no one saw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quietly.

Silas smiled wider. “You don’t have to sign. But if you don’t, you’ll lose everything. Publicly, privately.your secrets….. High school.Shall I go on?

Riven stood, chest tight.

“Go to hell.”

****

That night, Harlow poured gin in her apartment while the storm outside cracked against the glass.

“I don’t know how long I can protect you,” she said quietly. “They’re already erasing you. You need to disappear.”

He stared at her, exhausted and bitter.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said, barely above a whisper. “But I’m not safe either. I signed something a long time ago. I’ll help you however I can. Just don’t make me choose between survival and loyalty.”

He laughed once, dry and hard.

“Don’t start,” she warned. “You’d do the same.”

She handed him a plane ticket.

“Maine. Harbor’s Edge. You'll go with a new and different personality. It's a quiet place. You fix this or you don’t come back.”

***

Harbor’s Edge was fog-wrapped and silent. Seaside cliffs. Boarded-up windows. A town frozen in time.He arrived at night. No fans. No cameras. Just the cold.

The house was a mess. The floorboards groaned. Paint flaked off the walls. The sink leaked. A cabinet door fell off in his hand.

He sighed. Pulled out his phone and searched “repair man.”Only one name came up.

“***

The next morning, he found the woodshop. It smelled like pine and sawdust and something darker.

A man looked up from a workbench. Saw in hand. Tall. Broad. Hair tied back. Eyes like a storm.

Their eyes met.Something flickered across the man’s face. Recognition. Maybe hatred.

Riven tilted his head slightly, something uneasy twisting in his chest.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The man’s jaw tightened and there was a pause. An awkward one.

Then, cold and evenly he replied..

“No.”