A/N: Bahaha I couldn't wait, screw the challenge, Chapter 13, 14, AND 15 are yours! But no more updates until Saturday, Jan. 18 lol

𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

I logged into my instagram after responding to some texts from Madelyn. She'd sent me some of her pictures she took while getting ready for the Met Gala and, even just prepping for the Met Gala she looked absolutely stunning.

I scrolled a bit before refreshing my feed to see a new post from Madelyn. I damn near dropped my phone.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭

♡ 745.8k likes | 50.7k comments
Tagged: tommyhilfiger, revlon, voguemagazine
madelyncline: A dream 🫶🏻

sabrinacarpenter: breathtaking

tommyhilfiger: Our bell of the ball 🌹

user1: HOW ARE YOU REAL?!

user2: SARAH CAMERON HOW DARE YOU EAT UP AND DOWN LIKE THIS

user3: I'm suddenly gay 😍😍

user4: I'm like gagging by how beautiful she looks, thats our queen 😍

ynevans: Not sure what's more breathtaking—the fit or the person wearing it 😳
--> user4: wait WHAT?! GET OUT IS THIS HAPPENING?!!!!?!!?!?!
--> user5: I was shipping you with Scarlett like a few weeks ago, girl don't scoop up all the hot actresses like Pokemon 😭
--> user5: I swear Y/n must have all the rizz bcus HUH?!
--> madisonbaileybabe: definitely the person wearing it, she's STUNNING!
--> deuxmoi: 👀👀👀
--> user6: OH NOW THIS IS A HOT COUPLE?!
--> user7: Marvel x OBX couple? I'm here for it
      --> user8: literally better than her dating Chase lol

carlaciagrant: HOTTIE 🥵

drewstarkey: That's my sister 🤎

I then reposted the photo on my story captioning it:

Who knows CPR? 😮‍💨

.  .  .

Moments later, I got another message from Madelyn.

Madz 🤤♡:
I know CPR if you need it, should I come over 🙈

Baby Evans 🤭♡:
If you come over, I'm afraid CPR won't be the only thing being done...

Madz 🤤♡:
Doesn't sound bad to me hehe

Baby Evans 🤭♡:

.  .  .

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

My lunch with Florence had started peacefully enough. We were seated at a cozy little spot, tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle.

The wine was flowing, and the food was incredible. Florence was her usual self, charming the staff with her wit and ordering half the menu under the guise of wanting to "try everything."

But then my phone buzzed.

I hesitated, staring at it as it sat innocently next to my water glass. Florence glanced at me with a raised brow. "Go on," she said, gesturing with her fork. "Check it. I won't be offended."

Reluctantly, I picked it up. A string of notifications from Instagram caught my attention—likes, tags, and, most importantly, Y/n's reposted story.

My stomach sank as I tapped it, the image of Madelyn Cline in her Met Gala gown filling the screen.

She looked gorgeous—too gorgeous, if I was being honest. But it wasn't just the photo that made my chest tighten. It was Y/n's caption.

"Who knows CPR? 😮‍💨"

I clenched my jaw, my thumb hovering over the screen as I debated whether to dig deeper. Of course, curiosity won. I clicked on Madelyn's original post and scrolled through the comments. There it was—Y/n's flirty comment for the world to see.

"Not sure what's more breathtaking—the fit or the person wearing it 😳"

It was subtle enough to seem harmless, but I knew better. I knew Y/n.

"What's got you frowning like that?" Florence asked, popping a piece of bread into her mouth. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement as she reached for her glass of wine.

"Nothing," I said too quickly, locking my phone and setting it down.

"Mmhm," she hummed, unconvinced. "Come on, Scar. Spill."

I sighed, picking up my wine glass and swirling the liquid absentmindedly. "It's Y/n."

Florence's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, the plot thickens. What's she done now?"

"She hasn't done anything," I said, though the words felt like a lie as soon as they left my mouth. "It's just... Madelyn posted this picture, and Y/n commented something flirty."

Florence's grin widened. "Oh, this is getting good."

"It's not funny," I snapped, though my tone lacked real heat. "They've been... spending time together."

Florence tilted her head, studying me like I was one of her scripts. "And that bothers you because...?"

"Because it's Y/n," I said, as if that explained everything. And to me, it did.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, darling," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Are you jealous?"

"No," I lied, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

Florence smirked, clearly not buying it. "Scarlett Johansson, jealous of Madelyn Cline. Who would've thought?"

"I'm not jealous, we're not a thing so she can date whoever she wants," I insisted, though even I didn't believe it. "It's just... complicated."

"Ah, there it is. The Scarlett Special—'It's complicated,'" she teased, air-quoting the words. "Do you want to talk about what happened the other night?"

I froze, my mind flashing back to the moment Y/n showed up at my door, the argument we'd had, and the way it had ended. "Not really," I muttered, sipping my wine.

"Well, tough," Florence said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Because we're talking about it."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "She came over after we argued. I told her I needed time, but I also told her I didn't want to lose her."

Florence's expression softened. "And?"

"And... we made up," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sort of."

She raised an eyebrow. "Define 'sort of.'"

"We kissed," I said, the memory making my cheeks heat. "And then some."

"Ah," Florence said knowingly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "So you're still hooking up."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Scar," she said gently, leaning forward. "What are you trying to get out of this?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice cracking slightly. "I care about her, Flo. But every time I start to let my guard down, I panic. It's like... I want her close, but I'm terrified of what that means."

Florence reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on mine. "You need to figure out what you want, Scar. Because this—whatever it is you're doing—it's not fair to her. Or to you."

I nodded, my chest tightening. "I know."

"Do you, though?" she asked, her tone soft but firm. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're stringing her along because you're scared to admit how you really feel."

Her words stung, but I knew she was right. I was scared—scared of ruining what we had, scared of the world finding out, scared of feeling something so intense it left me breathless.

"I just... need more time," I said, the words sounding weak even to my own ears.

Florence sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Time's a luxury you might not have. Especially if Y/n keeps flirting with Madelyn in front of the whole damn internet."

I flinched at her words, my eyes drifting back to my phone. The image of Y/n's comment burned in my mind, a reminder of how easily I could lose her if I wasn't careful.

Florence noticed my expression and softened her tone. "Look, I'm not trying to scare you. I just... I want you to be happy, Scar. And I don't think you'll get there by sitting on the sidelines."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Flo."

"Anytime," she said with a small smile. "Now, finish your wine and stop brooding. We've got a whole dessert menu to get through."

Scarlett sighed deeply, swirling the wine in her glass as Florence watched her with an amused glint in her eyes. The conversation felt heavy, but Florence wasn't done yet—because, of course, she wasn't.

Florence leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Okay, but now I need to see what she posted."

Scarlett shot her a glare, her jaw tightening. "You don't need to see anything."

"Oh, come on," Florence teased, already pulling her phone out of her bag. "You've hyped it up so much now. I have to see what all the fuss is about."

"Flo," Scarlett warned, her tone low and clipped.

Florence held up a finger, ignoring her entirely as she opened Instagram and searched for Madelyn's profile. "Calm down, Scar. I'm just admiring the competition."

"She's not my competition," Scarlett muttered, crossing her arms over her chest like a sulking teenager.

Florence let out a small laugh, scrolling through Madelyn's profile until she landed on the Met Gala post. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the photo. "Damn," she said, leaning back in her chair with a low whistle. "Alright, I see it now. She's stunning."

Scarlett's glare deepened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Can you not?"

"Oh, don't be like that," Florence teased, turning the screen toward her. "You have to admit she looks incredible."

Scarlett didn't even glance at the screen. "I'm not playing this game with you."

"Relax," Florence said, laughing as she put her phone down. "It's not like I'm Team Madelyn or anything. I'm just saying, the girl knows how to work a red carpet."

Scarlett let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Part of my charm," Florence said, flashing her a grin. She leaned forward, her tone turning more serious. "But seriously, Scar, if she's got Y/n commenting like that and reposting her to her story... you need to figure out what you're doing. Fast."

Scarlett didn't respond, her eyes focused on her half-empty glass of wine. The weight of Florence's words settled heavily on her chest, a reminder of just how precarious her situation had become.

Florence reached over, giving her hand a squeeze. "You've got this, Scar. Just... stop overthinking everything and trust yourself for once."

Scarlett nodded, though she wasn't entirely sure she believed it. The truth was, she didn't trust herself—not when it came to Y/n.

"Ooh, Madelyn posted a story!" I groaned and rolled my eyes as she looked at it. Florence turned it around for me to see. It was a picture of Madelyn in what I knew to be one of Y/n's hoodies.

"Why do you look like you're ready to punch my phone? All it is is a thank you for the comments on her Met post." Florence giggled. "She's wearing Y/n's hoodie," I muttered.

" Okay, let's order dessert and talk about literally anything else before you spiral."

. . .

The house was finally quiet.

The kids were asleep and I finally had some time to myself. Florence had left hours ago after dessert, leaving me with her parting words echoing in my mind. "Figure it out, Scar."

Figure it out. As if it were that simple.

I poured myself a glass of wine and settled onto the couch, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. Social media wasn't usually my go-to for relaxation, but tonight, it felt like the only way to distract myself from the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my chest.

I refreshed TikTok, letting the videos wash over me without much thought. A dog learning tricks. A skincare routine. Then, the next video made me freeze.

"Okay, buckle up, because I have receipts," a voiceover announced, accompanied by dramatic music. The caption read:
"Madelyn Cline and Y/n Evans—The Hidden Relationship You Didn't Know You Needed."

My heart stuttered. I hovered over the screen, unsure if I wanted to swipe away or watch. Before I could make a decision, the video continued, and curiosity rooted me in place.

The first clip showed Madelyn's Met Gala post, the camera zooming in on Y/n's flirty comment. "Not sure what's more breathtaking—the fit or the person wearing it 😳," it read, with the voiceover emphasizing the boldness of the words. "Okay, Y/n. We see you," the narrator teased.

The next slide displayed Madelyn's recent story—the one Florence had shown me earlier—of her in Y/n's hoodie. "And here we have Miss Cline casually rocking Y/n's sweatshirt," the voiceover said smugly.

Then came a series of clues that made my stomach twist. A mirror selfie Madelyn had posted weeks ago, with fans pointing out the unmistakable background: the corner of Y/n's living room. It was the same spot where Y/n often filmed her vlogs, down to the framed poster on the wall.

Another clip compared two Instagram stories: a picture of the Los Angeles skyline Madelyn had posted late one evening, side by side with Y/n's own post from the same night. The views were nearly identical, taken from what looked like the same spot. "Coincidence? I think not," the voiceover declared.

The next image showed a blurry figure in the background of one of Madelyn's selfies, taken in what looked like a dressing room. The figure wasn't clear, but fans had circled it, speculating wildly in the comments. "Is that Y/n?" one comment read. "LOOK AT THE HAIR—IT'S TOTALLY HER," another insisted.

The final slide compiled Instagram activity, highlighting Madelyn liking one of Y/n's fan page posts—a thirst trap from a few weeks ago. "They're not even trying to hide it at this point," the voiceover concluded. "If they're not dating, I'll eat my phone."

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening with every second. The video replayed automatically, and this time, I caught even more details: the matching bracelets they both wore, the way Madelyn's captions seemed to mirror Y/n's sense of humor.

Unable to stop myself, I hit the share button and sent it to Florence with a single message:

ScarJo ⧗:
Look at this.

FloPugh ⧗:
Oh my God. These fans could give the FBI a run for their money!

I didn't respond, my thoughts too tangled to put into words. Moments later, another message popped up:

FloPugh ⧗:
But... are they wrong?

I sighed, setting my wine glass down and typing back.

ScarJo ⧗:
It's all speculation.

Florence's next message hit harder than I wanted to admit.

FloPugh ⧗:
Is it? Or are you just avoiding the truth because it's easier that way?

My jaw clenched as I stared at her words. Was I avoiding the truth? I thought back to the hoodie, the LA skyline, the blurred figure in the selfie. It all felt too coincidental, too deliberate. But admitting that meant confronting feelings I wasn't ready to face.

Before I could reply, Florence sent another text.

FloPugh ⧗:
Scar, what are you even doing? You can't keep playing it cool and expect her to wait around forever.

My chest ached at the thought of Y/n moving on. My thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before I typed:

ScarJo ⧗:
I don't know what I'm doing, Flo. I don't even know if I have the right to feel this way. She's not mine.

FloPugh ⧗:
But you want her to be, don't you?

The knot in my stomach tightened. I didn't answer right away, staring at the TikTok replaying on my phone screen. The way Madelyn looked at Y/n—or at least the way the fans made it seem—gnawed at me.

FloPugh ⧗:
Scarlett. Be real with yourself. You're jealous. And you're scared. But if you don't figure it out soon, someone else will.

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in.

ScarJo ⧗:
I don't want to lose her.

FloPugh ⧗:
Then stop pushing her away.

A/N: Thoughts? What do you want Scarlett to do?