I scroll through the comments, each one a mix of speculation and accusation. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, and I’m the driver, helplessly watching as everything spirals out of control.
There are pictures of us taken out of context. Mashups with my old dating history and the type of women I’ve been known to date. Stupid theories about how I’ve been masterminding this for the past few months.
It’s all bullshit.
The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the weight of public opinion bears down on me.
This isn’t just idle gossip—it’s a targeted attack.
A smear campaign that’s not just hurting me, but potentially destroying something that was just beginning with Carlie.
Frustration boils within me—transforming into a potent mix of anger and helplessness. I’ve been in the public eye long enough to know how damaging these rumors can be, but I never thought they’d seep into something so personal—soreal.
Fitness was always meant to be fun. To be encouraging and empowering. Not—whatever the hell this is.
Jillian’s comment yesterday flashes in my mind, and a bitter taste fills my mouth.
Fucking Jillian.
This has her fingerprints all over it.
I always knew she played dirty, but this ...this is a new low.
Dragging Carlie into her petty games, trying to tarnish our relationship with her jealousy and spite. Who the hell does she think she is?
I can’t just stand by and let this happen.
No wayam I going to let this slide.
I have to fight back, not just for my reputation, but for what I feel for Carlie.
Hell, for Carlie herself.
She needs to know the truth—to see beyond the lies and the rumors.
But how?Howdo I convince her that what we have is real? That it’s not just another story for the tabloids?
I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over Carlie’s contact on my phone.
No, not yet.
I need advice, a plan. I scroll through my contacts and hit call on the one person who always knows what to do.
“Why in the fuck are you calling me at seven in the morning?” Brian’s voice is groggy, betraying the early hour. “Hate to break it to you, but not everyone loves being up at this ungodly hour.”
“Brian, man, I need your help,” I start, my words rushing out.
I explain everything—Carlie leaving, the Instagram debacle, my suspicion about Jillian’s involvement.
“Damn, that’s messed up,” Brian mutters after a pause. “First things first, bro, you need to put Jillian on notice. You can’t let her control the narrative. She’s obviously messing with you just because she thinks she can.”
“I know, but how?” I ground out, frustration edging my voice.
“Go to St. Mary’s. Confront her in person. It’s time she knows you’re not playing her games anymore. And Adam, if you need me to, I’ll go with you. You don’t need to face that bitch alone.”
His offer is a lifeline in the chaos. “Thanks, man. I’d take you up on that, but I think I need to deal with her on my own. She won’t take it seriously otherwise.”
“Okay, I get that. Don’t wait too long, though. You need to clear this up. I know all too well how bullshit lies can spiral out of control. So, take care of it. Not just for the public, but for Carlie, too,” Brian advises. “And about Carlie ... talk to her, bro. Be honest. Tell her everything. She deserves that much.”