The morning's confrontation with Evelyn had left David feeling like he'd been hollowed out.
After she left, he and Scarlett had sat in silence for a long moment before forcing themselves through the motions of breakfast—toast that tasted like cardboard, coffee that couldn't chase away the chill.
Scarlett had tried to fill the silence with gentle conversation, but David's responses were mechanical, distant. His mind kept replaying Evelyn's words, her smile, the way she'd looked at him like he was a commodity rather than her son.
Scarlett understood his feelings and just put a comforting hand on his knees, letting him know she was with him. He smiled difficultly, but appreciated the gesture.
When it was time to leave, David drove Scarlett to her filming location in silence, the morning traffic moving in slow waves around them. At a red light, she reached over and squeezed his hand.
"You don't have to do the interview today," she said softly. "Sony would understand if you rescheduled."
David shook his head, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine. It's just a standard press thing. Questions about the album, the tour, the usual stuff."
Scarlett studied his face, clearly unconvinced. "David—"
"I'll be fine," he repeated, more firmly this time.
When they pulled up outside the studio lot, Scarlett leaned over and kissed him—longer than usual, deeper, like she was trying to transfer some of her warmth to him through touch alone.
"Take it easy, okay?" she whispered against his lips.
David nodded, watching as she grabbed her bag and headed toward the studio entrance. She looked back once, worry clear in her expression, before disappearing through the doors.
He should have listened to her.
The interview was set up at Sony's headquarters in a conference room that had been converted into a makeshift press area. Lights on stands, cameras positioned at strategic angles, a backdrop with the Gravity Dreams logo repeated in a tasteful pattern.
David arrived fifteen minutes early, was ushered through makeup—"Just to take the shine off for the cameras," the woman assured him—and given a bottle of water and a schedule of which outlets would be asking questions.
Entertainment Weekly. Rolling Stone. MTV News. Billboard.
Standard stuff, like he'd told Scarlett.
The first twenty minutes went exactly as expected.
"How does it feel to have five songs in the Billboard Top 10 simultaneously?"
"The success of 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' has been unprecedented. What do you think resonates with people about that song?"
"Can you tell us about the creative process behind the album?"
"What's next for Gravity Dreams?"
David answered each question with practiced ease, grateful for the distraction from the morning's chaos.
He talked about the band's chemistry, about Tommy's innovative drumming and Emily's bass work and Avril's raw talent.
He discussed the tour dates coming up, the experience of performing live, the surreal nature of hearing his songs on the radio.
He was starting to relax, starting to think maybe this would be okay, when the energy in the room shifted.
A reporter from one of the smaller tabloid outlets—David hadn't caught which one—raised his hand. He was older than the other journalists, with thinning hair and the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Mr. Harper," the man said, his voice carrying an edge that made David's shoulders tense, "can we talk about your personal life for a moment?"
David's media training kicked in automatically. "Sure, but I like to keep most of that private."
"Of course, of course," the reporter said, nodding like he understood. "But our readers are curious. You're in a relationship with Scarlett Johansson, correct? The actress?"
"Yes," David said carefully.
"That must be exciting. Two young stars on the rise. How do you balance your career with your personal life?"
Standard question. Safe territory. David relaxed slightly. "It's about communication and respect. We both understand that our careers are demanding, but we make time for each other when we can."
"And your family?" the reporter continued. "They must be proud of your success. Can you tell us about them?"
David felt his stomach drop. The shift had been so smooth, so subtle, that he almost hadn't caught it. Almost.
"I actually prefer to keep my family matters private," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Another reporter—a younger woman from a gossip magazine—perked up. "But you mentioned your brother Charlie in a previous interview, didn't you? Charlie Harper? He's been supportive of your music?"
"Yes," David said calmly. "Charlie's been great. He helped me get my first real gig, actually. He's always believed in me."
"That's wonderful," the first reporter said, his smile sharpening. "And what about your parents? How do they feel about your success?"
The room seemed to get quieter, every eye on David now. He could feel the trap closing, could see it in the way the reporters leaned forward slightly, pens poised over notebooks, camera operators adjusting their angles.
"My parents aren't in my life," David said flatly.
"Oh?" The reporter's eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. "That's interesting. Can you elaborate on that?"
"No," David said, his voice hardening. "Next question."
But the man pressed on sensing the scoopl, undeterred by David's tone. "It's just that our paper was recently contacted by someone claiming to be your mother. A Ms. Evelyn Harper? She had some very interesting things to say about—"
"I'm not discussing this here, and she will hear from my lawyer for spreading misinformation." David cut him off, his hands gripping the arms of his chair hard enough that his knuckles went white.
The reporter smiled, and David realized with a sinking feeling that he'd walked right into whatever trap had been set. "Ms. Harper seemed quite eager to share her side of the story. She mentioned that you've been estranged for several years, that you left home under difficult circumstances, that—"
"Whatever she told you," David said, his voice low and controlled despite the rage building in his chest, "is her version of events. Not mine. And I'm not going to sit here and engage in whatever game this is. Specially from someone clearly trying get a boost in career by relying on petty gossip."
"So you're saying she's lying?" another reporter chimed in, sensing blood in the water.
"I'm saying," David said, standing up, "that personal matters are private. Anyone can say anything about you. If I say you are in a mafia and you kill people, does that make it true? Will police arrest you just based on my words? Use your brain before criticizing or picking sides. I'm done with this interview."
"Mr. Harper—"
"Were you aware your mother claims you've refused all contact with her despite her attempts to reconcile?"
"Is it true you had addiction problems in your past?"
"How does Scarlett Johansson feel about your family situation?"
The questions came rapid-fire now, overlapping, each one designed to provoke, to dig deeper into the wound that Evelyn had opened that morning.
David looked at the Sony representative standing by the door, a woman named Janet who looked as surprised by the turn of events as he was.
"We're done here, and mark each one of those people. I don't want to see them ever gossip about another person. Harvey will xontact you." he said firmly.
Janet stepped forward immediately. "This interview is over. Mr. Harper has other obligations. Thank you all for your time."
"Mr. Harper, just one more question—"
"I said we're done, go spread lies about somebody else." David repeated, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
He walked toward the door, ignoring the continued shouts of questions, the flash of cameras, the scramble of reporters reaching for their phones to call in this new development to their editors.
In the hallway, Janet caught up with him, her expression apologetic. "David, I'm so sorry. We had no idea they were going to—"
"It's fine," David said, though his jaw was clenched so tight it ached. "It's not your fault."
"We'll issue a public statement," Janet said quickly. "We'll make it clear that those questions were inappropriate, that—"
"Don't bother," David said, already pulling out his phone. "It won't matter. They got what they wanted. They will spin their tale as they please."
He was right. By the time he made it to his car, his phone was already exploding with notifications. Text messages from Charlie, from the band, from people he barely knew. Missed calls from Harvey, from Sony executives, from publicists.
And underneath it all, the buzzing anxiety that came from knowing that Evelyn had already started her campaign. She'd gone to the press. She'd planted her poison. And now it would spread through the media like wildfire, distorting and twisting until the truth became irrelevant.
It seems he let her off too easily.
His phone rang. Harvey.
"Don't talk to any media," Harvey said without preamble the moment David answered. "Not a single word. I am working on the restraining order immediately. I thought you were kidding when you said your mother might cause a ruckus.
Don't worry, she will be dealing with an associate of mine who's good at dealing with such matters. Let me and my firm deal with this first."
"Harvey, but I,"
"I mean it, David. These people are vultures. Anything you say right now will be twisted and used against you. Stay silent. Lay low. Let me handle it."
"Fine," David said, pulling out of the parking lot with more force than necessary.
"And David?" Harvey's voice softened slightly. "I watched the clip. You handled it better than most would have. You kept your cool in public. That matters."
"Didn't feel like I kept my cool," David muttered.
"Trust me, you did. I've seen people destroy their entire careers in moments like that by punching someone. You walked away. That was smart."
After Harvey hung up, David sat in his car at a red light, staring at his phone as more notifications rolled in. He should call Scarlett. He should go home. He should do a hundred productive things.
Instead, he just drove around.
For the next few hours, David drove aimlessly through Los Angeles, no destination in mind, just movement for the sake of movement. The city blurred past his windows—palm trees and traffic, mansions and strip malls, the endless sprawl of concrete and dreams.
His mind wouldn't stop racing. Evelyn's face. The reporter's smile. The flash of cameras. The questions that weren't really questions but accusations dressed up in concern.
"Were you aware your mother claims you've refused all contact with her despite her attempts to reconcile?"
Reconcile. As if there was something to reconcile. As if she hadn't spent his entire childhood making him feel worthless, making him believe that his dreams were stupid and his existence was a burden.
"Is it true you had addiction problems in your past?"
That one had stung because it was true, even if the David who'd lived through those problems wasn't exactly him.
The memories were there though, inherited along with this body—the taste of pills on his tongue, the burning on nose, the desperate need to feel anything other than empty.
By the time evening fell and the sky turned that particular shade of purple-gold that only happened in Los Angeles, David found himself pulling into the parking lot of the Sunset Room.
It was an upscale club, the kind of place where mid-level celebrities and industry people went to see and be seen. Not so exclusive that you needed connections to get in, but expensive enough to keep out most of the riffraff.
David had been there once or twice before, always with Charlie, always leaving early because the scene wasn't really his thing—too much posturing, too much empty conversation.
But tonight, He wanted noise. Wanted to drown out the thoughts in his head with music and alcohol and the press of bodies.
He wanted to forget, just for a little while.
The bouncer recognized him immediately—eyes widening, a grin spreading across his face. "David Harper! Holy shit, man. 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' is my jam. Go on in."
David nodded, " Thanks mate. Appreciate it." and stepped inside.
The club was already packed despite the early hour, the bass from the speakers vibrating in his chest, colored lights sweeping across the dance floor where bodies moved in synchronized chaos.
The bar ran along one wall, backlit bottles glowing like gems.
David made his way through the crowd, ignoring the double-takes and pointing fingers, and claimed a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting was dimmer.
"What can I get you boss I'm?" the bartender asked. She was young, maybe early twenties, with purple streaks in her dark hair and enough piercings to set off a metal detector.
Her eyes widened when she looked at him, recognition flashing across her face, but to her credit, she didn't make a big deal of it.
"Whiskey," David said. "Double. Neat."
"Rough day rockstar?" she asked, already reaching for a bottle.
"You could say that."
She poured him a generous double and slid the glass across the bar. "First one's on me. Big fan of the album."
"Thanks, umm?" David said, wrapping his hands around the glass but not drinking yet.
"Natasha. You need anything else, just wave, and I'll bring it to your booth." she said cheerfully.
David nodded. "Thanks Natasha.
She smiled then moved down the bar to help other customers.
David stared at the amber liquid, watching the way it caught the light. He thought about Scarlett, probably still on set, working through her scenes while he sat here feeling sorry for himself.
He thought about Harvey, already mobilizing his legal team to handle the fallout. He thought about his bandmates, who were probably seeing the news reports and wondering what the hell was going on.
He thought about Evelyn, sitting somewhere with that satisfied smile, knowing she'd drawn first blood.
Then he stopped thinking and drank.
The whiskey burned going down, familiar and harsh and exactly what he needed. He gestured for another before he'd finished the first.
One drink became two. Two became three. The edges of everything started to blur pleasantly, the noise of the club fading into background static, the weight on his chest lifting incrementally with each swallow.
He wasn't drunk—not yet—but he was getting there, and he welcomed it.