They sat at the table, appearing like a family, but in truth, they were strangers. Jack would have preferred to be anywhere else, but as Demi reminded him, “it’s good for the media.” True enough, the paparazzi were swarming outside when they pulled up.
He couldn't understand how people lived like that, waiting for "celebrities" like him to pass by. It was both pathetic and irritating. Over time, that mix of pity and annoyance had dulled into indifference—just as Demi had suggested. He’d gotten used to slipping on his shades, turning his face away from the window as they passed through the gates. Let them snap a few profile shots; that was generous enough, considering what he thought of them.
“All publicity is good publicity, Jack,” Demi would remind him whenever he voiced concern. “You know this. You should be used to it by now.”
He still wasn’t used to it, but he didn’t argue. She was the manager. She knew what was best for him… or so he told himself.
And so, he didn’t bother explaining how much he loathed these visits—how fake they felt. Even more contrived than whatever stories the paparazzi would spin about them.
This was his life now, a balancing act between the life he had to live and the one he was expected to. One couldn’t exist without the other. It was his fate.
So, he sat there, surrounded by his parents and his sisters—Janet and Claire—at the dinner table.
Jack absently ran his palm over the edge of the glass table, the smooth surface cool against his skin, though sweat had already begun to trail down his back. The air in the room was vast, but it only made him feel more trapped.
Janet and Claire, nearly identical to anyone who didn’t know them, sat at the far end of the table, their heads buried in their phones. Their faces wore faint smiles, no doubt as they responded to fans and scrolled through comments—fans and comments that existed only because of him.
As the flash of their phone cameras illuminated the dimly lit restaurant, he felt caught off guard and unprepared. He could already envision the caption on their Instagram stories: "Brunching with my bestselling brother! #Siblings #Success."
Beneath his forced smile, he mentally cringed at the thought of being used as promotion for their joint beauty store.
It would sell like crazy every other week, yet his money would finance the restocking as soon as the goods ran out.
Every month, he would wake up to a text from them, detailing their budget demands. There was no formal proposal or even a letter sent in the mail, just a simple message with a list of necessary purchases and their corresponding costs. Demi transferred the money as requested. They never spoke about it but sometimes he felt like nothing more than an ATM to them.
"So... Son, when’s the next book coming out?" his mother asked from his right.The question came as a jolt to his wandering thoughts. "It's... It's ehhhr..." He frowned, getting the needed time to give the sudden question a quick thought. "I just released a book a month ago, Mum."
"So?" she said, lifting her glass of juice to her lips and keeping her eyes on him over its rim.
"So..." he drew out. "Writing takes time and a lot of mental exertion."
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She laughed, dropping her glass down. "Not for you, apparently." She rubbed her heavily bejeweled hands together. "You’ve released so many books in no time, and they have all become bestsellers."
"It's not that easy, Mum. I can guarantee you that." The familiar sensation stirred within him, but this time it wasn’t sadness. It was something hotter, simmering just beneath the surface—a slow burn of anger. He always had to keep it in check, especially when people made demands without understanding the weight he carried.
"I poured my heart and soul into writing those books," he said, his voice tight. Quite literally—sweat and blood had gone into every word.
"Then you have to continue exerting efforts, you know you have to stay relevant." his father chimed in from the other side of the table, and Jack turned his head to glare at him. He saw the well-preserved, proud face of a sixty year old man. He saw how good his father looked but how little the man would ever understand.
"I’ve paid my dues," Jack said through gritted teeth. "Maybe all the work I have done can buy me enough relevance so I can relax a bit, don't you think?"
His father shook his head and drank from his glass of water. Jack had almost forgotten his father’s diabetic condition; another portion of Jack’s money had gone into keeping it under control. "No rest when you are at the top, son. It’s a fact of life. Whatever you did to get up there, you have to do much more to stay up there."
Jack started to breathe more heavily, processing what his father had said. More of what he had done to get up here? He was going mad already...
He felt like he was not himself. He didn't even know what that meant!
"People love the things you wrote, Jack," his mother continued for her husband, "and so you have to give them more of it. You have to stay in their faces so their loyalty doesn't wane. They are used to you feeding their minds with dirty stuff at short intervals; what do you think they will start saying when it begins to drag?"
Jack started to boil, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt all their eyes on him, watching his face and lips, expecting him to say something. Even the twins had abandoned their phones and had fixed him with expectant stares. Their success depended on him, after all. Their livelihoods depended on his fame and success. They couldn't risk him ruining it all now. The weight of their expectations felt heavy on his shoulders, like a burden he could never escape.He knew he had to say something. They were waiting for him to reaffirm that he was in his right mind and would do the right thing by not letting a flowing well run dry. He cleared his throat and began to mentally craft words that would reassure them and ease their worries. He carefully constructed his statement in the most effective way possible.
However, when he opened his mouth to speak, it was something else that came out. "Actually... I plan to take some time off writing. It’s a plan I have had for a while now..." The words had fallen out of his mouth before he could help it, and they would not stop coming.
"I truly hope I can follow through with this for once...for myself. I want to take some time to rest, reflect, and gather enough inspiration to write something new, something meaningful." As he heard his own words come out he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and dread wash over him at the same time.
"What!" Demi’s sharp, incredulous voice cut through the room. Jack leaned around in his chair to see her standing at the archway, eyes wide with shock, her mouth slightly open as she struggled to process what she’d just heard.
She had been in the kitchen moments before, hurrying the chef, her impatience clear as she reminded them of the many other events in Jack’s schedule for that day.
"Demi..." Jack said, his chair continuing to turn with him, scraping on the marbled ground.
He was at a loss for words. He felt almost as confused as she did because what he had just said sounded strange, even to him. The thought had been swirling in his mind for a while, but until now, he hadn’t found the boldness—or the words—to say it out loud. He hadn’t even fully admitted it to himself before today.
Yet here he was, having voiced it so clearly that there was no denying it anymore. He had spoken his truth to the very people who thrived off the niche that had made him famous—the same niche that now filled him with dread. These people, his so-called family, would rather see him churn out more erotic pulp to fuel their ‘lives’ than watch him find meaning in writing something with real substance.