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Isaac found himself spread across the floor, face down, with only the fur carpet beneath him to function as a cushion. Before he opened his eyes, a steady ringing noise filled the background, not loud enough to be disruptive but difficult to ignore. His neck was stiff, the muscles sore all the way down to the shoulders. Rolling onto his back, he squinted his eyes at the bright rays streaming through the curtains. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but judging by the empty bed and the hanging silk blanket caught onto his foot, it was late enough for Violet to be up. He could imagine the lecture he’d get from her once he faced her, or maybe not, considering this wasn’t the first time he’d ended up in this state. In fact it was a regular enough occurrence for Isaac, to the point he brushed it off with a shrug of his shoulders, groggily forcing himself to sit up. His mind was spinning, his memories hazy; he wished he’d remember what led to this predicament.
Isaac Hyde, the former lead of a rock band was well known for his loud, energetic persona. The man that held the attention of the crowd, drunk off their enthusiasm and the way they cheered his name. He led the stage, and long after his turn ended he could be found among the crowd, partying the night away. And now, though it had been a while since his band performed as one, Isaac was far from retired. Much like his earlier days, there wasn’t a single party he’d missed since arriving in Beverly Shores. Sitting on the floor, held up by his arms marked by the patterns of the carpet, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d been.
He reached for his phone, laid on the floor much like Isaac was. It was past noon already, and beneath the clock was a whole row of messages and missed calls. He was a famous man, especially among women, of course his phone was always blowing up with texts from his adoring fans — which in this scenario was his best friend and former drummer, Keith, who’d sent over thirty messages and five calls under an hour. As much as Isaac adored the spotlight, even he understood the need for a private phone number, but his bandmates were one of the exceptions. Despite the rumors circulating about their “split”, Isaac cherished them as his closest friends. Now, as for the spam of urgent messages, no one knew what went on, not even Isaac because he immediately reached to clear them off his screen.
Until… He saw a reminder for the Thanksgiving Yacht party taking place in a few hours.
Isaac stood in front of the mirror, the outfit from his stylist hanging beside it. But as he unbuttoned his shirt, he found himself looking away, his eyes wandering to the ground. He turned away from his reflection, because if he looked, he knew he’d see the deep scar going across his torso. No matter how many years had passed, even time couldn’t make it fade. Soon it was covered by a dark red shirt, and only then could he look. With it he wore white pants, accompanied by a matching jacket he’d swung over his shoulder. It was a simple outfit, but enough to appear presentable for the paparazzi. And for…
“Baby, what did you put on? I need to approve." As if on cue, Violet had called out to him. Despite her demanding tone, Isaac was unable to hold back a smile. He ran his fingers through his hair, giving his reflection one last look before leaving to join his wife.
Taking the jacket off his shoulder, Isaac put it on as he approached her. His gaze wandered towards her dress, eyes widening. All those years had passed and she was the same as ever, especially regarding her rather controversial outfits. “Just for you,” he replied, putting a hand on her waist as they prepared to head out. He shot another glance at her dress, the way it exposed her chest, and couldn’t hold back a comment, “And who are you so dressed up for?” he asked, his tone playful yet unable to mask the tension between them. “Just me, right Celeste?” he added with a chuckle, emphasizing her name.
He’d joined her in saying goodbye to their children, which was a casual wave from the distance while Violet did the talking. She had left briefly for Lila’s room, and when she returned she took Isaac’s hand in hers. They left to the porch, where a grand limousine awaited the Wallace family. From the short glances the sisters shared before entering, Isaac could already anticipate the quarrel that would go on once inside. Maybe it wouldn’t be loud and obvious, rather more composed, their disdain shown through fake smiles and passive aggressive comments. It seemed like the norm for Beverly Shores. There was a reason of course, to show one’s best self to the paparazzi and audience behind the screen, but Isaac wasn’t fond of it. He preferred to avoid drama altogether, yet people had the tendency to make a big deal out of the smallest things.
He was uncharacteristically quiet during the ride. Sitting near the door of the limousine, Isaac leaned on the window and let his gaze drift to the blurring roads outside, the street lights flashing against the dimming sky. He’d tried to tune out their little argument, but seeing family gathered together, bickering over the smallest of things, it gave him a bittersweet feeling. Isaac never had siblings, and he wasn’t close to his parents. He often wondered, if things were different, he could’ve ended up in a similar place as Violet. But despite everything he had his bandmates, and they were the closest thing to family. A small, melancholy smile formed on his lips. His thoughts drifted back to that afternoon, the messages lined up in his notifications. He hadn’t checked them, and the anticipation of what Keith had to say made a pit form in his stomach. Though he hadn’t read them, he knew. He knew exactly what he’d see if he dared open them.
The limousine stopped and the Wallaces began boarding the ship, Isaac behind them. But in the swarm of paparazzi he lost sight of Violet, the flashing cameras making him disoriented. But he liked that feeling. It was there he felt truly at home, basking in the attention of his fans, too dizzy to even care about the world outside his mind. Isaac put on his usual charismatic grin, walking down as if he’s the center of the universe.
“Any news on your new solo album?” one person had asked.
“It’s in the works, but I promise you all it won’t disappoint. Expect it to release this winter!” he answered with a smile.
“Isaac, do you plan on reuniting with your band?” the questions kept coming. “Is it true a fight broke out between the four of you?”
“One at a time, guys, I’ll answer everything,” Isaac laughed. “We’re getting back together eventually, but for now we’re hoping you’ll all support our individual albums,” he explained. “And no, nothing went on between us. Is that what people are saying? We still talk every day,” he continued, reaching for one of the microphones and turning to the camera. “Shout-out to my band, I know you’re all watching me back home!”
One after another, Isaac answered the questions without missing a beat. To say he took his time would be an understatement.
But one question stood out to him specifically — “Does the split have anything to do with the rumored accident 6 years ago?”
Isaac froze for a moment, dropping his grin. Clearing his throat, he returned the microphone. “There was no accident, it’s a rumor,” he answered briefly, forcing a smile. Isaac waved towards the cameras, winking, before taking off to the main area.
He immediately gravitated towards the drinks, taking a cocktail in hand and giving a toast to one of the cameras. His eyes wandered around the yacht hoping to spot Violet among the pool of red, white and gold. But first his eyes landed on a familiar face, Cole, the new bodyguard he was supposed to meet at the party. The two have known each other for a while, though Isaac would rather forget how they had met. The man seemed occupied, so Isaac decided to leave him be for now, raising his palm for a short greeting from afar. As for his wife, she too seemed to be engaged in a conversation, and with none other than…
Francisco Ignacio Leone. Her ex. Out of all the pleasant people aboard she could’ve gone to, she chose her past lover. Though they had a child together and Isaac knew that, he still felt his blood beginning to boil. He took a sip of his cocktail, watching from afar with narrowed eyes, yet he could barely make out what was happening. Putting down the glass, he groaned, heading towards his lovely wife.
“Celeste,” he greeted, cutting them off. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he chuckled, tone laced with bitterness. “I got caught up with the paparazzi, you know how it is. And you’re with…” his eyes trailed towards Nacho, and he wrapped his arm around Violet’s waist with a possessive grip. He looked into her eyes, grinning. “Your ex? What are you guys talking about? C’mon, tell me, I’m so curious now.”
’ , ‘fake twin 
’, ‘she-devil 
’ more times than he could count. But he never pressed call.
