Rosalie Reed, a woman with everything. She's famous, rich, beautiful and successful. However, she holds a deep dark secret.
She was raised in the middle of her father's business. The mafia.
The fame and fortune has gotten to her head, unable to cop...
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People that worked close with Dan noticed a visible decline in his health. They explained, "Dan wasn't the same, he was looking frail and exhausted all the time."
His fan's have gathered at his old home in Los Angeles, setting candles outside his old home and the church he attended frequently.
His friend, Zachary Grey, told Celeb Chronicles about Dan's recent mental health struggles. He planned the candlelight memorial.
Suspected suicide. That's what everyone's saying. Justifying his death as a suicide would be ludicrous, I mean, do we even know he's dead?
You may think that I'm paranoid, possibly crazy, but I genuinely don't believe it.
It's been five whole days without an autopsy. Five whole days of stories upon stories upon stories.
But no evidence.
To believe it, I want to see his body.
Yes, I know. That sounds fucking mental. But I need to see it to believe it.
"Rose?" Someone knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah," I said as I hid the article. Christian walked in with a mug and meds.
"You like your coffee sweet, don't you?" He asked as he set the mug down.
Christian and I have grown closer. We've actually been getting along very well. He's soft and friendly, almost too sweet to be in the mafia.
"Awwww, you remembered," I teased him with a smile on my face. He let out a small laugh before taking a seat beside me.
Lombardi had my "office" decorated in a day. Just one day.
He got shelves for the materials, a brand new sewing machine, vintage magazines that are almost impossible to get and mannequins.
I was shocked to say the least.
The room is massive too, huge windows which brings in the natural light so perfectly. And I can't lie, it's ideal. The office is what I've always wanted, but I would never say that to Lombardi.
"What about the Dan stuff?" Christian said, bringing me back to the conversation.
"I just don't believe it," I told him as I sipped on my coffee.
"That he's dead? Or that there's a possibility that he's faking it?"
EXACTLY CHRISTIAN.
"Exactly! I mean, where the fuck is the autopsy? Where's the evidence? Where's the scene photos?"
"That's what I thought!" Christian's voice matched mine.
I sighed and rested my chin on my hand. "It's fucking crazy," my voice softly quieted.
"Well, we go to Paris in three days, we can investigate further...just don't tell Luciano."
I chuckled at his response. "You mean, we investigate? Just me and you?"
"Yes! I have my ways, I can get information out of people!"
Maybe that's what I need. Maybe I need a little distraction, an investigation.
"Deal."
He held out his hand and I shook it, a small but genuine smile appeared on his lips. "Now, we need to get you a ring."
"A ring?"
"Yeah," Christian said. "I don't know if you know, but you're engaged or whatever."
Sarcastic hoe.
"I stole Luciano's wallet, let's go!"
INTO THE TABLOIDS
Christian and I walked around the stores, trying to find the "right" ring. I felt strange about it. It's not every persons dream to pick their own ring, and pretend like you actually like your "partner."
But of course, it's what we have to do.
Paris will be...interesting.
Pretending that we're a happy couple is going to be so heartbreakingly painful. And I know, Lombardi has been somewhat nice but I can't help but feel like I'm in danger when he's around.
However, the danger is comforting in a way that death is comforting.
When you know you're dying, you just let it happen. And after a while, it becomes comforting to know that it'll be over.
That's how it feels to be in that house.
"I feel like we should get the most expensive ring," Christian said as he stopped walking.
"Why?"
"Just to annoy him!"
I stopped Christian before he said any more. "I'm paying for the ring," I told him, "I want to."
"But...isn't that his job?"
"No, it's not." He didn't want this as much as I didn't. "We both didn't even know we were legally engaged, so I'm getting the ring...and I'm not spending his money."
"You're stubborn," Christian rolled his eyes at me. "I know what you mean but girl, you could just spend his money."
"And why would I do that when I have my own money?" I furrowed my brow at him. He gave me a downturned smile and shrugged.
